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Aug. 9, 2012 - Radio Free Nortwest - H.A. Covington
01:11:45
20120809_rfn
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Oh, then tell me, Sean O 'Farrell, tell me why you hurry so.
Hush a woogle, hush and listen, and his cheeks were all aglow.
I bear orders from the captain, get you ready quick and soon, for the pikes must be together by the rising of the moon.
By the rising of the moon, by the rising of the moon.
For the pikes must be together by the rising of the moon.
Oh, then tell me, Sean O 'Farrell, where the gathering is to be.
In the old spot, by the river, write the note to you and me.
One for four, for signal, token, whistle of the marching tune.
For your bike upon your shoulder, by the rising of the moon.
By the rising of the moon.
By the rising of the moon.
Switch your eyes upon your shoulder by the rising of the moon.
Out from many a mud wall cabin eyes were watching through the night.
Many a man they chest was throbbing for the blessed warning light.
The waters passed along the valleys like the man she's lonely crew.
And a thousand blades were flashing at the rising of the moon.
At the rising of the moon, at the rising of the moon.
And a thousand days were fleshing out, rising all the moon.
It's August the 9th, 1914.
I'm Harold Covington, and this is Radio Free Northwest.
No, that wasn't a mistake.
Ninety-eight years ago this month, in August of 1914, the white world ended in madness and war.
The similarities between the summer of 1914, the last good summer before the world's descent into hell began, and this summer of 2012 are too eerily similar for me to ignore.
We're sitting around waiting for our Sarajevo, only this time it won't be an Archduke getting plugged by some Serbian kid.
It will be a vicious and unprovoked Jewish attack on a nation powerful enough to inflict serious consequences on the Western world, and with allies who might decide it's time the arrogant assholes in Washington, D.C. and New York and Tel Aviv learned a lesson.
Hope you FBI guys who are listening to this are enjoying your summer.
It may well be the last so-called normal one for a while.
When Netanyahu launches his bombers, you boys and girls are going to find yourselves up to your nostrils in some real shit.
You might even have more important things to do than watch me and listen to Radio Free Northwest every week.
Aww.
Now, the first part of this episode of Radio Free Northwest is going to be one of the most important public addresses I've ever made, and it is extremely important that all of you wrap your minds around it, or, as the most recently evolved version of that expression seems to be, that you get your arms around it.
Indeed, it's so important that you get your arms around what I'm going to say today that I considered making this week's Radio Free Northwest a special podcast of only about 20 minutes or so, with no music, to try and emphasize just how serious and how standalone these things I'll be saying are.
But I decided not to do that.
The imbecile hecklers are right in one sense.
For the past couple of weeks, I have been kind of phoning it in.
Now, there was a reason for that, as I explained at the time, and as I demonstrated with the special Saturday podcasts.
But still, I promised you guys a proper full new episode this week, and I need to keep my promise and get back on schedule.
So...
A few weeks ago, before we started getting all these visitors, I got an email from a middle-aged gentleman with some movement track record.
It actually came through one of our YouTube channels, and the channel owner forwarded it to me.
The message reads, I'm all for people doing something positive.
That said, before something like the Pacific Northwest idea can take off, it needs to be able and willing to convince others it's making progress.
Show us PNW immigrants gathered together.
Other than HAC and Axis Sally, no one else has ever seen.
Show us who takes over as spokesperson after HAC steps down or dies.
We don't need another National Alliance fiasco once the great white leader dies.
Now, as far as the public display of all our people up here, I will assume that everyone listening to this is sufficiently intelligent to understand why we don't all get together for a group photo or to make a musical We Are the Northwest video or anything of that kind.
I understand where this comrade is coming from, and this is one reason why I try to have as many other voices on here besides mine as possible.
Not just on the show itself, but also through special podcasts and interviews of the kind that I posted during the last few weeks.
But then when he talks about my successor, something becomes clear to me, and that is that there are people who have been associated with me and who have been part of my audience for years.
And who not only claim to support the Northwest Republic wholeheartedly, but genuinely believe they do, who count themselves among my admirers and my followers, and yet, for years, they simply haven't heard a word I've said.
Now, I have to be careful here.
I have to make sure that this podcast does not turn into a rant, because most of mine do.
And if I allow that to happen today, then the general reaction for most of you will be, Hey, Harold, great rant last Thursday.
And that's not what has to happen here.
Guys, really, for sure, you have to understand this.
You gets to feel me, Holmes.
You have to grok it, internalize it, wrap your mind around it, get your arms around it, or whatever the current accepted term is for actually permanently imprinting a set of ideas and information into the pork fat that congeals between most white Americans' ears.
I also have to make sure that I don't yield to the temptation to get bogged down in petty housekeeping details.
I know sometimes I really do start to sound like Grandpa Simpson, and that can't happen here either, because I say again, it is vitally important for the sake of everybody and everything that everyone assimilates what I am saying here.
First, I'm going to explain to you how things are right now, out here in the real world, as far as the Northwest Front goes.
Then I will explain to you how things should be.
You need to listen very carefully to both parts of today's commentary.
They're both equally important.
Now, the man who wrote that email makes good point about what happened when William Pierce of the National Alliance died without appointing a successor.
Pierce's situation and mine are, of course, different in a number of respects.
First and foremost, Pierce left a multi-million dollar legacy.
It included real estate, buildings and plant, stocks and bonds.
It included several small but passively profitable mail-order and internet businesses that had customers, inventory, and a cash flow.
There was the copyrights to his books and his videos and his other written works, so forth and so on.
This was why during the last year of his life, especially the last few months, he had all of his assorted henchmen circling his deathbed like buzzards, and when Pierce died, they all swooped down to pick the carcass clean.
That doesn't apply in my case.
