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Aug. 23, 2012 - Radio Free Nortwest - H.A. Covington
01:10:00
20120823_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, rifle known to you and me.
One more roar for signal, token whistle, up the marching tune.
Warrior pike upon your shoulder by the rising of the moon.
By the rising of the moon.
By the rising of the moon.
With your 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 manly chest was throbbing for the blessed morning 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 way Greetings from the Northwest Homeland, comrades.
It's August 23rd, 1914.
I'm Harold Covington, and this is Radio Free Northwest.
On this show, I try to avoid just plain reading my old articles, but as some of you know, sometimes I'll do that when there's a point to be made.
I think that applies this week, but I need to explain what point.
This article originally is from 2002, but I've updated it in a few places.
It's still very much spot on as far as the understandable human desire for action goes.
I know it's long, but please guys, try to listen and understand.
It's called the streetwalking rationale.
Now, when I was working it up for the show, I tried to figure out some way to make it compliant with the first protocol of the movement about naming no names, but I couldn't find any way to do so and have the article still make sense.
And in view of the fact that in two months we're probably going to have a complete game-changing event with the Jewish attack on Iran, and because, for various reasons, this subject is important, I figured to hell with the first protocol this time.
Like most of us, the person that I mention by name isn't really around anymore except on the internet anyway.
One final disclaimer, this article refers to the situation in North America only, not in Europe, where different conditions and strategic situations apply.
One of the racially conscious community's most durable and sacrosanct sacred cows is the street walk, otherwise known almost always incorrectly as a rally.
18 people do not constitute a rally of any kind, although the leftist counter-demonstrations are often sufficiently large to merit that designation.
We recently had an example of this in Gainesville, Florida.
Since my duty station within the racially conscious community is to ask questions regarding sacred cows that no one wants to answer, And to discuss things in public that the self-appointed leadership do not want discussed, I reckon it's about time I pointed out the nudity of this particular emperor again.
This exposition on the said sacred cow will inevitably be construed as an attack on Billy Roper.
It is nothing of the kind, of course, but under RCC protocol, any public discussion of a problem or issue that the self-appointed leadership doesn't want discussed is dismissed as a quote-unquote attack, thus alleviating any necessity that they answer any uncomfortable questions or justify themselves in their assorted behaviors.
This is standard procedure, and I don't expect anything different.
To begin with, let me explain the official rationale behind streetwalking, point by point.
Streetwalking, in theory, is essentially an attempt to reproduce here in America certain specific objective conditions which apply to Europe today, or which have applied to Europe in the past, or which, to a limited extent, apply to America in a largely idealized and incorrectly perceived past.
In other words, the 50,000-man clan marches of the 1920s, so forth and so on.
More specifically, streetwalking is an attempt to replicate here, in the 21st century, certain key periods in European history which provided windows of opportunity for revolution, specifically Weimar Germany and, to a lesser extent, Petrograd in 1917 if you're a leftist and Occupy Wall Street type, etc.
Interestingly, the left has the same obsession with their past as we have with ours.
It's a form of what anthropologists call sympathetic magic.
The belief is that if we emulate the behavior of certain political movements from these historical epochs and put on an approximate pastiche of the costume of the period, then somehow the year 2012 will actually become these historical epochs.
Here's how it's supposed to work in theory.
We begin with a small number of people, mostly socially dysfunctional young men, plus a few older right-wing cranks.
Now, guys, I'm sorry, but those of you who have actually attended these gigs will recognize the truth of what I say.
There's no longer anything to be gained and much to be lost by glossing over uncomfortable truth.
This small handful of people then goes out in public, often oddly dressed, and waving signs and flags from the various historical epics they're trying to invoke.
Under the protection of the government's police, they exchange shouts and shows and largely harmless missiles with various reds, mud people, bugger boys, etc.
So far, so good.
This street theater is intended to generate establishment media publicity, which, according to orthodox movement thinking, is the be-all, end-all, and absolute lifeblood of our struggle.
According to this school of thought, to be on TV is to be real, the goods, the real stuff, the right stuff.
That's how you know that you're quote-unquote doing something.
True, we can usually get a few sound bites on the 6 and 11 o 'clock news with these activities, and sometimes a couple of hourly mentions on CNN and a few mangled newspaper quotes as well.
In theory, other white people will see this publicity, admire the hell out of us, and come clamoring to join our grouplets and go on the next such activity.
Now here's where the whole concept starts to slip, but let's leave that for later.
With every new street walk, there will, in theory, be more and more white people wearing the costumes and waving the signs and the flags and screaming and shouting at the Reds and the Buds and the Bugger Boys, and eventually there will be thousands of us, and we will outnumber the scum.
Now, up to this point, all of this is theoretically possible, and on a handful of occasions in the past, such as Gage Park and Marquette Park in Chicago in the 1960s, Forsyth County, Georgia in 1987, Glenn Miller's White Patriot Party, etc.
We've even gotten to within faintly audible shouting distance of this point on the horizon.
Now, on those few occasions when we have reached that point, the whole project has always fallen apart due to one or two causes.
First off, there's the issue of character, which we as a community steadfastly refuse to confront.
Glenn Miller is a good example here.
Then there's the complete and total lack of anything remotely resembling a...
Plan to transmute large gatherings of racially aware whites into a political force that will transfer state power from the hands of those who presently hold it into our own.
But usually the process is broken down long before.
The necessary connection is simply not made in the minds of the white masses.
The necessary desire to emulate and join the streetwalkers never makes its appearance.
Why not?
There are two reasons for this.
First off, there's the fact that the Zog Media controls what, if anything, the white population is allowed to see and hear of such activities.
