All Episodes
Previous Next
Nov. 22, 2012 - Radio Free Nortwest - H.A. Covington
01:05:11
20121122_rfn
| Copy link to current segment

Time Text
Oh, then tell me, Sean O 'Farrell, tell me why you hurry so.
Hush-a-wooggle, hush and listen, and his cheeks were all aglow.
I bear orders from the captain, get you ready quick and soon, for the pikes will speed together by the rising of the moon.
By the rising of the moon, by the rising of the moon, For the bikes 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, right the north to you and me.
One more roar for signal, token, whistle up and arching 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, For your bike 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 warming light.
Warmers passed along the valleys like the man she's lonely crew, And a thousand blades were flashing at the rising of the moon, And the rising of the moon, and the rising of the moon, And a thousand blades were flashing at the rising of the moon.
It's Thanksgiving Day, November the 22nd, 2012.
I'm Harold Covington, and this is Radio Free Northwest.
I'd like to begin with compliments of the season and wish a happy Thanksgiving to all our listeners out there, and my wish is for a happy holiday season to you and yours.
Enjoy it, because this may well be the last holiday season we have in this country that could pass for what we used to think of as normal.
Come January the 1st, we hit the fiscal cliff.
Taxmageddon.
And that's when the rollercoaster ride starts, with all Americans having a lot less money in their pocket to spend than they do now, which for millions of white people and their families will be a critical blow.
The resulting removal of billions of dollars of disposable income from people's pockets will cripple the economy even worse than it already is.
And God knows where it'll end.
Tell you what, every year I like to post the true story of the first Thanksgiving, which needless to say is a very different thing from the politically correct crap that we get from the media and from our liberal education system.
It's true that Thanksgiving did originate in Puritan New England, but not in the way that we've been told.
This is the original proclamation issued by the Governor and Council of State of the Massachusetts Bay Colony on June 20, 1676.
The Holy God, having by a long and continual series of His afflictive dispensations in and by the present war with the heathen natives of this land, written and brought to pass bitter things against His own covenant people in this wilderness, yet so that we evidently discern that in the midst of His judgments He hath remembered mercy, having remembered His footstool in the day of His sore displeasure against us for our sins, with many singular intimations of His fatherly compassion and regard.
Reserving many of our towns from desolation threatened and attempted by the enemy, and giving us, especially of late with many of our Confederates, many signal advantages against them, without such disadvantage to ourselves as formerly we have been sensible of.
If it be the Lord's mercy that we are not consumed, it certainly bespeaks our positive thankfulness when our enemies are in any measure disappointed or destroyed.
And fearing the Lord should take notice under so many intimations of his returning mercy, we should be found an insensible people as not standing before him with thanksgiving, as well as lading him with our complaints in the time of pressing afflictions.
The Council has thought meet to appoint and set apart the twenty-ninth day of this instant June, as a day of solemn thanksgiving and praise to God for such His goodness and favor, many particulars of which mercy might be instanced, but we doubt not those who are sensible of God's afflictions have been as diligent to espy Him returning to us, and that the Lord may behold us as a people offering praise, and thereby glorifying Him.
The Council doth recommend it to the respective ministers, elders, and people of this jurisdiction, solemnly and seriously, to keep the same, beseeching that, being persuaded by the mercies of God, we may all, even this whole people, offer up our bodies and souls as a living and acceptable service unto God by Jesus Christ.
Note that the actual first Thanksgiving was proclaimed 56 years after the landing at Plymouth Rock, so it had nothing to do with the Pilgrims or Elmer Fudd running around in the snow with a blunderbuss.
Note also that it was in June, which actually makes a lot more sense than a cold Massachusetts November.
Finally, note that the first Thanksgiving was to celebrate a white military victory over the Indians, not to invite them all to sit around the same table over turkey and cranberry sauce.
The victory in question was the winding down of what is known as King Philip's War, which was the only Indian uprising in American history that ever had a serious chance of driving the English colonists out of the land.
In case anyone questions that, it was only a few years later that the Indians actually did drive the Spanish out of Santa Fe and back to Mexico for 12 years, so the danger was real.