Now, I get a lot of people who ask the all-important question, who is my successor?
I'm sorry, I thought you knew.
You are.
And no, I'm not being evasive.
I'm not saying this to blow anybody off or to avoid the question.
I'm not being metaphysical or psychobabbling here.
I'm simply stating a hard fact.
My successor as what?
As things stand right now, in the real world, when I croak, I will leave behind only a body of written and spoken and electronically recorded words.
That's all there is to succeed to.
And you can't help but leave a lifetime of words and ideas to pretty much the whole world.
I'm not leaving my life's work to anybody.
I'm leaving it to everybody.
Including you.
Please try to understand that I am entirely serious when I say this.
You are all my successors, my heirs.
You are all entitled to partake of my legacy and do whatever you want with it, although I ask that you do me the courtesy and the respect of using it to advance the 14 words of David Lane, which is why I created it.
Here is probably the main point that you guys out there have to get your arms around.
Listen carefully.
I have now reached what is pretty much the limit of what one single man can do without substantial personal hands-on assistance by others and without substantial amounts of money.
Now, if I can somehow persuade you to provide me with both of these things, then it's possible that I can indeed become a quote-unquote leader, however you want to define that term in our contemporary context.
Given real people here at my side and not hunkered safely behind computer terminals, and given significant funding, it is possible that one day you all may indeed see me up on the picnic table in some public park, leaping from table to table with my cape flapping in the breeze and flourishing my saber aloft and leading the mob with pitchforks and torches to storm the Bastille.
Or whatever this thing is that you think I should be doing, but I'm not.
But let's be honest.
That's not going to happen, is it?
Instead, most of you are going to continue to wait with growing impatience for me to pull the magic beans from my pocket, or find the fast forward button on the tape, or otherwise trot out a finished product.
A bandwagon that you can jump on without having to put anything on the table or do any of the heavy lifting.
You are going to expect me to suddenly conjure up a crowd that you can hide in.
And when that doesn't happen, you will eventually wander away in search of other internet entertainment.
This, of course, assumes that there will still be any internet we can access in a year's time after the Jewish attack on Iran in October.
So, realistically speaking, what you're seeing now is pretty much what you'll be getting for the foreseeable future, barring any seismic realignment of the white American character, and again, assuming that at least some of this will survive Benjamin Netanyahu's suicide bombing of Iran in a couple of months.
Which, of course, we can't predict.
True, that may not happen.
At least part of the world's power elite, including a lot of genuine Israel supporters, do seem to understand that Netanyahu has gone cuckoo for cocoa puffs, and he's playing a potentially catastrophic game of chicken with the Persians, and some of them seem to be trying to restrain him and persuade him to let the Iranians have a few nuclear power plants.
But we won't worry about that for the time being.
Oh, there are still some things that I can do to buff up the product and step up the game a little.
Barring arrest or stroke, I should have the final Northwest novel, Freedom Sons, finished by the end of the year.
And if I'm still functioning by February or March of next year, and if Israel hasn't destroyed the world, and if a re-elected Obama hasn't sent the droids after me, we'll work on getting the whole novel published in one big volume, which is a major project, and that's going to require some checks with some zeros on them.
I will continue to do what I can to improve the technical quality and the content of Radio Free Northwest and my YouTube videos, and maybe this spring or next summer I can find the time and money to try and spiff up Northwest Observer.
Maybe even go for a tabloid.
Who knows?
But all of this will be just gilding the basic lily.
The Northwest idea will be pretty much fully formed.
You guys will have the novels, and you'll have the draft constitution, and you'll have just about every conceivable commentary I can make on the subject, up and down and backwards and forwards.
Let me run this down for you again.
The Northwest Front is not an organization.
It is an organism.
There are no members.
There are no application forms.
There is no hierarchy.
There are no chief cooks and bottle washers.
I am not El Supremo.
I am not the Sultan of SWAT.
I am not the Emperor of the North.
I'm just Harold.
The Northwest American Republic is an idea.
It is a hope.
It is a longing that we must make the central fact of our lives.
As an idea, the Northwest American Republic is invincible.
The FBI cannot infiltrate an idea.
The FBI cannot surround an idea with stool pigeons and informers and give it a fake suicide bomb vest with inert charges so that they can have a corrupt judge sentence it to 25 years.
The FBI cannot fabricate audio tapes of an idea allegedly trying to hire a hitman and then have a corrupt judge refuse to allow defense witnesses to testify that the tapes are fraudulent.
The FBI can shoot down a woman holding her baby in the doorway of their home.
But they cannot shoot down an idea.
The FBI can burn children alive in their homes, but they cannot burn an idea.
The FBI can rip white children from the arms of their parents forever, but they cannot rip the hope and the longing for freedom from the human heart.
The Northwest American Republic lives now in hundreds of hearts.
Soon it will live in thousands of hearts, and eventually in millions.
And what lives in the heart of so many people can never be destroyed.
We refer to ourselves as the party, but that's because we need some kind of label that's a little more concise than this thing of ours.
And besides, the mafia already has dibs on that one.
We are a fellowship, but instead of the ring, we're a fellowship of the idea.
To my deep disappointment, I'm not leaving you guys any kind of revolutionary party, because apparently white Americans are no longer capable of creating and maintaining one.
We lack the strength of character and the strength of will to do so.
We lack the ability to focus on a long and highly complicated task like that, often lasting a lifetime.
Our ancestors had that ability, some of them anyway, but we no longer do, for reasons I've discussed on this show at some length.
I can't leave you a house, but I can and I will try and leave you all the lumber and bricks and cement and hammers and nails and the electrical wiring and the plumbing supplies necessary to build the house yourself, should you ever choose to do so.
Plus, I'm leaving you the blueprints.
