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July 7, 2011 - Radio Free Nortwest - H.A. Covington
01:03:38
20110707_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, 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, Warmers passed along the valleys like the man she's lonely crew, And a thousand blades were flashing at the rising moon.
It's July the 7th, 2011.
I'm Harold Covington, and this is Radio Free Northwest.
There beside the singing river that dark mass of men were seen Far above their shining weapons hung their own beloved green Death to every foe and traitor forward strike the marching tune And hurrah, my voice for freedom is the rising of the moon This week I'm going to change the format in which this show is presented a bit.
To begin with, instead of waiting until the later sections of this episode, this week I'm going to put most of the deep, heavy stuff up front.
And there's a reason for that.
In times past, back before podcasts and websites and Facebook and whatnot, I maintained a collection of emails in my files that I used as canned answers to various questions that were constantly arising to save me from having to tap out on the keyboard the same answers to the same questions over and over and over again.
From now on, this week's podcast is going to serve as my canned answer to all the questions that arise regarding the overridingly important issue of character.
Our character.
I'm going to say what I have to say here once and for all, and from now on, when the issue comes up, I'm going to point people to this podcast for July the 7th, 2011, and I'll tell them to download it and listen to it.
Now, for those of you who really don't want to hear all this stuff, and who really do want to keep your fingers stuffed in your ears, go ahead and just click on that little button at the bottom of your media player, hold down your mouse, and move the little button forward and to the right until you get to access Sally and the music, okay?
When someone becomes involved with the white resistance movement in any way whatsoever, with any group or any of our many tendencies, national socialist, Christian identity, skinhead, militia, whatever, Very early on, they run into what I call Covington's conundrum.
The cause is so right.
The people in it are so wrong.
One of the first things one learns is that the movement is full of people who do not belong here because of flaws in their minds or flaws in their character.
People who have no business anywhere near us or any other form of alternative politics.
The type of people we do need, on the other hand, seem to stay away in droves.
Why is this?
Why do we do it?
I think that's the first question we all ask ourselves.
Why do we act like we do?
Why are we like this?
Why, judging from our internet posts, are so many of us clearly unsuitable for any serious role in the white resistance movement, unsuitable indeed for a serious role in anything to do with real life?
White nationalists, by and large, give a whole new dimension of meaning to the word dysfunctional.
Why the blind and unreasoning hatred directed against individuals within our own ranks, far worse and far more extensive than any hatred or anger they seem to feel toward the racial enemy?
I can't count how many times down through the years I've heard some variation on the phrase of, if only so-and-so spent half as much time attacking the Jews or the niggers of the government as he spends attacking his personal enemies X, Y, and Z, he'd really be something.
I'm not just talking about all the silly horse shit that's directed against me personally, not by a long shot.
This phenomenon of movement bullshit transcends any one person.
It's not about the people who are being targeted by it.
It's about the people who are producing and posting it, about what's going on in the minds of the goat dancers themselves.
Some of you who picked up on last week's podcast and checked around the internet probably caught some of the frenzied hatred directed against Bill White, which is as bad as anything ever aimed at me.
So this clearly isn't just an anti-Covington or anti-Northwest.
The Space Madness is not about me or about the Northwest.
It's about...
Us and who we are.
Goat dancers say much more about themselves in their deranged internet posts than they ever say about me.
But once again, the question rises up and will not be denied.
Why are we like this?
In the face of the 1001 things that we all should be doing that are so clearly much more important, why are we acting like this?
Some people believe that anyone who behaves in a manner that's so clearly counterproductive and which so clearly makes us look like fools and brings the cause into disrepute must be paid enemy agents.
And as I've pointed out, sometimes this is probably true.
The Cognitive Dissonance Project of White House Deputy Communications Director Cass Sunstein most definitely does exist.
I'm not making it up.
But Cass Sunstein doesn't explain the last six or seven decades.
The final answer is, I don't know.
I admit it.
I've been studying this problem for almost 40 years myself, and I've developed a few tentative theories, but I admit it.
I'm no closer to solving this vitally important riddle than I was in 1972 when I first came in.
The Internet hasn't helped, to be sure.
It has certainly exacerbated and accelerated the space madness like the very devil, kind of like injecting nitro into a car's fuel line.
But I can tell you, even in the days before the internet, we were always like this.
In the old days, we attacked one another in our garage-mimeographed newsletters.
We mailed out quote-unquote open letters by the score.
We did our slandering and conducted our whispering campaigns by telephone and on our recorded phone messages.
These days we do it by Facebook and Twitter, but it's the same old lunatic song.
We have to stop this.
The future existence of our race depends on what will happen in the next few years, on whether or not the Northwest Front, this movement, no one else, can do what nobody else has been able to do and successfully break out of the bubble, begin to reach out of our silly and tiny little movement and into the actual white community of what I may loosely refer to as normal people, because the Northwest is the only thing going right now that counts.
There isn't anything else that has even a remote chance of success, and there's not going to be anything else.
This means that we have to find some way to solve this problem and isolate and neutralize the people among us who refuse to stop acting like horses' asses.
I understand how desperately, desperately we do not want to hear this, but we have to talk about it.
We have to take our fingers out of our ears and not only hear it, but understand it and act to end it.
Now, to be sure, things are a little bit better than they used to be a few years ago.
One thing about the Internet is that the character problem in the movement has become so obvious that it can't be swept under the rug anymore, and it's become impossible to enforce the old taboo.