We are presented to readers and viewers not as news, but as entertainment, which is what the masses, or them asses, as an old wobbly called them, expect from television.
Look at the funny racists in the funny clothes.
Now stay tuned for that 70s show.
Now does this mean that we would get any better results if all the streetwalkers wore suits and ties?
No.
And point of fact, that's been tried as well, because secondly, there is again that issue of white character, which we refuse to address.
This particular uncomfortable manifestation of it is the fact that the overwhelming majority of white people are simply morally incapable of responding in the way that we want from them.
We are speaking to their great-grandfathers, not to them.
Modern-day Bubus Americanus is a moral void.
It is useless to appeal to the nobler natures and better instincts of the white majority.
They have none.
They have been deliberately made that way.
They will never respond to any kind of mass movement tactics because the necessary moral instincts, frames of reference, and cultural motivations have been socially engineered out of them.
We are beating a dead horse.
Okay, that's streetwalking in theory.
But what are we really doing here?
Attendez-vous, guys.
Let's start with a little history lesson.
Streetwalking in its present racial form in America, Europe is a completely different kettle of fish, goes back to the deservedly famous Commander George Lincoln Rockwell and his early stormtrooper activities in Washington, D.C. and elsewhere.
Since Rockwell was so far head and shoulders above everyone else that the movement has subsequently produced by way of leadership, self-appointed or otherwise, it's understandable that a lot of misconception and distortion has attached itself to the Rockwell legend.
One of the more unfortunate beliefs that has embedded itself in our little subculture from the Rockwell era is the concept of the minuscule activity on public property, especially dressed in some kind of odd garb or costume, as a kind of defining rite of passage or manhood ritual.
This is a completely incorrect reading of George Nick and Rockwell's tactics.
Which, just as much as in Weimar Germany, were distinct and particular to his time and place, a time and place which is now half a century distant.
It was a temporary set of tactics, which Rockwell himself defined repeatedly and very clearly as publicity stunts to be used only during the earliest phases of the ANP's struggle.
This has now become a kind of a cult among racially aware whites.
The core of this belief system is that rather than actually fighting and killing our enemies, as was the case throughout thousands of years of Aryan history, Real white men now display their macho and their physical prowess through symbolic gestures in a kind of mock ritual combat.
The ritual often includes dressing up in strange, historically apocryphal clothing, such as homemade costumes patterned after the SA uniforms of the Third Reich, historically inaccurate Ku Klux Klan robes of purple and bilious green, and more recently, shaven heads with body tattoos.
Andrew Greenbaum's so-called uniformed branch resembled the village people.
On the street, there is much bellicose chanting, shouting threats, slogans like gorillas beating their chests, the hurling of rocks and bottles, which can be painful but so far never lethal, the mock half-charges and aggressive posturing, etc.
In some respects, it's remarkably similar to the ritualistic but almost completely non-fatal wars between tribes of New Guinea headhunters.
And it seems to serve a similar purpose, including the bonding feast afterwards, wherein the enemy are held to scorn and boasts of great deeds done or proclaimed, etc., etc.
The participants in such activities have come through an event which generated an adrenaline and pheromone rush similar to that produced by actual battle, but with none of the risks.
They can subsequently feel the sense of accomplishment and increased self-esteem that comes from this illusory idea that they've fought back, that they are in the trenches and frontline soldiers, but except on very rare occasions, no one is actually hurt, not a single weapon is fired, and no physical damage of any kind is actually inflicted on the enemy.
No change of any kind is ever produced by these things.
On Monday morning, everybody trudges back to their shitwork jobs, and all is as it was.
Everybody's happy, including the power structure.
On a few occasions, actual combat does break out, more by accident than anything else, but it's always of short duration and quickly broken up by the police, often with legal consequences which far outweigh any advantage to be gained.
Greensboro and the Palmer House in Chicago in 1977 being a good example.
Before somebody starts yelling about November 3rd and Greensboro, it needs to be very clearly understood that Greensboro was an accidental exception, totally sui generis, and we should note that it has not been allowed to happen again.
Thank God.
No one but an idiot would want to go through the years that followed Greensboro as the lives of 16 innocent men were utterly destroyed by this society's obscene judicial process.
The actual chance of anyone getting seriously hurt on one of these street walks beyond a few bruises is slim.
The police are always out in force and usually more or less do their jobs and prevent the tiny handful of whites from being lynched by the lefty, muddy mobs.
There have been some nasty incidents at some of these events when they've been allowed to get out of hand or when the police are absent, either through design or incompetence.
But even when that happens, there's never any serious threat to the power structure.
If there were, if these little things had any chance at all of producing any real change, the police would be breaking up such gatherings with rubber bullets and nightsticks, not guarding us.
In essence, streetwalks are a psychological substitute for actual physical resistance against the tyranny that is destroying our race.
It's kind of like pro-wrestling, ritualized mock combat which allows a certain level of self-esteem in those who participate in them, as if exchanging insults and maybe even a few shoves and pokes with scum is in some way equivalent to actual serious resistance which threatens the power structure.
Now, in some ways, this cult of false macho is perfectly understandable in view of the extreme rarity of genuine physical courage among white males these days.
I don't deny a certain very limited value in these events.
In the absence of a better rite of passage for young white men, this one will have to do for the time being, although I frankly think a better rite of passage would be learning a trade and raising a family in the Northwest homeland.
But I must admit, I like my own little aphorism about this.
A white man of 20 who doesn't streetwalk has no balls.
If he's still doing it when he's 40, he has no brain.
The main overriding problem with the whole streetwalking concept is that it doesn't work.