I am, in fact, leaving you everything you need to secure the existence of our people, should you ever decide to do so.
Now, you know that world that you read about in my Northwest novels, including that Finnish Northwest Republic I speak of in The Hill of the Ravens and Freedom's Sons?
You can have it any time you want, but I can't just give it to you.
You're going to have to build it and then wrestle it away from the beast yourselves.
I can give you knowledge, but I cannot give you courage.
I can tell you what you have to do.
But I cannot give you the strength of will to do it.
You will either find that courage and that strength within yourselves, or you won't.
As I said, I've now done pretty much all I can with no help and no money.
And until that changes, I'm just going to have to see how it plays out.
I know that many of you probably would help if I could somehow convince you that there was, in fact, a chance.
If I could somehow get you to see in your own minds and hearts what I've always seen so clearly in mine.
The simple fact is that the overwhelming majority of you are convinced that it's all hopeless, and that's why you do nothing.
You don't believe that anything one man can do will ever matter.
Well, yes, it can.
And I hope that when all is said and done, my own life proves that.
But I'm not the one who needs convincing.
I know I've come at this from all kinds of different angles in the past, and I really don't know how else I can come at this except that old saw about doing what we do because it is right.
If nothing that we do matters, then all that matters is what we do.
Heroes aren't heroes because they fight and overcome incredible odds.
They become heroes when they refuse to accept the world as it is.
I need you to be a hero.
Okay, first music break.
I need to get a little Grandpa Simpson-ish here, but there is a point to it.
When I was young, we were all space mad.
Among the first books I ever read were science fiction novels of the pulp kind.
Robert A. Heinlein, Brian Aldis.
Arthur C. Clarke, Andre Norton, Alan E. Norse.
My father had a couple of huge cardboard boxes of those in the basement from the 50s and the 60s, including a lot of those famous 50-cent Ace Doubles that would be worth a fortune to collectors on eBay if I had them now.
Plus, all the movies and TV shows like Lost in Space.
Until the original Star Trek in 1966 began the corruption of science fiction with political correctness, and sci-fi began its transmutation into a propaganda wing of the liberal agenda.
But there was also the actual, real space program itself.
I vaguely remember all the furor at the beginning of the space age with the first Sputnik in 1957 when everybody thought the Russians were going to be dropping A-bombs on us from outer space.
I remember it insofar as a man my age can remember much from when he was four years old.
In May of 1961, I most certainly do remember my whole second grade class dropping everything while our teacher let us listen to Alan Shepard's first Mercury flight.
You have to understand, as I've said before on this program, that when I was growing up, it was still a white world, and kids of my generation had every reason to expect that the space program would continue on and on and we'd have a moon colony by 1975 and be on Mars by 1980.
There were those among us who seriously expected to live most of our lives on other planets, and at that time, that didn't seem so unreasonable.
Then political correctness took power.
All the money had to go to niggers and Mexicans and bailing out banks and bribing Democrat constituencies.
And the space program fizzled until, finally, Obama put an end to it a couple of years ago.
That Mars probe that landed a couple of days ago was launched, what, 18 months before?
And it is probably the last one that will ever launch to another planet, at least as long as we continue to be ruled by niggers.
The only excuse for space shots now is to launch more satellites to carry stupid cell phone calls and texts and help Obama spy on more people.
And the only effective robots are the armed drones that Obama uses to murder his political enemies and internet critics.
Of all the things that this evil society has ever done to me personally, depriving me and a whole generation of kids like me of that vision and that hope is...
Probably the one thing that I can least forgive them.
Anyway, in 1962, they launched a satellite called Telstar, the first communications satellite that transmitted live, real-time television and radio signals.
And I remember that summer seeing Walter Cronkite doing the first world newscast.
Nowadays, we think nothing of satellite communications, but you need to understand how incredible this was to the whole world back then.
Like we were glimpsing the beginning of a new age.
Which, of course, we were, it's just that we didn't know that the new age would have Barry's baby-shit brown face on it as its main feature.
Anyway, this was a number one radio hit back in 1962.
For a month or so, I swear, they played it at least once every hour.
It's called Telstar.
Telstar.
guitar solo
guitar solo Thank you.
I've told you how things are right now with the Northwest Front, all nice and loosey-goosey, with no formal organization, no obligation, no formal dues, no discipline, no membership cards, no membership, no fearless leader, and so on.
I've told you how we're coalescing around an idea and not a man, so forth and so on.
All of it perfectly true, as far as it goes.
Now, a lot of you have made it clear that you like it like that.
You like it with no pressure, no activity reports to file every month, no nasty letters from a membership secretary wanting to know where the hell your dues are for the past three months, no demands that you actually do anything other than me ranting and raving on here every week, of course.
All nice and laid back, and maybe you'll mosey out to the homeland someday once the heavy lifting is done and the picnic tables are set up, and maybe you won't.
Depends on what's on TV tonight.
Now look.
Don't get me wrong.
The loosey-goosey approach does, in fact, have a lot to recommend it at this point in time.
Mainly, pure survival.
We're not giving the enemy much of a target to focus on, other than me and my computer.
And if I've done my job properly, ten years and five Northwest novels along, even if they kick in my door in the next five minutes, we should be able to survive them taking me out when the FBI fabricates some ridiculous charge that I was square dancing in a roundhouse or whatever.
I meant what I was saying about the FBI being unable to infiltrate an idea, unable to fabricate perjured evidence against an idea, and unable to lock up an idea in prison.
No secret police force in history has ever been able to lock up or murder an idea.
And now in the Northwest, they've left it too long.
The idea of white freedom in a homeland of our own exists.
I've shown you the cover of the box, and you know what the puzzle is supposed to look like when it's put together.
Now, that was always my task.
The idea's got legs now.