The Internet releases our inner nut in a way that makes it impossible to pretend that the problem doesn't exist.
Back when we had only printed publications and newsletters circulating through people's mailboxes, the old fearless leaders could successfully isolate and write off most criticism by saying that they were being quote-unquote attacked and by wrapping themselves in the flag of so-called white unity, which is something that has never in fact existed, and something which, in view of the kind of people we have in the movement, probably should not exist.
There are people claiming to be white nationalists whom we don't need to be unified with, so-called comrades that we need to keep as far the hell away from as possible.
Anyway, the new rules seem to be that I can pretty much discuss the problem so long as I don't actually name names.
I don't fully understand that rule.
I think it's because if I named names, it would embarrass people among us who were taken in by these flawed groups and individuals, and who don't want to admit that they were suckered.
That may have something to do with it, but whatever.
Now, earlier on I mentioned Covington's conundrum.
The cause is so right, the people in it are so wrong.
But there's also Covington's corollary.
Just because the people are so wrong, that doesn't mean the cause is not right.
I just said I understand that I am apparently prohibited by some unwritten law from naming names or talking about specific episodes, but I'm going to partially violate that prohibition now.
I'm going to talk about one of the most shameful and disgraceful incidents that ever occurred in our wee little movement, and how I dealt with it.
I will not name names, but this story is so infamous, and it excited so much disgust at the time, even among us, that a lot of you will remember what happened, or you'll have heard the story and you'll know who I'm referring to, which bothers me not at all.
This is going to sound sickening, because it is sickening, but please, bear with me.
I assure you, there is a point to it all.
A vitally important point.
On the morning of Sunday, December 1, 1996, I stepped out of the door of my apartment in Carborough, North Carolina, in order to get my newspaper, and I almost stepped right onto a cut-out cardboard square which had been placed on my doorstep, onto which someone had basically taken a dump.
The cardboard was piled with a large deposit of what were clearly human feces.
Fortunately, I looked down in time to avoid putting my foot in it, which was clearly the intention of the individual who left it there, that I step in it.
Without going into those identifying details that are so disturbing to those among us who don't want to know, I knew immediately who had done it.
Furthermore, the individual in question was on Usenet a few hours later, laughing and cackling like a demented monkey over what he'd done, boasting about it.
You have to understand, this man, a man who was 46 or 47 years old at the time, was as proud as punch of what he'd done.
He thought it was the funniest thing in the world, and he wanted everybody in the movement to know about it and share in the joke.
Getting back to that December morning in 1996, I got rid of the feces.
And I went back inside and washed my hands in hot soapy water, and then I sat down and I poured myself a cup of coffee, and I did something that I'd done before and have done a couple of times since then, but never quite as seriously and deeply as this time.
I had a long re-examination and rethink over my entire life with a view toward trying to determine if maybe, just maybe, I was on the wrong track.
Now, bear in mind that at that time, I was only 43 years of age.
That's hitting middle age, but one of the things that America used to offer, which no other country in the world offered, was endless fresh starts.
It's not like that now, but in 1996 and at age 43, it still wasn't too late for me to try and start over.
I could find myself a job somewhere there in the research triangle, find some good old country gal with maybe a couple of young but decent kids from a previous marriage who was willing to marry me in order to get a second income and a semi-decent father for her kids.
I could set up house somewhere out in the county, maybe in a double-wide mobile home down along Orange Grove Road where my own wealthy family lives, just to embarrass the hell out of them.
Whatever.
Or I could just say fuck it all and light out for wherever I wanted to try and start over.
West Coast, New Mexico, Louisiana bayous, back to Ireland, wherever.
It was still possible.
I was still young enough.
There was still time.
But first, I knew that I had to convince myself that it was never going to get off the ground because we ourselves were never going to change, and that the whole thing was really, honest to God, hopeless.
The best evidence to that effect had been right there in front of me that morning.
I repeat that this had been done not by some snot-nosed, semi-retarded 12-year-old ringing doorbells on Halloween night, but by a man my own age, who was considered to be one of the top men in what...
Claimed with some justification to be the top group in the movement at the time.
And if this really was the best that the movement could come up with after 50 years of effort, then I had my answer.
And so I sat down and I had my long rethink, remembering everything that I'd been through since 1972, weighing all the 101 incidents like this that I had witnessed or gone through since then.
Sign after sign, hell, neon sign after neon sign, that we are completely morally unworthy as a race to live, and that we are never going to change.
I have to admit, those signs are still there in large measure.
You can see them every day on the Internet.
Outside the Northwest Front, there hasn't really been any change or improvement for the past 15 years.
Instead, almost all physical activity of any kind, even the kind required to dump feces on somebody's doorstep, has disappeared.
And we've been totally absorbed into the internet like that movie The Matrix, so to speak, except we don't have all the superpowers.
Back in 96, every ounce of logic dictated that I should proceed to shut my existing operation down with a last mail-out bulletin, change addresses to some place that the shitheads hopefully couldn't find me and leave their turds on my doorstep, and try and rebuild some kind of life for myself while I still had the chance.
I didn't, as we all know.
Instead, I ended up in Texas and then came to the Northwest.
I ended up writing four Northwest Independence novels, and I'm working on the Fifth.
Our little Northwest Republic exists at least in the world of the mind, complete with a flag and a constitution, and the same insane goat dance has gone on for the past 15 years and continues to this day.
Check around the Internet tomorrow, and if you know where to look, you will be able to find some cyber version of someone leaving his turds on my doorstep.