In the space of little more than a year, 12 other region's towns in Massachusetts, Connecticut, and Rhode Island were destroyed and many more damaged.
The colony's economy was all but ruined, and much of its population was killed, including one-tenth of all men available for military service.
So, when you sit down to your turkey and pumpkin pie today, give thanks to those hard-nosed, hard-boiled Yankee religious fanatics, whatever you may think of them, who fought and bled and in some cases lost their homes, their lives, and everything they had in order to win white people the right to stay here and become Americans eventually.
The present Thursday in November holiday, by the way, originated as a propaganda stunt proclaimed by Abraham Lincoln during the Civil War in order to distract the North's attention from the fact that at the time the Union was getting its ass kicked by the Confederate Army.
Now we're going to hear from Mac, our forums webmaster, who has a bone to pick with some of you.
Hello, fellow white nationalists.
This is Mac from the Northwest Front Forums.
There seems to be some issues lately with our forums, such as connection issues, possibly due to cyber attacks to try and take us down.
I've also discovered that there are a lot of people who have created accounts but aren't getting them activated, either by not using the email that's sent or they aren't getting the email itself.
If you are having problems creating an account and don't seem to be getting the activation email, Check your junk email box.
It may be in there.
Also, there's only one account per user allowed, so if you're trying to create multiple accounts, you're not going to get secondary accounts created.
The system will not allow it.
If you truly are not receiving the activation email, you can email me at nwffadmin at northwestfront.net.
And do so from the email address you're using to create the user account to prove that the email account is legitimate.
Please give me the name you used for the account and roughly when you created it so that I can look it up.
Once I've checked in on the account and verified that it is legit, I can manually activate those accounts.
I will periodically clean out accounts that have not been activated, but before I delete them, I will force the system to resend the activation email.
So any account that has not been activated within three months will be removed from the system.
We also have a lot of lurkers, people who create accounts and then never use them.
If I find accounts with no posts at all that haven't been logged into in over six months, I'm going to purge them.
I didn't set this forum up for people to look around, look at what people read, and look at the user list.
I set the forum up for people to use to help relocate themselves to the Northwest, or to help others relocate to the Northwest.
The forum is intended to be used, not just sat and read.
If I see accounts that have no posts at all for over a year, I am going to delete those accounts whether or not people are actually logging into them.
You don't need an account to read and so as far as I'm concerned, if you have an account and you're not using it, you're not actively working to coordinate with other white nationalists, you're not actively helping out other people, you're not using it to connect with other people, then I am going to delete it because you are We've got people complaining about others who are not connecting with them.
They send out pleas for folks to connect with them saying, Call me, maybe.
First, let's be proactive.
If you're on the forums and you want to connect with somebody else, you can get onto Harold's email list.
Use that email list that he has.
Send emails out.
Be proactive.
But don't just sit there and expect everybody else to come to you.
You need to go out.
You need to find them.
And if somebody does connect with you and sends you a message saying, hey, let's meet for lunch, god dang it, meet them for lunch.
What is so hard to get out of your shells?
We have to work together.
And if we can't work together, we aren't going to have this nation that we need.
And time is getting short, people.
So, again, if you're having issues, account issues with the forums, email me.
You're not going to be able to use the forums to connect with me because you're having problems.
So email me, n-w-f-f-admin, A-D-M-I-N, at northwestfront.net.
That's not.com.org, it's.net.
Again, this is Mac saying, Godspeed, get your asses here.
Okay, quick email.
This is from Del Hay in Virginia.
Dear HAC, you seem to have a grasp of economics.
Most white Americans don't.
They don't understand what quantitative easing means and what's going to happen if the Jew Bernanke keeps on printing money.
Could you give us a really, really simple explanation as to why this is a really, really bad idea?
Okay, Dale, here goes.
First, on Bernanke's so-called quantitative easing.
Now, let me make this as simple as possible.
The United States has been spending more than it takes in in taxes for most of our adult lives.
How have they gotten away with this?