The cat's out of the bag.
The United States government is unable to silence our idea by force, and right now that's what we need.
It may be what saves the Northwest Republic yet, the fact that from the enemy's viewpoint, the target is now impossible to hit.
Now, if the NF was a formal National Alliance-style organization with a big 330-acre compound out in the wilds of Idaho someplace, And if we owned cars and buses and tractors and huge inventories of books and CDs and warehouses and all kinds of other big-ticket items,
if we had formal membership and formal dues and membership cards and a rank structure, the FBI could turn into a so-called conspiracy with their silly little flowcharts like they tried to do at Fort Smith, so forth and so on, then the NF could be infiltrated and destroyed from within quite easily, or else wiped out through the abuse of civil litigation.
The compound in any land or buildings or other real assets that the organization had would be a magnet for Morris D.'s lawsuits and federal asset seizure laws.
Morris never sues unless there's some kind of real estate he can seize as a trophy to wave before his black and Jewish and left-wing financial donors, some poor Klansman's double-wide or something like that.
Look, see what we did to the horrible, wicked racist?
Now send us all your money so we can keep on using the law to do harm to people that you hate and that you don't want to exist.
Dease uses these vicious lawsuits not only to deny Americans their constitutional rights on racial grounds, but more importantly to him as fundraising vehicles for his multi-million dollar racket down there in Montgomery.
Dease and Potok have to have a visible trophy, and we're denying them one.
Of course, nowadays, the government is just as likely to steal a political dissident's home as Morris Dees is.
A loosey-goosey is one way of dealing with these problems, and given our present state of weakness and demoralization, as well as the looming federal surveillance state, complete with telescreens and assassination drones, it's probably the only way to survive.
For now.
But, all that having been said, And here's where it starts to get disturbing for some of you.
The fact is that what helps a political movement survive its early years isn't necessarily what will help us win.
Sorry guys, we're not getting off the hook.
At some point, we're going to have to confront and deal with the central issue of our own atrocious character.
And at some point, we're going to have to change that character through a conscious decision that, for the good of all, we just ain't going to do all that goo-boo shit no more.
We're not getting off the hook on that.
There's no way to wiggle out of it.
God won't let us off that hook.
We are going to be compelled to use our minds and our wills in a conscious effort to change who and what we are.
We're going to have to use our inner strength that we all have within us to format our mental and spiritual hard drives and reinstall a new operating system if you want to use computer lingo.
We're going to have to become different people from who we are now.
Throwbacks to an earlier age and an earlier genetic prototype.
We are going to have to become men and women that our great-grandparents would have recognized.
We must cease to be Americans.
And in our minds, in our character at least, become once again the self-disciplined and dedicated Europeans of the early 20th century.
At some point in the future, in my opinion, as soon as we can manage it, we have to stop all this loosey-goosey American crap and become genuine political soldiers, because nothing else will do.
Revolutions are not won by loosey-goosey people who just wander in and out at will.
They're won by soldiers who not only know how to fight, but how to fight as a team.
By men and women who obey orders and who have laid aside any thought for themselves, their personal concerns.
In other words, the polar opposite of Americans.
In the latest edition of the Northwest Observer, I reprinted a document from 1869 called The Revolutionary Catechism by a Russian anarchist named Sergei Necheyev.
I won't attempt to read it out loud on here, because 19th century prose translated from a foreign language doesn't read well to 21st century Americans.
But I recommend that you all study that piece very carefully.
Forget the fact that Necheyev was a Red, and try to understand what he's saying, and you'll begin to get a picture of what I have in mind for us.
The main problem, as I've said often enough before, is of course that 21st century American white boys are not early 20th century Europeans.
They are incapable of comporting themselves in any kind of self-disciplined or non-self-interested manner.
And as many of you have told me flat out, I'm being a damn fool and wasting my life waiting for white people to change.
We're all total wastes of rations, and we're all pollution in the gene pool, and the white race is doomed, doomed, doomed, I tell ya!
We're all doomed.
And of course, if we're all doomed, then there's no real reason to undergo any risk or inconvenience trying to change anything, right?
We can crack a brew, settle down on that sofa, and pick up that remote with a clear conscience.
Well, I could sit here, and once again, Pound my fist on the table and make the microphone jump and holler at you about how this shit has got to stop!
But let's be honest, we know it's not going to stop, don't we?
This is where it gets hard for me.
After 40 years, I'm having to come to grips with the fact that, most likely, we're not going to change.
And you people are never going to actually do anything at all besides bitch and moan.
Now, most fearless leaders hit this point a lot earlier than I have, and that's when they start turning their racial work into a business, aiming at that big retirement estate out in the boondocks, or else they just start playing it for laughs.
And I never have, possibly because I have in fact lived in other countries, including three white-controlled societies that no longer exist.
And so I know that it can be done.
I've seen it.
I've lived it.
But we won't get into all that here.
That's not a matter of belief on my part.
It's a matter of knowledge.
I don't just believe that victory in change is possible.
I know it is.
Because I know that while even a small handful of us live, our race is capable of anything.
Anything at all.
So now, I'm going to describe to you what we can do and what we must do.
In order to bring down the beast and secure the existence of our people and a future for white children.
It really isn't all that hard.
It'll require a lot of effort, yes, but not an overwhelming effort, because it only involves dealing with a fairly small number of people.
It is very easily capable of implementation.
There is no question, none at all, that we can do this.
As always, It's a question of whether we will do it.
The first thing you have to understand is that contrary to what a certain idiot Jew heckler once claimed, I am not the last of my kind.
I am not the only one who still carries the alpha gene or the extra Y chromosome or whatever it is that enables white people, especially white males, to act instead of just moo and consume and fart like cattle.