Well, at least cyber shit is a lot less messy to clean up than the real thing.
So why?
Why didn't I make the decision back then to get the hell out while I had the chance and never looked back?
A couple of reasons.
I've mentioned them before, but I'm going to mention them again now.
Because you're going to have to weigh these reasons when the time comes for you to go through your own dark night of the soul, as you almost certainly will, more than once as the years progress.
The first thing you have to do in order to make what I believe is the right decision is to understand that Covington's conundrum is just that.
It's a conundrum.
The cause is so right, the people in it are so wrong.
It's simply a fact of life, something that just is, and it can't be analyzed or explained any more than any other mystery of the cosmos.
This is a truth you have to accept because you can't really function if you don't.
But just because you accept a truth doesn't mean you necessarily need to understand it.
This is one of those questions like, why is there death and suffering in the world?
And why does God let bad things happen to good people while bad people always seem to win all the time?
I always laugh my head off at the Christian church's wide variety of incredibly lame answers to those questions to try and explain away one of the greatest contradictions in their religion.
There is no answer, of course, at least none that makes any sense.
Being a white nationalist and a political soldier of our race is kind of like trying to be a Christian.
You have to work out some kind of mental defense mechanism against the unpalatable fact that there seems to be something fundamentally wrong, and there just plain isn't any answer that makes sense.
Some people will go with the free will thing, some people just go with the Lord works in mysterious ways thing, whatever.
But you have to learn to take in stride the fact that most people who become involved in this thing of ours for whatever mystical, inexplicable reasons simply are not who and what they should be.
You accept it as a fact of life, just one of those things that will no doubt be explained in the fullness of cosmic time on the Judgment Day or whatever, and you drive on.
The late Pastor Bob Miles had a theory about this, which is a pretty good one, I think, if you believe in God and divine intervention.
He called it the cosmic thumb theory.
Bob believed that there is, in fact, a god or gods or a great pumpkin or whatever guiding human destiny, and he believed that this divine force had its thumb on the scale, quietly keeping us down, disorganized, disunified, and suppressed, so that we don't get our act together too soon and attack Zog while Zog is still too strong.
Charging headlong into the machine guns and into the mincing machine of the system and destroying our race's last chance because we simply did not have the patience and the discipline to wait until the time is right.
Well, I hope Bob was correct.
But even if he's not, I simply had to go with Covington's corollary.
Just because the people are so wrong, that doesn't mean the cause is not right.
I think that's the key.
We have to depersonalize all this and recognize that what we're doing has in fact very little to do with the world that exists around us, as dangerous and as revolting as that world is.
Our dedication to the 14 words has virtually nothing to do with anybody except ourselves, the dead souls of our people who have come and gone in the world, the unborn souls of those yet to come, and our own role as the connection between them.
This has nothing to do with some imbecile making nasty comments about me or anybody else on the internet.
This has nothing to do with some sick moral derelict leaving his feces on my doorstep.
This behavior is a mere symptom of our racial disease, and it's so low and peripheral that it doesn't even register on the scale of significance.
Anyone who does these things automatically takes themselves out of the game, because they've made themselves irrelevant.
They're just background noise.
Static.
We are all responsible for our own moral fiber and our own spiritual transformation and our own role in a world historical struggle and no one else's.
In other words, if you're going to quit the movement and go off and try and hide in a cabin in the woods, or in my case a double wine on Orange Grove Road, then it needs to be because you yourself have failed.
You yourself have given up because you can't cut it.
Not because some other person or group of people has so disgusted you that you leave because you simply don't want to deal with childishness and viciousness anymore.
It's like leaving the room when somebody cuts a fart.
If there's nothing going on in the room that you need to be involved in, that's one thing.
But in this case, we need to stay in the room and put up with the smell.
More simply, if anybody ever runs me out of this life, it'll be someone or something a hell of a lot more serious and powerful than a bad doggie who shits on my doorstep.
I owe that much to myself.
And you need to take the same attitude.
I know that when you see some of the nonsense that goes on, you may ask yourself, Do I really want to stay in this mess?
Is it worth it?
Well, that's not the way to phrase the question.
You should be saying, Am I going to be forced out of a way of life that I know in my heart to be right because of simple irritation at the behavior of some overgrown child?
Is it worth it to live with that kind of guilt for the rest of my life?
We claim devotion to the cause, but we refuse actually to do anything for it that involves risk and inconvenience, and that sometimes includes our refusal to put up with simple annoyances.
We have to be stronger than that.
If you can't put up with some jerk-off saying nasty things about you on a blog, or taking a dump on your doorstep, or hiring lawyers to send you silly letters, then you don't have what it takes to overthrow the most powerful tyranny in the history of mankind.
If the Northwest Movement doesn't get its act together, a hundred years from now there will be no more Caucasian people in North America, and probably only a few million left in the world, hiding in some valley in Eastern Europe, or some godforsaken village out on the Canadian tundra.
That's a hell of a price to pay for allowing ourselves to be hijacked and distracted from our duty by silly little morons.
So what do we do?
We keep on sifting the stream of toxic waste, looking for those few flecks of gold at the bottom of the pan.
We are going to have to learn to trust one another in the face of massive evidence from our past behavior that we shouldn't.
I wish I could offer some magical formula as to how this can be achieved.
I can't.
I'm just telling you that it has to be done.
We hope for the man on the white horse who will draw his saber and wave it aloft and then all our problems will vanish.
He will not come.