We've been doing it for almost 60 years now.
It doesn't work.
Barring a seismic change in the white American character, it ain't never gonna work.
Why doesn't it work?
Ask Billy Roper, who planned his event in Gainesville for weeks and then got there to find 17 people besides himself.
Okay, 23 counting the four in the truck who were turned away and the two Christians who refused to participate with people who insulted their faith.
It doesn't work because nobody shows up for these things.
Why does nobody show?
Well, that gets into that character issue we all do double backflips to avoid talking about.
But ask anyone who's ever tried to organize one of these things.
Ask him about that sinking feeling of horror he gets in his gut when the signs are all painted, the flags are on the flagpoles, and he looks around and sees them stacked up, while in front of him stand ten or twelve or eighteen people who are all looking around them and muttering that one question that precedes every such event.
Where the hell is everybody?
Oh, the ingeniousness of the excuses.
I have heard everything from stirring accounts of battles with niggers in convenience stores along the way that never happened, to my dog died.
Sudden and mysterious car trouble is always a favorite.
But above all, there's that hearty perennial, at the last minute I had to work.
Of course, some of them always do manage to make it to the barbecue with a potluck afterward.
Especially if there's free beer in the offing.
I understand that I am now going to be pelted with dozens, possibly hundreds of emails from people screaming Marquette Park, Forsyth County, and Glenn Miller at me, blah blah blah.
Yes, given a small core of highly active people, and above all given something approaching adequate funding, it is possible under certain extremely rare and specific conditions to get Comparatively significant numbers of white people into the streets for very short periods of time before the social disapproval mechanisms kick in and they go shuffling back into their dens and plop back down in front of the television.
It's rare, but it has occurred.
It's occurred so rarely that these exceptions prove the rule.
In Marquette and Forsyth, there was an immediate visible threat of physical nigger invasion.
Glenn Miller was one of the beneficiaries of the Order's generosity, and for about 18 months there, he had a couple hundred grand for full-time organizers, actual uniforms as opposed to costumes, paid transport to and from events, etc., as well as money enough for a lot of whiskey.
If some rich man cares to lay 200 grand on Billy Roper, I'm sure we'll see some vast improvements in his performance as well.
Okay, it's now 2012.
Where are the results of all those past close but no cigars?
Where are the visible results of any of it for the past 60 years?
How much actual political, racial, or demographic change has come about from any of it?
Again, I ask point blank, is this what we need to be spending the next 30 years doing?
Of course, now with the coming Jewish attack on Iran, we don't have another 30 years.
Again, I say.
It is time for us to sit down, reassess, and rethink all of this.
Okay, most of you have already heard me say this.
I've been saying it for years, so why am I digging it up again?
It's because I remain convinced that in a couple of months the Hebes are going to attack Persia, the Western world will lose one-third of its imported petroleum, and all of a sudden it's going to be showtime.
For real.
We have to be ready, people.
Okay, seems to me it's been a while since I went medieval on your ass.
This is Portcullis.
Our weekly Edgar Steele piece is up next.
Now, a word on that.
Yes, I know, some of you are probably getting pretty bored with the Edgar Steele segments of Radio Free Northwest, and especially with my usual introduction, in which I briefly recount the facts of the Steele case for those of you who came in late.
I've discovered that one thing one should not do in the movement is to automatically assume that everybody knows who and what you're talking about.
I keep forgetting how old I am and that there are a lot of you out there who don't know these things and don't know these people.
We actually have new listeners to this program who became involved after June of 2010 when the steel incident occurred, and so they probably don't even know who he is.
So, using our standard technique of spaced repetition to make sure that eventually everyone can internalize it, or get your arms around it, as the saying seems to be now, let me once again explain why I'm doing this.
The Federal Bureau of Investigation and the federal courts did what they did in order to achieve something that they have no right to under the United States Constitution.
They wanted to make Edgar Steele shut up.
And in America, they can't have that.
Well, not legally or openly anyway, and so the officers of the United States government suborned perjury and falsified evidence that Steele committed a crime and used a corrupt judge and legal system to deny him a defense, in the manner I will detail in a little bit.
Now they want Edgar Steele to go away.
They've buried him alive in Victorville Federal Prison, and they're waiting for him to die so that he will be quiet forever.
They want you to forget about him.
To go on with your wonderful and fulfilling American lives.
Now that, I think, is in its way the most important part of this vile experimental project of theirs.
To see if they can truly flush someone right down the memory hole.
They've not only sent a sick and elderly man to die in prison, but now they need to make sure that the earth on his grave is filled in and muffles his screams from down below.
I will not allow them to muffle Edgar Steele's death screams.
Hence, this part of the show.
But, yeah, I know it's gotten a bit boring, so I will do my best to change and rearrange my Edgar Steele opening to make it a little bit different every week.
In June of 2010, North Idaho attorney Edgar J. Steele was arrested by the FBI on false charges of allegedly hiring a hitman to murder his wife and mother-in-law.
The alleged assassin was a man named Larry Fairfax, an FBI informer who had previously been inserted into Steele's home posing as a handyman in order to spy on the Steele family, where Fairfax proceeded to help himself to large stashes of gold and silver that the Steele's were keeping on their property.
Fairfax, by the by, was caught red-handed planting a bomb on Cindy Steele's car.
He ended up doing about 16 months in a minimum security prison, and he's now free.
The basis of Edgar Steele's conviction were audio files fabricated by FBI technicians, supposedly discussions between himself and Fairfax which appeared even to a layman on first hearing to sound strained, stilted, unnatural, and obviously doctored.
At Steele's trial, two international audio engineering experts who were prepared to testify that the tapes were fraudulent were barred from appearing by a corrupt judge.