Usually through borrowing existing money from major investment banks, stock markets, and other institutions of the super-rich, and lately from foreign governments like China through their banking system, so forth and so on.
Okay, everybody got that.
Oodles and oodles of borrowed money.
Trillions of dollars of it that, in theory at least, has to be paid back.
I get your arms around that.
Has to be paid back.
But meanwhile, we just keep on spending more than we take in and borrowing more and more.
The United States government borrows this money through a variety of fancy IOUs of a number of kinds, which are loosely called treasury bills or T-bills.
If you still have those savings bonds that you used to buy in school or your great-uncle Joe used to give you for your birthday, you've got a T-bill.
An IOU.
What the Jew Ben Bernanke is doing with his so-called quantitative easing is printing more money at the Federal Reserve to redeem previously issued IOUs.
In other words, he's paying America's debts with money that isn't real.
He just created it, made it up out of thin air.
Probably didn't even actually print up the cash, just clicked a few function keys and created the money on a computer server, and then started transferring it to other accounts to redeem all those T-Bell IOUs that are coming due.
In other words, He's cheating and defrauding the people America owes money to.
To make it simpler still, I suppose you lend me $100 now, and I give you an IOU to pay you back $200 in a year's time.
Now, since I'm Uncle Sam, and am therefore totally trustworthy, of course, you say, Sure, Sam, here's $100.
Catch me in a year and give me back two.
And then you go on your merry way.
But in the meantime, I keep on borrowing and borrowing from other people and spending and spending to feed my various gambling and drug and war and other addictions.
And then when the year is up, I don't have your $200 to pay back with.
So instead, I have my little Jewish friend take out his little toy printing press and he prints out two $100 paper pieces of Monopoly money.
And I give these things to you and I say, now, I've held up my end of the bargain, so give me back my IOU.
Just like the government of the United States, I'm a homicidal psychopath that everybody's afraid of.
And if you argue, or if you try to refuse the monopoly money, or if you demand to be paid back in real money, I'll split your skull open with an axe, and no one will do anything about it.
You've just been robbed.
But damned if you're going to lend me any more money ever again, out there you have quantitative easing.
The Jew Bernanke is buying back America's debt with monopoly money he created out of thin air, and already people are catching on.
The Chinese, for example, have stopped lending to us.
What will happen when America can't borrow anymore?
Well, one of two things.
First off, the Democrats might somehow come to their senses and stop spending money hand over fist.
Not likely, but I suppose we have to at least consider the possibility.
Now that will mean that the Democrats will no longer have the money to bribe the niggers and Mexicans to be quiet and keep them drunk and doped up until election day when their votes are needed.
So there will be mass rioting which may escalate into full-scale racial war and collapse.
Imagine what will happen in this country one day on the first of the month when all of a sudden those direct deposits don't hit those EBT card accounts.
The second possibility is that Ben Bernanke will keep on printing money, and instead of doing T-bill accounting tricks with it, the desperate Democrats will start injecting it into the economy through the welfare and minority bribery system.
The inflated money will become worthless like it has in Zimbabwe.
It won't buy anything anymore.
The niggers and the Mexicans will riot nationwide, and the government won't be able to suppress it because they can't pay their mercenaries either, and then will have full-scale racial war and collapse.
Now you understand the present-day American economy.
No, really, that's it.
Simplified, granted, but basically what I just said, that's it.
There's something happening here, but what it is ain't exactly clear.
There's something happening here, but what it is ain't exactly clear.
There's a man with a gun over there Telling me I've got to beware I think it's time we stop Children, what's that sound?
Everybody look what's going down There's battle lines being drawn Nobody's right if everybody's wrong.
Young people speaking their minds are getting so much resistance from behind.
Every time we stop, hey, what's that sound?
Everybody look what's going down guitar solo What a field day for the heat.
A thousand people in the street singing songs and carrying signs.
Mostly say hooray for our side.
It's time we stop.
Hey, what's that sound?
Everybody look what's going down Paranoia strikes deep Into your life it will creep
It starts when you're always afraid Step out of line, the man come and take you away We better stop, hey, what's that sound?