There is no man on a white horse and there's nothing left for the white race anywhere within democracy or any other movement outside Northwest migration and white nationalism as a whole insofar as it may lead to Northwest migration.
We have to transform ourselves into the kind of men and women our ancestors were.
And I keep asking, but Harold, what are you talking about?
We don't understand.
Well, in my Northwest novels, I attempted to show you the kind of people I'm talking about, but you don't have to rely on my books.
All that's necessary is for all of us to look back into our past, and we can see the kind of men and women that we need to be.
You know?
Those people who preceded us by hundreds and thousands of years didn't do so in a vacuum.
They left behind records.
They left behind the stories of their deeds.
They left behind their works of art.
They left behind their words.
We can hear them if we know how to listen.
I played this once before, about a year ago, and I'm going to play it again for you.
Some of you may recognize it from the opening of my novel, The Brigade.
It's the King's Speech from William Shakespeare's Henry V, and there is a reason I began the book with it.
This is the kind of men we need to be.
This is Kenneth Branagh.
Now, my fair cousin, if we are marked to die, we are enough to do our country loss.
And if to live, the fewer men have greater share of honor.
God's will, I pray thee, wish not one man more.
Rather, proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host, that he which hath no stomach to this fight, let him depart.
His passport shall be made, and crowns for convoy put into his purse.
We would not die in that man's company that fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is called the Feast of Crispian.
He that outlives this day and comes safe home will stand at tiptoe when this day is named and arouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall see this day and live old age will yearly, on the vigil, feast his neighbors and say, "Tomorrow is Saint Crispian's." Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars.
And say these wounds I had on Crispin's day.
Old men forget.
Yet all shall be forgot, but he'll remember with advantages what feats he did that day.
Then shall our names, familiar in their mouths as household words.
Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter.
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester be in their flowing cups freshly remembered.
This story shall the good man teach his son.
And Crispin Crispian shall ne 'er go by.
From this day to the ending of the world!
But we in it shall be remembered.
We few.
We happy few.
We band of brothers, for he today that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother, be he ne 'er so vile, this day shall gentle his condition.
And gentlemen in England, now abed, shall think themselves accursed they were not here, and hold their manhoods cheap, while Denny speaks that thought with us upon St. Crespin's Day!
Thank you.
Hi guys, this is Axis Sally.
Now, many of you may remember a while back when I spoke of how important prison correspondence was to me, and again, I hope all of you are writing to at least one white person in prison, whether it's about racial matters or not.
And I found someone I definitely want on my pen pal list, assuming he doesn't mind corresponding with a racist such as me.
I'll drop him a line and see how he feels.
His name is Richard James Verone, a 59-year-old white man from North Carolina who was in need of medical care that he was unable to afford after losing his job and not having medical insurance.
So he decided to rob a bank in order to obtain medical care in prison.
And he did this as nonviolently as possible.
He asked for only a dollar, and then he sat in a chair while he waited for the police to arrive.
And from what I hear, he's already been able to obtain the medical care he needed.
And I say good for him.
Good for this white man who decided to make the system work for him after the system failed him, the same system that bends over backwards to provide free medical care for undeserving illegal Mexicans.
I also see this as a sign of the impending revolution or race war or whatever you want to call it.
If this one white person can decide not to lie down and die or live a life of intolerable pain because no one thought white men were worthy of saving, maybe more of us will as well.
What if all white people decided not to just sit and take it anymore when they realized this is what America has in store for them when they get old or sick?
Now, I'm sure there was no racially conscious reason behind Verone's decision, but it's this kind of thinking that gives me hope.
We can take what is rightfully ours.
I was mentioning to a friend once that I had worked as a social worker for a few years, and she said, given your beliefs, I think that's the worst possible career choice for you.
She was a typical white liberal who just kind of looked the other way for the sake of our friendship.
Of course, back then, when I was doing that kind of work, I was not yet a racialist.
Otherwise, there's no way I could have done it.
I remember working with some of the Mexican families, and whenever they arrived at the homeless shelter or the free clinic or the rehab center or wherever I happened to be working, I noticed the staff just falling all over themselves to get them as much free stuff as possible.
If a family came in asking about food stamps, everyone would also tell them how and where to get free clothing and medical care and toys, even Christmas trees, stuff they weren't even asking for.
But if it was some elderly white man, he was just given the advice on the specific thing that had brought him to us in the first place.
And at the time, I never questioned this, but my coworkers constantly told me how important it was to make the multicultural families feel welcome, welcome in the land in which they had no right to be, and to promote cultural diversity.
Richard Verone knew he was just as deserving as these immigrant scum feel they are, and he acted accordingly.
What would happen if all white people realized this is what it will eventually come to when necessary medical care becomes unattainable for us as long as we continue to share space with the mud races?
Okay, as I mentioned earlier, this podcast is going to be a little experimental.
And one of the things that Sally and I are experimenting with is various ways that we can work together on presentations.
We're still sort of tweaking it and still sort of fooling around with it and seeing what works.
You guys give us your feedback as to what you like about the show, what you don't like.
Now, we're going to do an older piece here.
Yes, this particular anti-white hate crime did take place some years ago, but the theme, the murder of a white child, is timeless.
We have a very bad habit in the white community of forgetting the countless number of our own people, mostly women, children, and elderly people who are victimized by the black beasts of the field every year.
One of these days, I really would like to see some kind of white Holocaust monument.
We'll have one in the Northwest Republic to all of the white people who died as a result of the entire racial integration and diversity experiment.