The jury was never allowed to hear evidence which clearly proved Edgar Steel's innocence.
The situation wasn't helped by the fact that Steel'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 drunken misconduct.
Steel's second defense attorney, on whom he and his wife Cindy expended most of their life's savings, Turned out to be facing disbarment proceedings and legal charges of his own for embezzling his client's money and for bankruptcy fraud.
This man, Robert McAllister, was in fact disbarred only weeks after Steele's conviction.
It's thought that this second attorney may have struck a deal with the government to keep himself out of prison by deliberately taking a dive in the courtroom and bungling Steele's defense.
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 "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 they picked him.
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.
As far as I'm concerned, Steele is already a murder victim.
He's being held in the Victorville, California facility, which is well known throughout the federal prison system as a terminal destination.
He's 67 years old and in very poor health due to open-heart surgery that he underwent just before his arrest.
Among other things, the water supply in the prison is known to be contaminated with carcinogens and toxic waste.
This facilitates the decline in health of those federal prisoners whom the government wishes to hear no more of.
Once the gates clang shut at Victorville, nobody leaves except in a body bag.
It's time that Edgar Steele's voice was heard once again in the land, if for no other reason than because the FBI and the Obama regime don't want you to hear it.
This recording is from 2007.
This recording is from 2007.
My name is Edgar J. Steele.
It's January 15, 2007.
And today's article is entitled, Marchin' Luton Killin' Day.
Now, I've given it a lot of thought in view of all the negative articles concerning Martin Luther King Jr.
Day that fly around the Internet at this time of year.
And I'm coming out in support of its status as a national holiday.
In fact, I can't think of another holiday that better sums up all that America has come to represent.
Martin Luther King Jr.
Day, or as I like to think of it, March and Luton Killing Day, is the perfect reflection of modern America.
So it deserves to be honored as the most perfect American holiday.
Let's take a look at the top ten reasons why this is so.
Number ten.
King's history and true behavior are kept secret from Americans.
Just like America's recent history and true behavior both domestically and abroad.
In fact, the King cover-up is actually more legitimate because King's widow received a 1977 federal court order which sealed the huge FBI file on her husband for 50 years because its release would destroy his reputation.
And we have another 20 years to go before that file is released.
Reason number nine.
King incited violence while preaching nonviolence, just as America does every time it invades another small defenseless country.
Wherever King went, violence erupted.
He explained it himself in a piece he wrote for Saturday Review, April 3, 1965, in which he set forth the four steps of his technique.
One.
Nonviolent demonstrators go into the streets to exercise their constitutional rights.
2. Racists resist by unleashing violence against them.
3. Americans of conscience, in the name of decency, demand federal intervention and legislation.
4. The administration, under mass pressure, initiates measures of immediate intervention and remedial legislation.
In the top ten reasons why this should be honored as the most perfect American holiday, King ruthlessly stole from others, just like America steals Iraq's oil and uses inflation to steal from its own elderly and poor.
The First Public Sermon That King ever gave in 1947 at the Ebenezer Baptist Church was plagiarized from a homily by Protestant clergyman Harry Emerson Fosbick entitled Life is What You Make It, according to the testimony of King's best friend of that time, Reverend Larry H. Williams.
Now, for those who might not happen to know, plagiarism is a fancy word for theft.
Literally means to steal.
No less an authoritative source than the four senior editors of the papers of Martin Luther King, Jr., an official publication of the Martin Luther King Center for Nonviolent Social Change, Inc., whose staff includes King's widow, Coretta, stated of King's writings at both Boston University and Crozer Theological Seminary.
Judged retroactively by the standards of academic scholarship, His writings are tragically flawed by numerous instances of plagiarism.
Appropriated passages are particularly evident in his writings in his major field of graduate study, systematic theology.
Only 49% of sentences in the section on Tillich in his doctoral dissertation contain five or more words that were King's own.
Again, plagiarism.
That's common theft.
Just like breaking into somebody's house and stealing their TV set.
Only in this case, what you steal from somebody is the one thing they have to sell, their intellectual product.
And Boston University officials eventually admitted, quote, there's no question but that Dr. King plagiarized in the dissertation, and they're the ones that gave him the doctorate.
And even so, those same officials concluded, quote, no thought should be given to the revocation of Dr. King's doctoral degree because such action would serve no purpose.
They were quoted in the New York Times edition of October 11, 1991.
Now just think about how outrageous is the conduct of these unnamed Boston University officials.
This would be like a judge letting a criminal defendant go free saying, while eyewitnesses prove that he stole the old lady's wheelchair and left her lying there on the subway tracks, no purpose would be served by punishing him or even making him give that wheelchair back to her.
No purpose my ass.
Hell, you morons.
King stole from another the only thing that other individual had by which to identify himself, his intellectual product.
And you continue to let King pretend to be its author.
In a court of law, you guys would be charged as accomplices after the fact and given the same sentence as the basic purpose.
What complete and utter slut and whores you so-called academics there at Boston University really are.
King never was to outgrow his need to steal the intellectual work of others.
For example, he lifted whole sections of his famous I Have a Dream speech from the sermon by 1950s black preacher Archibald Carey.
Imagine that, if you will.
The single thing for which King is most revered and remembered was stolen, yet he gets to keep it.
Number seven in the list of top ten reasons why this should be a national holiday.
King stole money from his followers and supporters, just like America steals money from its own people through confiscatory taxation, obscene monetary inflation, and outlandish deficit spending, according to Assistant FBI Director Sullivan.
Who had direct access to the surveillance files on King, which are denied the American people.