I'm not just being optimistic here, I know this, because I know some other men and even a few women who still have that gene, or character trait, or mental circuit board, or whatever the hell it is, and I admit that I don't know exactly.
It's whatever made those pioneers 150 years ago load up all their worldly possessions into the Conestoga wagons and start walking westward, while most of the population stayed home back east.
Whatever it is, it's still around, possibly latent in a lot more people than we may think.
But it's been suppressed and deformed and paralyzed by 70 years of Jewish social engineering and possibly genetically damaged by the past 40 years of pollution in industrially manufactured food that Americans eat.
One reason why Europeans are still sharper than us to this day may be that they eat a lot better and a more organic diet.
I've said that I know some people who still have this alpha gene, but there's a problem.
Almost all of them are my age or older and sometimes in even worse health.
We cannot create our own country with a bunch of geriatrics hobbling against the police lines in our wheelchairs and walkers.
Revolution is a task for the young.
So, what we have to do is locate, identify, contact, and motivate.
The small remaining number of young white people who still have the old Aryan alpha gene.
There is a name for these people.
Atavisms.
They are genetic throwbacks to an earlier version of a given species, and every species undergoing evolution or deterioration has them.
Just as some nigger babies are still born with rudimentary tails, Some white babies are still born with the old conqueror gene that set the longships sailing and the Conestoga wagons rolling.
Somehow or other, during their childhood, the Jewish and democratic social engineering program designed to neutralize and suppress that gene and turn them into herd animals misfires.
They reach adolescence and then adulthood with that part of their genetic heritage intact.
And I can tell you from personal experience, that's no fun.
Most of these kids simply destroy themselves in some way or other, ending up dead or in prison or with their brains burned out on drugs or else lost in a fantasy web of video games with their minds cut loose from reality and drifting away to God knows where.
That is the process we have to interrupt.
We have to find these kids, bring them to us, force their noses down into a Northwest novel somehow, and strike a spark that once again fires up that alpha gene.
That's what we have to concentrate on doing.
We must finally, and for all time, give up the idea that there will ever be some kind of Weimar Germany-style mass movement with thousands of people marching down the street.
Not gonna happen.
White Americans are no longer capable of responding like that to anything or anyone.
And if the Fuhrer himself were alive today, he couldn't do it.
American white boys sit at home and watch it on TV or play it on their computer screens.
That's who we are now, and it's what we do.
Once we accept that a mass movement ain't gonna happen, once we no longer have to worry about persuading dumbasses of anything, you'll be amazed at how much simpler and more easy to manage our task becomes, not to mention less frustrating.
I've often thought that the worst frustration and burnout in our movement comes not from the threat of job loss or FBI fabrication, but from the incredible frustration of trying year in and year out to persuade and convert people who are inherently incapable of understanding what we are saying from the get-go.
We're trying to describe color to the blind.
Of course we go mad trying to do what can't be done.
We must find and identify a few thousand of these younger people who still have a functioning alpha gene.
It's hard to spot, but there are ways I'll get into with you all later.
We must then bring these alpha gene carriers here to the Northwest homeland.
This will not be easy.
Just because these targeted individuals will still have functioning alpha genes, that doesn't mean that they're not going to be badly damaged from their lifelong environment.
We will probably get just as much bullshit resistance from our alphas as we do from the dumbasses of the herd.
That's going to be the hardest part of the job, turning that alpha gene away from self-destruction and onto the path of racial idealism to the point where these younger people are willing to give up what they have.
And that's damn near impossible with any American.
That's the part we can't screw up.
The number of these special young people is very limited.
We can't afford to lose even one.
It's true that every dictate of racial duty, of self-interest, and of just plain logic demands that our people come here.
But to someone raised in 21st century America, mere logic isn't going to have much sway over decisions.
Remember, we're dealing with people who have been engineered to feel rather than to think.
And even from the alphas, we're going to get a lot of this, You ain't the boss of me.
Once we get them here, we must get them functional in society, and we must form them into some kind of working formation, pulling together for the common goal of Northwest independence.
This is where loosey-goosey has to end, and discipline and organization has to begin.
Once we have accumulated a pool of white people who are different.
Who were born and raised in America, but who are not Americans, if you get my drift.
Genetic throwbacks to an earlier white genotype.
This is the point where the Northwest volunteers I've spoken of on this podcast and in the white book come into play.
Our first political soldiers, comprised of that tiny fraction of the remaining white population which remains uncontaminated and which is still capable of self-discipline, And the voluntary renunciation of the self for the common good.
The tiny minority of only a thousand people, maybe a few thousand if we're lucky, who will make history.
And that's how history is always made.
By tiny, active minorities.
Never by huge masses of people.
Okay, I think we better take the second music break before I really go off on a rant here.
Earlier, I played a piece of space music, or spacey music if you prefer, from 1962.
Now, for no particular reason other than I feel like it, I'm going to play you a musical historical curiosity item.
Not especially racially significant.
In fact, this one is even produced by a Jew.
But this is the first commercial rock or pop or other music number to hit the charts that was performed solely by electronic feedback on one of the early Moog synthesizers.
And although it's completely forgotten today, back in the day, this was really hot stuff.
Top of the charts, and everybody was just excited as hell about it.
Another glimpse of that wonderful future we thought we still had.
I was in the process of getting my first dose of niggers at Chapel Hill High School when this came out, and after a year of that, I'd already figured out that the future wasn't going to be what it was cracked up to be.
I mean, you can hardly have a moon colony or a space station with a bunch of monkeys running around going booga booga booga.
But still, this caught everyone's imagination.
I even bought it on.45.
From 1969, this is the Minotaur.
In the vacuum of space.
The alleged assassin was a man named Larry Fairfax.