Anyway, I'm rambling on here, but...
Nobody deserves to lose a child.
Trust me on this, I know.
Who is Kevin Shifflett?
How many names of hate crimes victims, off the top of your heads, can you name in ten seconds?
I can name several, but I didn't know Kevin Shifflett's name until last week.
It's after his life ended in a violent race crime.
The second grader's throat was slashed as he played with siblings in his front yard, and racial words were used by the attacker.
Despite his being the victim of one of the most horrible hate crimes in a decade, his name just didn't ring a bell when I heard it.
Did anyone hear about the brutal race murder of the 8-year-old in Alexandria, Virginia on CNN, MSNBC, Your Local News, or did you read about it in your local newspaper?
One would think a child killed in a racially motivated knife attack would attract the news media and civil rights leaders like maggots on dead flesh.
A child as a poster boy for opposition against racial hatred.
What a golden fundraising opportunity for Morris Dees and the Southern Poverty Law Center.
But Morris, Jesse, Mifume, and Al are working overtime to create other stories to distract us from this innocent white boy's death.
Because of Kevin's race, his funeral was avoided by civil rights leaders and activists.
They don't want to draw attention to hate crimes.
They want to create more hatred against white people, and that is as obvious as the perpetrator's race.
At the time the murder happened, all Alexandria residents knew is that a man slashed the throat of a little boy, and he was still on the loose.
They knew that the victim was white because his photo was run in the local newspaper.
Later, police artist sketches revealed that the suspect was black.
If the races were reversed, all of Europe and Canada's PC reporters would have picked up on it on AP, and at least half of the news stations and papers would have printed the story.
As it goes, because the victim was white, Only local papers reported the murder.
Nonetheless, white activists have circulated a recent story from a mainstream newspaper exposing the racial motive and subsequent cover-up.
It's safe to say that journalists and talk show hosts who read the Washington Times know about the racially motivated murder.
Still, there's nothing but a deafening silence.
I wish I could tell you if Kevin Shifflett enjoyed fishing with his father or playing soccer with his friends at the neighborhood park.
But I can't.
He has yet to be humanized by even those few brazen reporters who have dared to cover his murder.
White children are not as sacred as black males.
It's more important to protect the civil rights of black killers than it is to cherish white children.
We wouldn't want to encourage public sympathy for one who would someday have grown to be a white male.
Kevin has yet to be mourned by anyone outside of his family or circle of friends or remembered with a candlelight vigil.
No tearful kumbaya chorus led by a wise black woman.
Don't think of it.
Kevin was a mere white male, not deserving of remembrance or even a few crocodile tears from Barack Obama.
You see, the media, prosecutors, and pontificating politicians have more important people to humanize and create sympathy for than the likes of those racist white kids, as Kevin's killer called him.
For goodness sake, there is this carjacking black thug who shot a cop whose civil rights were violated.
There are two stories a day on the AP lamenting the fate of this punk criminal.
Well, Kevin Shifflett's name hasn't appeared on even one press wire.
Kevin Shifflett wasn't so noble as yet to be a cop-killing carjacker, a shoplifter killed by a chokehold after resisting arrest, or a pervert in drag hanging from a tree.
No, Kevin was a mere white male who had just returned home from school.
In broad daylight, in his own front yard, in the company of his younger brother and older sister, 29-year-old quote-unquote African-American, Gregory Devin Murphy jumped into Kevin's yard and slashed the second-grader's throat.
Murphy had concealed the knife in a paper bag as he walked through the middle-upper-class neighborhood of Delray.
Kevin's 80-year-old grandmother and a 51-year-old neighbor tried to stop the bleeding, but Kevin died on the spot, right in front of his two siblings.
At the time of the crime, the people are told, cops had no clue as to the motive.
Even after a witness stated that Kevin's killer made anti-white statements during the murder, the Alexandria Police Department acted as if they had no motive.
The top brass wouldn't release quote-unquote racially sensitive details unless they knew for sure that race was the motive.
Kevin was killed two days after a handwritten note was left in Murphy's hotel room which read, Kill them racist white kids.
Because the Alexandria police didn't share this information with the FBI, the apprehension of Kevin's killer was delayed.
No clueless white zombie knew or suspected anything until a newspaper recently exposed Kevin's black killer as a racist with a history of anti-white crime.
Murphy had a litany of violent crimes under his belt, including one against a white man who he called Whitey as he attacked him.
No hate crime charges were filed in that case.
And if they had been filed, Murphy probably wouldn't have been out on parole the time he killed Kevin, since hate crime charges bring an additional three years of prison time.
After having committed several violent assaults, including rape, assaulting police, malicious wounding, and sodomy, Gregory Devin Murphy was free as a bird.
Let's be honest, folks.
Every time we learn of a horrible race crime against a white victim, the media calls the NAACP, or the other way around, To get another race story to distract the public's attention from anti-white hate crimes.
As a result of shrewd planning and sensational poor black man stories, crimes like Kevin's murder magically find their way down the memory hole.
The anti-white establishment fear white reprisals.
This is called Europhobia.
They don't fear the not-so-laughable reality of black rage and gleefully give the public every detail of every race crime or allegation thereof as long as the perpetrator is a white man.
Make no mistake!
This is meant to elicit rage against people without pigmentation.
They don't care that 90% of all violent crime is black on white or that 63% of the murders in this country are perpetrated by the 6% of the population that is black and male.