King had embezzled or misapplied substantial amounts of money contributed to the civil rights movement.
King used SCLC funds to pay for liquor and numerous prostitutes, both black and white, who were brought to his hotel rooms, often two at a time, for drunken sex parties, which sometimes lasted for several days.
Number six.
On the list of top ten reasons why this should be a national holiday, King used a phony name.
Just like modern America poses as the America born of the 1776 Revolution, he was born Michael King.
But his self-ordained preacher father changed his own name to Martin Luther King in 1935, thereby grandiosely presuming to wrap himself in the legend of the great Protestant reformer Martin Luther.
Thus, his son became Martin Luther King, Jr., of course.
Number five on the list, King lied prodigiously, just as America lies chronically about all things, domestic and foreign.
Now, quite aside from all the plagiarism noted up to here, Each and every instance of which is a lie, FBI director at the time, J. Edgar Hoover, named Martin Luther King Jr. as the single most notorious liar in the country.
Number four on the list of reasons why this is the ultimate American holiday.
King liked white hookers, similar to how America actively now couples its white daughters with blacks of every stripe.
King spent his last night on earth in an adulterous liaison with a white prostitute, just one in a long string of such accinations.
And that is from a book entitled And the Walls Came Tumbling Down, a biography of King by the Reverend Ralph Abernathy, published in 1989.
Number three, King liked brutalizing weaker people, for which America has shown a predilection in both Iraq and Afghanistan most recently.
During his last night alive, King was witness beating the prostitute he procured for the evening.
This, too, is from the Reverend Abernathy's book, just noted.
Number two on the list, King was a communist, just like America's government has become.
According to King's biographer and sympathizer, David Garrow, King privately described himself as a Marxist.
In his 1981 book, The FBI and Martin Luther King Jr., Garrow quotes King as saying in SCLC staff meetings, We have moved into a new era, which must be an era of revolution.
The whole structure of American life must be changed.
We are engaged in the class struggle.
None other than Bobby Kennedy, U.S. Attorney General at the time, had King's office and hotel rooms bugged during the mid-1960s, developing extensive evidence of King's communist affiliations, revealing his communist financing and disclosing his handlers.
This is how the shocking discovery of his sexual perversions was made.
Jewish communist Stanley Levison can best be described as King's behind-the-scenes handler.
Leveson, who had for years been in charge of the secret funneling of Soviet funds to the Communist Party USA, was King's mentor and was actually the brains behind many of King's more successful ploys.
It was Leveson who edited King's book, Stride Toward Freedom.
It was Leveson who arranged for a publisher.
Leveson even prepared King's income tax returns.
It was Levison who really controlled the fundraising and agitation activities of the SCLC.
Levison wrote many of King's speeches.
King described Levison as one of his closest friends.
And finally, the number one reason.
Why, Martin Luther King Jr.
Day is the perfect reflection of America.
Martin Luther King Jr., like other black leaders, was run by Jews, just as America's government, banking, and media are run today.
Jewish communist Stanley Leveson can best be described as King's behind-the-scenes handler.
It was Leveson who really controlled the fundraising and agitation activities of the SCLC.
And Levison, of course, was Jewish.
Not to mention a communist.
But I repeat myself.
Only in recent years has the NAACP had a black president.
Previously, its leadership always was Jewish.
The same people who created that organization in the first place.
Upon further reflection, I realize that Christmas, too, is a national holiday which honors but a single individual.
However...
Christmas now has been stripped bare of both its ancient pagan and modern Christian meanings by American Zionists and their Shabbos Goyim, the American Christian fundamentalist dispensationalist rapture bunnies, such that it has become merely a major shopping opportunity.
But that makes it yet another perfect reflection of modern America, doesn't it?
How fitting that the only so-called religious holidays We should not honor such a misbegotten individual as Michael King,
Jr., nor should we honor the non-existent ideals that King supposedly has come to represent.
Equal opportunity, brotherhood, and overcoming prejudice.
Instead, we should take the opportunity to recognize all that black America actually has come to represent to America.
Advanced placement of the undeserving, hobbling those who excel to create a false image of equality, welfare entitlement mentality, spite and resentment on all sides, images of post-Katrina looting, whining, And rampant lawlessness come to mind, demanding, always demanding that which they have not, will not, and cannot earn for themselves, forever whining about non-existent racial discrimination.
Justice Department figures of overwhelming black-on-white crime, far beyond whatever could be explained by differing social or economic circumstance, also come to mind.
If this must be MLK Day, then let those initials stand for what they truly have become in an increasingly racially divided and tense America.
Marching, looting, and killing.
Yep, Marching, looting, killing day.
Let the word go forth from this day forward that no longer will we recognize the monster that Michael King Jr. became, and instead will let this day forever stand for what...
Black America has come to represent what Black America does best.
Marching, looting, killing day.
I came of age just as America began its long, agonizing conversion into the dreadful creature that now strides back and forth across the globe, demanding, threatening, killing, maiming, taking, and sermonizing to all in the process.
Most of us still are unable to define the problem, but at least now we all know that a serious problem has evolved.
Vietnam still was but a vague cloud on a distant horizon.
Our parents told us that we could be better than they, and we believed them.
We invented drugs, sex, and rock and roll.
Some of us marched for black civil rights.
At once naively and guiltily believing what we were told by college professors about social disadvantage, economic handicap, and how we are all the same under the skin, how we all bleed red.
We forgot that every beast in the forest also bleeds red.
We had no idea that we were about to trade places with the black man in America.
Our icons of liberalism and compassion in those days, Hubert Humphrey and Ted Kennedy, assured us that the changes they introduced with their new immigration reform bills would improve America.