Fairfax was an FBI informer who had previously been inserted into Steele's home by the Bureau in order to spy on the Steele family, where in addition to plotting perjury with his federal handlers, Fairfax proceeded to help himself to large stashes of gold and silver that the Steele's were keeping on their property.
At the basis of Edgar Steele's conviction were audio files fabricated by FBI technicians, alleged discussions between himself and Fairfax, which appeared even to a layman on first hearing to have been doctored.
At Steele's trial, two international audio engineering experts, who were prepared to testify that the tapes were fraudulent, were barred from testifying by a corrupt judge.
The jury was never allowed to hear evidence which clearly proved Steele's innocence.
The situation wasn't helped by the fact that Steele's first attorney, a federal public defender, was a raging alcoholic who at the time was being sued by two members of his own legal staff for various acts of misconduct.
And Steele's second defense attorney, on whom he and his wife Cindy expended most of their life savings, turned out to be facing disbarment for embezzling his client's money, and was in fact disbarred only weeks after Steele's conviction.
It's thought that that conviction may have played some part in preventing the crooked attorney himself from serving a prison sentence.
And needless to say, the attorney's own perilous legal situation was never explained either to Ed or Cindy Steele while the trial was going on.
As icing on the cake, I've spoken to persons present in the courtroom during the trial who told me that Ed Steele quote-unquote looked like a zombie, confused and disoriented, and he seemed completely incoherent and disconnected from what was going on around him.
The consensus of opinion was that Steele was drugged on orders from someone in the federal government to make sure that he was incapable of assisting in his own defense or even understanding what was happening to him.
The federal government of the United States did this to Edgar Steele in order to silence him.
I don't know why.
I have this horrible suspicion that the whole ghastly business may simply have been some kind of grotesque experiment on the part of the FBI just to see how far they could go and how much they could get away with in arresting and destroying critics of the regime.
I intend to make sure that they fail in their quest to silence Edgar J. Steele.
I've held off from doing this up until now to make absolutely sure that the trial is over and that Steele is going to die in prison, which is now the case.
He is being held, more or less incommunicado, in the Victorville facility, which is well known throughout the federal system as a kind of toilet where human beings are flushed away.
Among other things, the water supply in the prison is known to be contaminated with carcinogens and toxic waste, which facilitates the decline in health of those federal prisoners whom the government wishes to hear no more of.
Victorville is notorious as an end-of-the-line destination.
Once there, no one is ever transferred out.
Once the gates clang shut there, no one leaves except in a body bag.
It's time that Edgar Steel's voice was once again heard in the land.
If for no other reason than because the FBI and the Obama regime do not want you to hear it.
This recording is from 2005.
My name is Edgar J. Steele, and the following article of mine entitled, If You See Black, Don't Go Back, was released on February 27, 2005.
Enough.
I'm ready to shoot my TV.
Honestly.
But for my family, I would cancel my satellite subscription, basic package only, outright, and I would live off hand-selected DVDs.
The commercials are bad enough.
Intolerable, in fact.
Perhaps because I catch only the occasional network show, the frequency of commercials seems more overwhelming to me than most.
Rent some old TV shows on DVD and see how long the one-hour shows were just 20 years ago.
About 53 minutes, incidentally.
Versus today, about 40 minutes.
Now that's why there are no half-hour shows anymore.
There simply isn't enough time for more than a page or two of lines once the commercials take their ever-increasing pound of airwaves.
But that isn't the worst of it.
That isn't why I've had it.
Let me explain.
Picture, if you will, the Glorp race.
Residents of the star system some 987 light-years from Earth.
The Glorps finally construct a device to decode the television signals leaving Earth today.
The Glorps of the distant future would be forced to conclude that Earth is a multicultural paradise, with two races living in blissful harmony.
The leaders are drawn from the Jewish race, which makes up about 50% of Earth's population based upon the percentage of views visible on television in all public walks of life.
The Glorps would see that virtually everybody else of any consequence is black, of course, with those blacks holding the most prestigious positions.
After all, today's movies all have black generals and presidents and heroes of every stripe.
But the Glorps would see another race, too, because the villains always are vapid and ruthless whites.
In fact, Glorps might well wonder why Earth's whites have been allowed to live, given that we seem to be nothing but a drain upon society.
Incidentally, though we all know that TV does not reflect reality in many respects, whites are being exterminated, just in case you truly hadn't noticed.
And Jews are running things.
The one thing so dreadfully different from TV, of course, is the black reality.
TV blacks are smart, friendly, athletic, beautiful, with those never-mentioned white cast genes ever present, retiring, wise, helpful, and in charge.
Of course, in real life, blacks tend to be stupid, hostile, lazy, fat, mean, demanding, and in jail.
Oh, give me a break.
Don't even begin to try to tell me that it isn't true.
I really have no patience left for white people who deny the reality surrounding us all.
And it has nothing to do with racial equality either.
Otherwise, where on TV and in the movies are all the beautiful, wise, and worldly Chinese, East Indians, Japanese, Russians, Serbs, Arabs, Eskimos, American Indians, and so on.
Why does affirmative action in the media always excessively favor just blacks?
And why do Jews seem never to have to give ground, leaving that chore to the other white meat, us?
Those are questions for another day, though you might want to ponder them in the meantime for extra credit.
I just watched a first-run movie on the SyFy channel, Alien Siege.
Standard plotline, aliens come, aliens harvest people.
Aliens get beaten back.
What also has become standard fare these days, the general of the American forces was an attractive, wise, and understanding older black man.
The leader of the underground resistance was an attractive, wise, and understanding younger black man.
The villains and the stupid people, including the aliens, were all white, of course.
That's the way it is with the sci-fi channel now, you know.