They will never tell you that 1 million white Americans are the victims of black interracial violent crimes each year.
They prefer to harp on the average 132,000 interracial crimes against blacks and racial profiling instead.
It doesn't matter to these white-collar criminals that blacks commit 7.5 times the violent interracial crimes as whites, despite the black population being one-seventh the size of the white population.
When adjusted on a per capita basis, blacks are 50 times more likely than whites to commit violent interracial crimes.
Unless the law is applied equally, hate crimes laws are a useless civil rights tool.
In practice, they're used as a way of violating the civil rights of white people by creating longer sentences for us for the same crime, in violation of the Constitution.
Blacks are rarely profiled as race criminals, the same way whites are.
If a white woman is raped and the black attacker says, spread them legs or I'll blow your honky head off, bitch, the police and prosecutors are unlikely to publicize the slur or charge the attacker with a hate crime.
I suppose this is a way of leveling the playing field out.
Black race advocacy groups complain that they get longer sentences for the same crimes as whites, so our prosecutors give white folks longer sentences by selectively wielding hate crimes laws.
Never mind the fact that blacks get longer sentences because they are more likely to have prior records.
Jesse Jackson would rather see white children die than to have a black felon spend three more years in jail for a hate crime.
In fact, Jesse wants to give black felons the vote.
Figures.
They're his followers and the Liberals' constituency.
Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton and Kouise Mfume have white people so intimidated that they would fear for their safety if they held a rally against black rage or flew a Confederate flag outside of their home.
They have intimidated every prosecutor, police officer, and politician in the country.
It ain't about civil rights, folks.
It's about paying them white people back.
Equal rights has nothing to do with this.
This is war.
And anyone who doesn't understand this is either brainwashed, wimped out, or mentally out to lunch.
I predicted years ago that the hate crime cover-ups will extend beyond race rapes of white women and evolve into covering up hate crimes against white children.
It's happening on more of a regular basis than you think.
This has gone way too far, and it is time to face the race issue honestly.
The systematic racial intimidation against whites constitutes a federal hate crime against my entire race.
Racial intimidation silences politicians who may otherwise take action to correct the glaring issues we have before us.
Racial intimidation causes white police officers to avoid apprehending black criminals in public places for fear of rioting.
It causes white families to be internal refugees in their own country.
It cows white people into remaining silent against what they know are injustices.
It causes our press establishment to turn the other way when a white child is brutally murdered by a minority.
It causes white men to be forced out of their jobs because the Jose's of the world need a job and the boss is a racist if he hires a white guy.
It causes us to be mocked and spat upon in our own country.
The most important point I want to make is that we should never forget the Shifflett family's grief, their community's fear, and the loss Kevin's classmates and friends are feeling.
We should always remember Kevin will never have the chance again to pet his dog, win his first wrestling match, go to 7-Eleven for a Slurpee, or play baseball with his friends.
He will never kiss his parents goodnight, sit on his grandma's lap, or hug his brother and sister again.
Kevin Shifflett will never get an embarrassing pimple or experience his first love.
His brother, sister, and elderly grandma will always remember Kevin lying in the front yard with blood spurting out of his neck.
As the last time they saw him.
His parents will always remember the phone call, and wonder if they were too harsh on him the last time they punished him.
All of these people are traumatized for life.
A Kevin's community will never get a visit from the Southern Poverty Law Center's Morris Dees to explain why racism is wrong.
The Anti-Defamation League will never call the Shifflets, express sorrow, and ask them to testify to Congress for the latest hate crimes bill.
Kevin's classmates will never see the whites of the eyes of Simon Wiesenthal's teaching tolerance lecturer.
In fact, those organizations won't even list this as a hate crime.
There is only one solution.
White people must have their own homeland here in the Pacific Northwest, where white children like Kevin will be able to play and learn and grow in safety, something which can happen only in an all-white society and an all-white nation such as the one we are going to create here.
I hate crackers to the core of my goddamn heart.
You know what I'm saying?
I honestly want to feel their pain and misery.
Love to see his ass dance.
If you ain't ready to do that, you ain't ready for warfare.
Hi, guys.
This is Excess Sally.
And as you all know by now, a Florida jury acquitted Casey Anthony in the killing of her two-year-old daughter, Kaylee.
And Harold asked if I wanted to talk about it on the show.
He probably asked because he knows I'm a mother myself, and maybe he thought I'd speak volumes of a young life lost far too soon, or of a legal system that wasted the past few years rather than hanging this ugly slut from a lamppost after it was discovered she waited a month to report her child missing.
Seriously, who does that?
But really, if you think about it, there isn't anything particularly special about this case.
For decades, women have known they have the freedom to kill their children if they believe these children might one day interfere with their lifestyles.
Casey Anthony may have waited a few trimesters longer than the women whose babies lie in pieces in a medical waste dumpster, but the situation was exactly the same.
These kids were getting in the way.
Women just plain have other things to do.
So that's it!
Another white child dead, another woman who is free to live just for herself, and she won't be the last.
White women will continue to choose murder over motherhood while everyone looks the other way.
My only question is, where are all the roving packs of rioting niggers?
They who will loot and burn and overturn cars and kick newspaper boxes over the result of a basketball game are being strangely quiet over a baby killer being set free?
As I mentioned earlier, we're getting a bit experimental in this week's episode of Radio Free Northwest, and one of the experiments I'm going to be dealing with is presenting all three of the musical selections at once in a kind of showcase or theme.
The theme in this episode being the Jacobite rebellions in Britain during the 17th and 18th centuries.