Desperate to recapture the dreams of Camelot dashed with the loss of JFK, we had no idea that a tidal wave of unchecked immigration, composed of a hostile and aggressive people with no intention of assimilating, was about to sweep over America, forever changing her landscape.
We ignored rumors of conspiracy and one thing and another.
We denied the evidence of our own eyes.
We marched unaware into the maw of political correctness and proceeded to offer up our children upon its altar.
Today, they serve in the priesthood of the horrible beast that has risen up and assumed control of all of America.
We never suspected that when finally we were handed the keys to the executive washroom, the world we were promised had been traded in for the very thing against which our parents thought they had fought in World Wars I and II.
We easily could have stopped them in the 60s, but we had no idea of our power.
We could have voted them out in the 70s, but we vainly hoped for better times after our long journey into the nightmare that Vietnam became.
We could have pulled them from power and had them tried and convicted during the 90s, but simple greed got the better of us.
Now, as we approach our dotage, many of us realize what we have and have not done.
We are tired, many of us say.
That is but another excuse for not doing what we should have done so long ago.
If not now, when?
If not us, who?
The time, at long last, has come.
Our time, my friends.
Because of our sloth, it'll be a long, bitter, and painful ordeal.
We have nobody to blame but ourselves for waiting this long.
But we will do it, because it must be done.
And always, our forebears have done what must be done.
Their blood flows in our veins today, as it does in our children.
That is how I know we ultimately will prevail.
We always have.
We always will.
We have left ourselves no other choice.
New America.
An idea whose time has come.
My name is Edgar J. Steele.
Thanks for listening.
This is Gordon Lightfoot.
Get out old dance records Get out old dance records We will dance the whole night long as fun We'll play the old-time songs.
If old Dan could see us now, I know he'd be so proud.
Bring out old Dan's records.
Bring out old Dan's records.
I remember my day she danced with them till two or three.
The old man could see her now I'd only shout out loud guitar solo Take out old Dan's records.
Bring out old Dan's records.
We're all here, we've all got dates.
We'll dance all night through the 78s.
If old Dan could see us now, I know he'd be so proud.
If old man was with us still, I know he'd come around I'd like to use the same thing as a kid I'd like to use the same thing as a kid I'd like to use the same thing as a kid I'd like to use the same thing as a kid I'd like to use the same thing as a kid I'd like to use the same thing as a kid I'd like to use the same thing as a kid I'd like to use the same thing as a kid I did out old dance records.
I dig out old dance records.
Back to 1935, the box top, jitterbug and jive.
The whole band will see us now.
I hope you'd be so proud.
I hope you'd be so proud.
Get out old Dan's records.
Bring out old Dan's records.
High above the fireplace, there's a smile on old Dan's face.
If old Dan could see us now, I know he'd be so proud.
If old Dan was with us still, I know he'd come around.
I know he'd be so proud.
Okay, let's knock back a few emails.
Dear Mr. Covington, A number of times you've played the music of the band or group Wardrunna on Northwest Free Radio.
Actually, that's Radio Free Northwest.
I hate to be that nagging guy, but you keep on calling them something to the effect of Norwegian black heavy metal.
They're a continuation of the pre-Christian music and culture of the Nordic people, not some faggy black metal band.
Two different tastes of music, which I hope you can appreciate.
Also, Warduna is pronounced Varuna, but that's an easy mistake to make as an English speaker, so it doesn't really matter.
Take care, Hayden D. Okay, Hayden, duly noted, Varuna.
The next one comes from Ward Kendall, the author of Hold Back This Day, which book Gretchen reviewed on here a few months ago.
Ward sent me an autographed copy of this novel when it first came out, and which I still have on my shelf.
But about a year ago or so, he suddenly decided that I was wicked and evil and the son of Satan and all that kind of thing, which is a fairly common event in the movement, given our eccentricities of character.
I'm trying to remember why Ward suddenly decided that I'm the son of Satan, and I can't recall exactly, but I think it was because I actually made a favorable remark about David Duke in something I wrote or said.
I can't recall what the remark might have been.
I think that Duke and I are neck and neck for second place in the movement hatred stakes.
There are certain people who will literally start frothing at the mouth and fall to the floor in a St. Vitus' dance at the very mention of Duke's name, just as there are those who react the same way to my name.
I say second place because the undoubted holder of the movement's Lifetime Achievement Award in the field of deranged and obsessive hatred unto death is undoubtedly Willis Cardo.
Anyway, Ward Kendall writes, HAC's heart is in the right place, and I do believe he should keep pushing his ideas.
That said, it helps to hone one's ideas by sharpening them upon the grindstone of constructive critique.
I can't agree that HAC's flag is strengthened by looking similar to an Irish flag.
In a word, it's confusing.
Is it an Irish flag?
Some other kind of European flag?
Is it even the flag of a Euro-ethnic country?
Such will be the responses from many.
It is simply not distinctive enough.
Okay, I haven't talked about the flag for a while, so let's go over that one again.
First off, the Northwest tricolor is not quote-unquote HAC's flag.
It is the flag of the Northwest American Republic, and it belongs to all white people the world over, including Mr. Kendall.
Secondly, yes, the tricolor is, in fact, rather undistinctive, if you want to put it like that.
It's just three simple colors.
Green for the homeland, blue for the sky above the homeland, and white for the people who live in between.
It's designed like that deliberately.
As to its looking like the Irish flag, ideally, I suppose, the stripes should be horizontal, but unfortunately, the Negroid West African nation of Sierra Leone already has that pattern.