I started watching their 4400 series, then turned it off in disgust when it became clear early on that the female blonde lead was on the make for black guys, one of whom appeared to be the prime male lead.
I give up on the sci-fi channel.
I simply had it.
I have a new motto now.
If I see black, I don't go back.
Sci-Fi Channel can depend upon its black viewership for support from now on, so far as I'm concerned.
The commercials came hot and heavy during the movie, of course.
I was most struck by Burger King's commercials, which presented a musical cast overwhelmingly composed of black cowboys, black women, and several beautiful blonde white women.
In fact, I noticed that not one single TV commercial these days gets by without a significant black presence.
usually anywhere from one-third to one-half the participants.
No more Burger King for the Steel household, folks.
If I see black, I don't go back.
Let them make it on their black clientele, which is what seems most important to Burger King.
In fact, I'm making it my personal mission in life now, regarding all things I see advertised.
If I see black, I don't go back.
No, it won't make much of a difference, but if you join too, it will begin to sting.
We wouldn't have minded, would we, if they had kept it proportional?
We wouldn't have minded seeing 12% blacks in commercials and movies.
We wouldn't have minded seeing a little over-representation in management and professional roles either.
But this has gotten totally out of hand.
I am particularly offended by the media's portrayal of white women with black men.
Now I want to see it the way it used to be.
All white.
That's what it will take to win me back.
Until then, I won't watch and I won't play and I won't pay.
Get your black viewership to support you for a change.
I gave up watching sports on television long ago.
Just ten black guys running up and down the floor, or field, or whatever.
Now put it in proper context, with a lion chasing them through the jungle, and I might just start watching again.
But to watch these grotesquely overpaid drug addicts, sex criminals, and intellectual midgets bounce a ball and make with giant hip-hop anti-white behavior?
No thanks.
Let their team owners and sponsors be supported by their black fans.
And the news?
I used to read a number of newspapers and magazines every day, as well as watch CNN non-stop.
I never missed the nightly network news.
I stopped all that, though.
Coincidentally, it was at about the same time that blacks started being force-fed to us via those venues as well.
I stopped because I got sick of getting nothing but lies and the party line.
But it's of a piece, isn't it?
All those blacks in unlikely poses and improbable positions simply are a part of the massive media lying that began in the 60s and really picked up steam in the 80s.
Join me, won't you?
Boycott products advertised with black actors and models.
Make a statement.
If you see black, don't go back.
Boycott TV shows and movies with black actors.
Send the message that we are fed up.
If we see black, we don't go back.
Cancel your subscriptions to newspapers and magazines that push black articles, columnists, and advertisements into your face.
There are plenty available that don't.
Not coincidentally, those that don't promote blacks are the same ones that actually tell the truth about other things, too.
Tell them when you cancel, if we see black, we don't go back.
Say it again, if we see black, we don't go back.
Say it again, louder, if we see black, we don't go back.
Blacks demand that other blacks support blacks, and that is commended.
Jews demand that everybody else support Jews, and they get away with it.
Now we're not demanding what's theirs.
We're demanding only what is ours.
We demand the right to be able to support white people.
It's all right to be white, after all.
Another catchy phrase, that one.
It's all right to be white.
Get this, once and for all.
It is not racist to support your own race.
New America.
An idea whose time has come.
As everybody knows, I like to start off my articles with a series of quotations, and it seems a shame to leave them off on these recordings, so I think I'll start adding them at the end of each one.
For this particular article, I had several in a row because I particularly wanted to deliver a message.
The first one was, Keep bashing the dead white males, and the live ones, and the females too!
Until the social construct known as the white race is destroyed.
Not deconstructed, but destroyed.
That was by a Noel Ignatiev, a Jewish Harvard professor and editor of Race Trader magazine, made to the Washington Times in 2002.
Here's the next quote.
The white race is the cancer of human history.
That was by Susan Sontag.
The much-celebrated Jewish intellectual whose recent passing was lamented loudly in Jewish circles.
Quote number three.
I don't care about your idiot children.
Now that was from Willie Brown, mayor of San Francisco, and he was speaking to a white parent who had been complaining that affirmative action would penalize his children.
It was quoted in the Social Contract in the summer of 1998.
Quote number four.
It's always illegitimate for white men to organize as white men.
That was written by William Raspberry, a black columnist, in Dubiously Exclusive, his column in the Washington Post in November 1995.
Next quote.
Question.
What kind of a world do you want to leave to your children?
Answer.
A world in which there aren't any white people.
That was given by Leonard Jeffries, chairman of the African American Studies Department of the City College of New York, when he was interviewed by Rutherford Magazine in May of 1995.
Now here's my favorite one.
You guys have been practicing discrimination for years.
Now it is our turn.
And I just love this one.
That was said by Black Supreme Court Justice Thurgood Marshall.
In a conversation with Justice William Douglas about racial preferences.
He was quoted by William O. Douglas in his book The Court Years, 1939-1975, published in 1980.
Now here's a side note that isn't in the original article, but Marshall is the fellow who authored the court opinion which held that cross-burning could be outlawed by states.
This is the same decision that I signed an amicus brief arguing against the position they took, saying that a cross-burning, or actually cross-lighting, the proper term, was merely a form of demonstrative speech, such as burning a flag, burning your draft card, burning your bra, that sort of thing.
And Justice Thurgood Marshall, who had said, Now it's our turn to practice discrimination is the fella that said you can't light crosses because that's going to be illegal as being hate speech, as being a hate crime, in fact.
Well, looks to me like he made good on his promise to William Douglas some 25 years ago.
Thanks for listening.
Several weeks ago, I concluded Radio Free Northwest with a reading from my Weird Aryan History series.
That particular chapter was on the siege of the Alcazar in 1936, wherein I described the resistance of the Spanish nationalists against the communist government out of Madrid during the first couple of months of the Spanish Civil War.