Needless to say, I doubt if more than a handful of you out there have the slightest idea of what the hell I'm talking about.
So let's call this a radio version of my Weird Aryan History series.
The Jacobite cause and era is one of those historic events which is now almost completely forgotten by everybody, and yet which had the effect of shaping the modern world.
Nobody except the Scots remember it much at all.
In fact, I dare say most Englishmen these days couldn't even tell you what a Jacobite was.
And yet there was a time when the politics and economy and destiny of not just the British Isles, but all of Europe centered around the Jacobites.
Long and complex story, as short as possible.
In 1688, King James II of England, Scotland, and Ireland was overthrown by his own daughter, Mary, and her husband, William of Orange, who became joint monarchs, which at that time included the rule of the American colonies, so this affects us as well.
Ever hear of William and Mary College in Virginia?
That's the William and Mary we're talking about.
Also, Williamsburg, Prince William County, and the state of Maryland.
Maryland.
So, you see already, this Jacobite stuff left its mark on America.
And before any of you ask, Jamestown and the James River were named after James I, not the second.
Again, long and extremely complex story, as short and as simple as possible.
For the next 57 years, the Stuarts tried to regain the throne.
And those followers of the exiled Stuart Kings were called Jacobites, after Jacobus, which is Latin for James.
First it was James II himself, and then his son James III, who became known as the Old Pretender, and finally his son, Prince Charles Edward, known to history as Money Prince Charlie, who would have been Charles III if he'd won.
There were at least five armed insurrections and invasions of Scotland, England, and Ireland during this period, and all kinds of plots and intrigues and riots and spy stories and executions and so forth.
The Scots tend to portray all this as a national rebellion, but that's far from the case.
For one thing, up until 1714, the male Stuarts were actually fighting the female Stuarts, Queen Mary and later her sister Queen Anne, who was also the daughter of James II, but who were Protestants.
While King James and his second branch of the family were Roman Catholics.
For another thing, one of the major campaigns of these wars took place for two years in Ireland, and another consisted largely of an invasion of England with substantial English support.
Ireland was in fact far more permanently affected by the whole Jacobite business than anyone else.
James II himself invaded Ireland in 1690, which resulted in the Siege of Derry, if you're a Catholic, or Londonderry, if you're a Protestant.
And later on, the Battle of the Boyne on July 12, 1690.
These events more or less created the Protestant Ulster people as a nation.
To this day, they paint murals all over places like Shankill Road and Belfast saying, remember 1690.
After Queen Anne died, the only Protestant the English ruling class could find who was willing to take the job of king was a German prince named George who didn't even speak English.
He became King George I. The final and most spectacular Jacobite Rebellion was in 1745, and it was led by Bonnie Prince Charlie.
It was defeated at Culloden Moor in 1746, with the result that the entire Highland clan system and way of life was destroyed by the English, and thousands of Highlanders were forcibly deported to the Americas.
A lot of my own ancestors in North Carolina came over at this time, and a lot of the Scottish and Scots-Irish who came to this country in the 18th century, like President Andrew Jackson.
Probably would not have come to America one way or the other if it hadn't been for the Jacobite revolts, which had political and economic implications for years afterwards.
Okay, enough of the boring history crap and on to the music.
The first song I'm going to play for you here is an anti-Jacobite political song, which would have been going the rounds of the taverns and the theaters back in those days.
It's called E. Jacobites by Name, and it's sung by the Johnson family.
And it's kind of understandable if you listen closely.
The next song is called Killy Cranky, about a battle that took place in Scotland in 1689 between the first Jacobites and the forces of William and Mary, one of the few battles that the Jacobites outright won.
The problem is that in the process, they lost their best general, Sir John Graham of Claverhouse, known as Bonnie Dundee if you're a Catholic, and Bloody Claverhouse if you're a Presbyterian.
This one is sung by the Curries, and the Scots dialect in this one is so thick that you won't be able to understand a word of it, so don't bother trying.
Just assume it's a foreign language.
Good rousing tune, though.
Finally, I'll be playing a song by Scotland's most famous tenor, Kenneth McKellar, about Bonnie Prince Charlie, entitled Will You No Come Back Again?
Considering the total devastation and havoc that his rebellion wrought on Scotland, I'm amazed that any of them would want him to come back again, but apparently some of them did.
Jacobites by name, your faults I will proclaim, your doctrines I must blame, you shall hear, you shall hear, your doctrines I must blame, you shall hear.
What is right and what is wrong by the law, by the law.
What is right and what is wrong by the law.
What is right and what is wrong, my short sword or my long?
How weak are Morris' wrong for to draw, for to draw?
How weak are Morris' wrong for to draw?
He Jacobites by name will end in ear, end in ear.
He Jacobites by name will end in ear.
Ye Jacobites, find me a false, I will proclaim.
Your doctrines I must blame, you shall hear, you shall hear.
Your doctrines I must blame, you shall hear.
What makes a roach strife, aim to far, aim to far.
What makes a roach strife, aim to far.
What makes her awake strife to wet the assassin's knife?
Our haunted parents' life with bloody war, bloody war.
Our haunted parents' life with bloody war.
He Jacobites by name and end in ear, end in ear.
He Jacobites by name and end in ear.
You Jacobites by name, your thoughts I will proclaim, your doctrines I must blame, you shall hear, you shall hear, your doctrines I must blame, you shall hear.
Then let your schemes alone in the state, in the state, then let your schemes alone in the state.