There is some resemblance between the Northwest tricolor and the flag of the Canadian Yukon province, which is appropriate, but on the Yukon flag, the green bar goes to the staff, whereas on the tricolor, it's blue to the staff.
Also, the Yukon flag has a seal in the white field.
The white field in the Northwest Republic's tricolor is deliberately left blank.
No swastika, no cross, no crinkle jammer, no fancy seal bearing an image of a Sasquatch or anything like that, although one of our supporters did design a seal for the Northwest Republic, which I occasionally run on the Thoughtcrime blog.
That was deliberate, as I said.
There are to be no sectarian or divisive or confusing symbols on the Northwest flag.
Nothing that would stir up movement goat dancers and gooboo.
I myself would love to have a swastika on there somewhere, but all other considerations aside, it's bad propaganda.
Most of us understand what the swastika stands for, or we could think of some kind of crinkle-jammer symbol like the National Alliance Rune.
But you should never, ever have to stop and explain things to people, especially when you're dealing with Americans.
You do that, you've lost them.
The Northwest tricolor looks like the flag of a real country.
One day it will be.
It is also possibly our greatest weapon.
It's why we need boots on the ground here in the homeland itself to engage in what the Germans call Fahnenaktionen, flag actions, so that the Northwest tricolor becomes the symbol of white youth rebellion.
The tricolor is potentially our greatest piece of radical chic.
We need to make use of it.
Okay, time for a little more weird Aryan history.
In the pre-dawn hours of June 27, 1874, 29 people were in the town of Adobe Walls, a tiny settlement in the Texas Panhandle.
This was little more than an abandoned outpost, where enterprising businessmen had attempted to rekindle what had once been a small town and make a dollar off the buffalo hunters, which were then a major industry.
The settlement consisted of two stores, a blacksmith, and a saloon.
Those present at Adobe Walls that night included James Hanrahan, the saloon owner, a 20-year-old drifter by the name of Bette Masterson, and a buffalo hunter named Billy Dickson.
The only woman present was the wife of the cook, William Oles.
Around 2 a.m. the lodgepole holding up the sod roof of the saloon gave way with a loud crack.
The men in the saloon, as well as other inhabitants, immediately set about repairing the damage.
It was this act of providence that caused the inhabitants of Adobe Walls to be wide awake when the dawn attack by Indians began.
Just a few days before, Billy Dixon had ridden into the tiny settlement and told of the death of two of his friends, named Dudley and Williams.
He recounted to the saloon patrons how the Comanches had propped their heads up so they could see what was happening to them.
He told of how their tongues and ears had been cut off, then their testicles removed and stuffed into their mouths, before finally being sliced into ribbons and dying a slow, tortuous death.
These, by the way, are the noble savages that the liberals eulogize so much.
Now, as the men worked to repair the damaged roof, some 700 Plains Indians, mostly Cheyenne, Comanche, and Kiowa, gathered nearby.
The Indians were led by the Comanche war chief, Quanah Parker, who was the son of a captured white woman, Cynthia Ann Parker.
Since they were already awake, Billy Dixon and Jim Hanrahan decided to get an early start on the day's buffalo hunting.
Hanrahan sent Billy Og to retrieve the horses that were picketed at nearby Adobe Walls Creek.
Og saw the Indians emerge from the tree-lined creek bank and ran back to the settlement to alert the others.
About the time he arrived, Dixon spotted the Indians as well and fired a shot into the air.
At first, Dixon believed the Indians to be after the horses, but then he realized that they were coming straight towards the settlement.
Dixon and Og managed to join several others who sought refuge inside the walls of the saloon.
Thus the surprise attack had failed.
There were only two deaths in the initial attack, those of the Sadler brothers who were sleeping in their wagon.
They were killed and scalped, along with their dog, who was also killed, and a patch of hide cut from the animal's side.
The initial attack very nearly overran the settlement.
The buffalo hunters found themselves in close-quarters combat, where their buffalo long guns were all but useless.
Miraculously, the inhabitants of Adobe Walls were able to stave off the onslaught of Indians with their pistols.
Once the Indians had killed all of the animals, leaving their victims helpless to escape, they withdrew.
The morning's battle resulted in four dead settlers and an unknown number of Indians.
The bodies of fifteen were found that were too close to the buildings for the Indians to have retrieved their bodies.
The next few hours saw the battle waged with rifle fire, which was to the buffalo hunter's advantage.
The Indians had moved far enough away from the settlement to allow the nine men at Hanrahan's Saloon to send two men to Rath's store to resupply their depleted ammo.
Quanah Parker's medicine man, Esa Tai, was largely responsible for the attack.
The crazed medicine man had convinced Parker of their invincibility.
The attacks were sporadic thereafter, and on the fourth day of the siege, a small group of Indians ventured to the edge of a distant ridge to plan their next attack.
Billy Dixon caught sight of them and asked Bat Masterson to hand him his sharps.50 caliber.
The inhabitants laughed at Dixon, exclaiming, They're a mile away!
Dixon drew down his aim, squeezed the trigger, and watched Asatai, the medicine man, fall from his mount.
It was this act that caused the Indians to determine that they could not compete with such weapons, and they withdrew from the fray.
Two weeks later, a team of U.S. Army surveyors would determine that the distance of Dixon's famed shot was 1,538 yards, or nine-tenths of a mile.
Billy Dixon later gave up buffalo hunting and became a scout for the U.S. Army.
As a scout at the Buffalo-Wallow fight, Dixon would earn the Congressional Medal of Honor.
In 1893, he retired and built a home on the Adobe Walls site.
He died there on March 9, 1913, at the age of 63. On the fifth day, more than 100 men arrived at Adobe Walls.