Part of the garrison of the Alcazar were Spanish phalangists, fascists led by the national hero Primo de Rivera, who was murdered by the communists at the beginning of the war.
This is the phalangist anthem, Cara al Sol, which means face to the sun.
And unlike most so-called fascist and national socialist anthems, you can actually still hear this played on the radio and whatnot in Spain to this day.
The End Hoy
parejo con mis compañeros que hacen guardia sobre los muros, infacible la demanda y están presentes en nuestra paz.
Si te dije que salí, te fui al puesto que tengo aquí.
Hoy me dan banderas victoriosas al paso leje de la paz y te dan benditas y con rosas las flechas de mi pan.
Hoy me dan banderas victoriosas al paso leje de la paz.
The Zulus refused to lay down their arms and accept British rule.
For three generations, the Zulus had been the head niggers in charge of that neck of the woods due to the impi, or regimental military system, devised by their old king Shaka.
who was in turn taught about military tactics and strategy by an alcoholic veteran of Napoleon's army whom he had met at a mission station in the 1820s.
For sixty years the Zulu had terrorized all the other Kafirs and become the rulers of most of Natal province.
The British commander, Lord Chelmsford, despite having abundant military intelligence on the Zulu, had a misconceived idea of the fighting prowess of his enemy.
To give them their due, these were probably the most genuinely badass niggers in history.
The result was that on the 22nd of January, a British force of 1,700 strong was attacked and only some 80 white men survived at a place called Isanluana.
Prince Dabulamanze Kamapande commanded an impi, the Undi Corps, of about 4,500 men.
His men had played little part in the action at Isanluana.
Goaded on by his warriors who sought loot and glory, and despite the orders of his brother, King Quechuaio, not to cross the Buffalo River into Natal, he chose to attack the British supply base close to a river crossing known as Rourke's Drift, which the Zulu called Quajimu.
The post was established in a trading store and mission station that consisted of a dwelling house and a chapel, both sturdily built of stone.
The house was also doing temporary duty as a field hospital.
The chapel was full of stores, and there were only 104 men who were fit enough to fight.
A command of the post had passed to Lieutenant Chard of the Royal Engineers.
Commanding a company-strength detachment was Lieutenant Gunville Bromhead of the 24th Regiment.
James Langley Dalton, a volunteer serving as an acting assistant commissary and a former staff sergeant, ordered the construction of barricades connecting the two buildings with sacks of corn and an inner barricade built with biscuit boxes.
When the Zulus attacked with their Asagais, which were short stabbing spears that their national founder Shaka had based on Roman short swords described to him by the drunken old Frenchman, they were unable to reach the men behind the barricades and they were blasted by rifle fire at point-blank range.
Most of those who did mount the breastwork were repulsed by the bayonets of the defenders.
Some of the Zulus were armed with rifles purchased from unscrupulous traders or else captured at Isan Luana.
But they were not trained marksmen, and the British soldiers were able to pick them off at long range.
After a number of unsuccessful attacks, the Zulus set fire to the hospital.
They burst in and began to spear the patients.
A private, named Alfred Henry Hook, a Gloucestershire man, kept them at bay with his bayonet, while his friend John Williams hacked holes in the wall, separating one room from another, and dragged the patients through one by one.
The last man had dislocated his knee.
Williams had to break the other to get him out of a window and into the yard where the barricades offered some protection.
A fighting went on all night in the fitful glare from the blazing hospital as the Zulus made charge after charge on the barricades.
Both sides fought with desperate courage.
A patient from the hospital, a Swiss-born adventurer named Frederick Schies, stabbed three Zulus in quick succession after they'd clambered over the breastwork.
In the yard, surgeon James Henry Reynolds tended to the wounded, oblivious to the life-and-death struggle going on all around him.
Those too badly hurt to shoot propped themselves up as best they could and reloaded the guns, and resupplied ammunition to those who were still on their feet.
When the dawn came at last, the Zulus drew off, taking their wounded with them and leaving at least 351 dead around the barricades.
Later, Lord Chelmsford arrived on the scene with a column of British soldiers.
To this day, the defense of Rourke's Drift holds the record in the British Army for the highest number of VCs awarded for single engagement.
In the hundred years since the Victoria Cross was created for valor and extreme courage, beyond that normally expected of a British soldier in face of the enemy, only 1,344 have been awarded.
Eleven of these were won by the defenders of the mission station at Rourke's Drift, Natal.
January 22nd to the 23rd, 1879.
Frederick Sheese, Corporal, Natal Native Contingent.
William Allen, Corporal B Company, 2nd Battalion, 24th Foot.
Fred Hitch, Private B Company, 2nd Battalion, 24th Foot.
James Langley Dalton, Acting Assistant Commissary, Army Commissariat Department.
612 John Williams, Private, B Company, 2nd Battalion, 24th Foot.
716 Robert Jones, 593 William Jones, Privates, B Company, 2nd Battalion, 24th Foot.
Henry Hook, Private, B Company, 2nd Battalion, 24th Foot.
James Henry Reynolds, Surgeon Major, Army Hospital Corps.
Gonville Bromhead, Lieutenant, B Company, 2nd Battalion of the 24th Regiment of Foot, South Wales Borders.
John Rouse Marriott Chard, Lieutenant, Royal Engineers, Officer Commanding, Rourke Strift.
From the early country bounding, let his world rise sounding, summon all that come restore the mighty force surrounding.
Man of heart, on to glory, this will ever be your story.
Keep it burning, what be for ye, Welsh man will not hear.
Man of heart, on to glory, this will ever be your story.
These are the men that we can be again, if we will only change our thinking and remember our ancient courage.
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 Underbond, Freedom!
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