Then let your schemes alone adore the rising sun, and leave a man undone to his fate, to his fate, and leave a man undone to his fate.
You Jacobites by name, your thoughts I will proclaim, your doctrines I must blame, you shall hear, you shall hear.
Your doctrines I must blame, you shall hear.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Say, can we know that we have seen what I see on the ways of very can we all?
And for the land I've brought and seen, and gave I brought my and we all, but I've had the devil and the dream of the ways of very can we all?
And ye and you are like a, you are the things that can we all?
And ye and you are like a, on the ways of very can we all?
The world has carved their way apart and way that's gathered by me all?
And I have been a, on the ways of very can we all?
And ye and you are like a, you are the ones that can say can we all?
And ye and you are like a, on the ways of very can we all?
Welcome!
Thank you.
Thank you.
Will you know come back again?
Thank you.
They trusted you, dear Charlie.
The Kent you're hiding in the glen.
Death or exile braving.
Will you know come back again?
Will you know come back again?
Better Louie Cannon.
Will you know come back again?
Sweet the labor of smoke and blind.
Lilting wildly up.
The End
The End
you I've been talking for the past three or four weeks about turning the Northwest Front into a professional party of revolution.
I still don't think I've made myself very clear as to exactly what I'm talking about, but that seems to be an occupational hazard.
Okay, time to acknowledge the big secret I think some of you have suspected for a while.
The fact is that for a long time I've been making a virtue out of a necessity with all this...
Loosey-goosey, no-organization stuff.
But I have to.
Why?
Because, quite frankly, Americans can't hack it.
What we really need in order to get a proper revolutionary movement of Northwest independence off the ground is an organized and disciplined party of highly dedicated revolutionary political soldiers, the kind of party that existed in Europe and even in this country in the 1920s and 1930s.
But I know better than to even ask that of you.
We simply don't have access to that kind of human material.
It just ain't happening, not in my wildest dreams.
And so I'm going to have to settle for the beginning of some kind of formal structure which may, in time, ease white Americans back into the concept of discipline and obedience and teamwork.
Concepts we've long since forgotten in our present Six Flags and Ronald McDonald culture.
We American white folks don't just need to recover our personal courage and integrity.
We need to recover 101 little things that made our great-grandfathers functioning revolutionaries.
Some of them, anyway.
The ability to follow simple instructions.
The ability to grasp the obvious without having explained to you, like don't send people letters with swastikas and white power slogans all over the outside of the envelope.
The ability to go into a restaurant and have a quiet meal with fellow white nationalists and not attract attention by shouting racial slurs at the top of one's lungs.
The ability to read a block of text for content.
In other words, not just read the words in a book or on paper, but to understand what they mean.
The ability to function on a daily basis in the real world without constant petty entanglements with the law.
Little things like that we need to acquire once again.
What has to happen is that the entire racially aware segment of white America, beginning with the few better and intelligent elements in the so-called movement, needs to unite behind one idea and one party.
That's Northwest migration.
Not babble about unity with 31 little groups, each with three or four members in 47 costumes between them.
What is needed is one idea, One goal and one party.
But white Americans are so far from that level of political and spiritual advancement that it's pointless my even mentioning that.
Which is why I don't.
And why some of you haven't heard me say this before.
No, I'm not contradicting myself.
I'm simply pointing out that I had to make a somewhat less than optimum choice because the best choice for how to do this simply isn't available.
We don't have the human material.
We, tiny band of rebels, who refuse to bend the knee and who battle against the darkness of democracy, are the last hope of humanity.
We, in all our childishness and our crapulence, are the last repository of the human spirit.
God, that's a terrifying thought.
But it's true.
The late Pastor Robert Miles once said that a racist is someone who knows who he is.
To be part of this band of brothers is a privilege granted by God.
You have been given the divine gift of knowing who you are, when the overwhelming number of people around you do not.
That gift should be cherished and nurtured.
Yet most of us act as if we're trying to deny and end up in a drainage ditch.
We do not have the right to live for ourselves.
We do not have the right to put our own private lives or private problems ahead of the overwhelming demands of history.
Every week, I get people sending me emails complaining about, oh, this and that and the other thing.
Oh, I saw a race-mixed couple with mulatto brats in the grocery store today, Harold.
Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.
I'm starting to email a lot of these people back now and tell them, hey, quit your bitchin'.
I've told you what to do, and if you're too chicken shit to do it, and you're still waiting around for Harold to pull a rabbit out of a hat, then you've got a long wait coming.
You all know what I want from you.
You say to yourself and to me, No, no, I can't.
The hill is too steep.
The burden is too heavy.
It is not.
You can bear it and you will, because you must.
God has given you a destiny, but you don't have to take it up.
Men and women do have free will, and you can refuse that destiny.
Or worse, you can leave it only half done.
The Jews have an odd religious tradition.
The opinion of the rabbis about their own people has never been high.
Most truly religious Jews regard other Jews about the same way I regard our absurd little movement.
But the Jews believe that in every generation there are 24 truly righteous men who, through their virtuous lives, sanctify the Jewish people, bear their sins upon their own heads, and persuade God that the Jews are worth preserving for another generation.
The Jews call these 24 righteous men "Saddiks" or "Saints." We, too, must have a few righteous men out of this whole zoo who keep us going.
They're the ones I'm looking for on this program.
I hope I'll still be around for a while, but of course, our friends in the silk suits may have something to say about that.
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, Sasha on the bond.
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