The Indians never returned.
The main significance of this fight is that it led to the Red River War of 1874 and 1875, which resulted in the final relocation of the Southern Plains Indians onto the reservation in what is now Oklahoma.
The Red River
My name is nothing extra, so that I will not tell.
But here's to all you good rangers, I'm sure I wish you well.
When at the age of sixteen I joined the Jolly Band, we marched from San Antonio down by the Rio Grande.
Our captain he informed us, perhaps he thought it right, before we We'll surely have to find.
On the smoke ascending, it seemed to reach the sky.
The first thought that came to me, my time has come to die.
I thought of my dear father, and tears to me did say, To you they are all strangers, with me you'd better stay.
I
I saw the angels coming, I heard their awful yell.
My feelings at that moment, no human tongue can tell.
I saw their glittering glances, their arrows round me flew.
Till all my strength that left me And all my courage too We We fought for nine full hours before the strife was o 'er.
The likes of dead and dying I've never seen before.
Not when the sun had risen the Indians they had fled.
we lorded up our rifles and counted up our dead.
Now all of us are wounded, our noble captains slain, and when the sun was
Shining across the bloody plain Six of the noblest rangers that ever roamed the west Were buried by their comrades with arrows in their breast Perhaps you have a mother, likewise a sister too.
Perhaps you have a sweetheart to weep and moan for you.
If this be your position, although you'd like to roam, I'll tell you from experience you'd better stay at home.
These are the men we once were.
These are the men that we can be again, if we can only change the white man's thinking and recover our ancient courage.
Okay, we've got time for one more email before we go, and with some trepidation I'm going to respond to this one from Mark in Iowa, because it's a very complex subject indeed, and I really don't have time to get into this at great length and in anything like the depth it deserves, but it's been almost three weeks since Mark emailed me this, and I need to give him some kind of answer.
Dear HAC, look, I'm with you.
The question I always ask is, why white nationalism developed the way it did in the Northwest, and why it did or didn't develop that way in the South?
Still puzzles me.
You're a Southerner.
Pierce was a Southerner.
On paper, yeah, the South should be the place.
But why have so many white nationalist heroes had their stories take place in the Northwest?
Where were the Southerners?
What is it about the Northwest that brought out men like Bob Matthews, Pastor Butler, and the Weavers?
Okay, Mark, after some thought, I'm going to just hit the high points here, or what I think are the high points.
These are just my own opinions, and the rest of you may agree or disagree with them as you choose.
It's kind of an open secret that in the late 80s and early 90s, before I dedicated myself to the Northwest imperative, I dabbled in Southern nationalism myself.
I knew even back then that the all-America thing was a non-starter, and that white separatism of some kind was the answer.
Without going off into a long-involved digression here, which would take all night, one of the main reasons I decided on the Northwest over Southern nationalism is that the Southern version is a little too nationalistic, if you will.
Too much separatism and not enough white, if you follow.
Too narrow and tribal for what's needed in the 21st century.
Even racially aware southerners, some of them, are products of their history and their culture, and they're still talking about damn Yankees.
The problem is not, and has never been, Yankees as such.
The problem is Jews and the ideology of liberalism, which admittedly did have its origins in the North back in the 19th century.
But only in a small and spiritually diseased elite of abolitionists and industrialists who wanted the South's resources for their factories.
Also, with what Louis Grisard accurately described as a gaggle of preachy, self-righteous, hairy-legged Yankee women like Harriet Beecher Stowe, who wanted votes for women, free niggers, and nobody allowed to drink.
They got all three eventually, although the country had sense enough to repeal prohibition after 13 years.
Now, as a National Socialist, it's hard for me to forget that the greatest American of the 20th century, Commander George Lincoln Rockwell, was a Maine Yankee born and bred.
What we have to create is a homeland for all white people the world over, not just us good old boys.
And the fact is that the good old boys tend to have some funny ideas about any white man who is not a shouting Baptist with a pickup truck and a rifle rack.
What kind of name was that, boy?
You some kind of foreigner, boy?
German?
Why, them Nazis was communists who tried to destroy our Bible!
Okay, that's an exaggeration, and my brief career with the NSPA showed that at least some Southerners can transcend all that.
But let's be honest, guys.
There is enough truth in the stereotype to hurt.
Southerners aren't bad people, but they're carrying a lot of baggage that other white peoples don't, even more so in some respects than others.
Another thing in the South's disfavor is that in large parts of the South, the demographic battle has already been lost.
In at least three states, Florida, Texas, and Mississippi, white people are now the minority.
I gather from folks back home that North Carolina is getting there.
Despite all this cack you hear about the Northwest being full of liberals, overall the population of our operational area up here is still 90% white, and outside the cities it's even higher.
Always remember, those big, huge cities skew all the statistics.
Finally, there is...
How can I put this diplomatically?
There is a religious problem in the South, with Christian Zionism, and the Southern Baptist Convention, and the Pentecostal Assemblies of God, and all kinds of general Jew-worshiping, tub-thumping, that I think our revolutionary movement doesn't need to try to overcome.
We have enough strikes against us as it is.
As to how the Northwest itself became our future homeland, well, I don't know.
But the idea has been around since the early 1800s, when Aaron Burr wanted to grab the Louisiana Purchase and create his own country with himself as president for life.
You know, in 1941, the people in Northern California wanted to create their own state of Jefferson, and they were about to petition Congress to do so when Pearl Harbor intervened.
So, you know, it's not like I made all this up.
Okay, I am running way long here, and it looks like I need to take this up another time.
I know I usually close with some big, long, impassioned speech, but for now, I'll just say that 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 Underban.
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