Everybody look what's going, we better stop Hey, what's that sound?
Everybody look what's going, we better stop now Greetings from Seattle, comrades.
This is Andy Donner of the Northwest Front, and I'm here today to try another attempt at convincing you all to make the migration.
But first, I'm going to humble myself a little bit in order to make my main rhetorical thrust a bit more credible.
It took me a year to migrate, and in the first couple of months of that year, I did quite a bit of bloviating over email to Harold Covington.
Sure, I did my fair share of migration work.
Hey, I'm in Seattle now, aren't I?
But I also wrote a few emails I hope never get out.
I'm pretty sure Harold doesn't remember any of them, or he wouldn't ever let me on this program.
Some of the worthless nonsense I poured into my emails is representative of a lot of garbage on the standard white nationalist blog or message board.
Part of this is due to understandable enthusiasm from a new NFer and a sort of new racist.
Sure, it happens, and sure, it's actually somewhat healthy.
But when I thought about the quality of what I wrote, I quickly grew out of it and realized it was only for a selfish motive.
I wanted to improve the way I came across to people, especially people whom I didn't yet know.
As a consequence of this improvement, I stopped writing emails telling the Northwest Front what it needed to do.
I certainly wasn't doing anything wrong, and there certainly isn't anything wrong with someone else going through the same phase, provided it ends.
If anything, it shows a certain amount of interest in analytic ability.
Bear with me here, because this gets a little rough before getting better, but I think it turns into a good thing for everyone involved.
Before I go any further, I'll spell out exactly what prompted this particular RFN submission.
Harold sent out a response to the November 8, 2012 episode of RFN, which addresses the NF strategy and long-term plans.
It's not yet common knowledge, but Harold and I spoke at length on this topic over the weekend following that RFN episode.
A few comments on the blog entry on the party website tossed around an idea which isn't remotely correct.
It's true Harold does the absolute bulk of the work since the party isn't able to pay people to do donkey work yet, but someone got the impression no one else contributes anything of value or puts out any effort for the party.
Just the night before this remark hit the comments section of the party website, I decided to burn the candle at both ends, and this isn't at all the first time either, in order to get work done on a party project.
Honestly, I can't say I've done everything perfect, but there have been good reasons for delay, such as giving up weekends and evenings for face-to-face meetings as well as helping new migrants.
You know, the things you're all supposed to be participating in.
Alright, alright, I'll leave that one alone for now.
But my point is, we're all putting out what efforts we can right now, and we need help.
I understand there's a bit of concern about the party and the work we're doing.
I'm not trying to call people out here, so I won't press the obvious remarks.
But I could justifiably request these same people use the time they demand of us here in the homeland to make their migration happen, just as the rest of us did.
As I said, my purpose isn't to call anyone out since I made many of the same types of remarks in good faith before I migrated.
Having said that, I did grow out of the advise the NF on NF stuff even though I'm not with the NF phase and I'm glad I did.
It turns out I was wrong about many of the things I thought and I could only see that after migration.
I don't want to alienate the individuals I referred to, though I will have to be somewhat critical of their commentary.
My goal here is to try to educate the online NF hangabouts about the psychological effects of migration, especially how it affects the migrants' perspective on NF matters.
Before we get too far into that, I'll run a new concept by you.
I call it the Covington-Donner thesis.
Mr. Covington hasn't authorized his name in this combined thesis of mine, but I am cribbing some of his work so his name goes on it anyway.
Everyone listening to Radio Free Northwest has heard about white character and how we need to fix it.
That's the Covington in the thesis title.
The Donner part of the title comes from the 80-20 principle, which says 80% of the work is done by 20% of the people.
I would mess with that a little bit here and say 80% of the non-NF advice about the NF comes from 20% of the people who haven't migrated yet.
Before anyone feels like I'm attacking them, remember I've admitted to doing the same thing myself.
The overall thrust of the Covington-Donner thesis is that most of the philosophical and strategic advice about how the NF needs to change will come from people who aren't willing to change themselves first.
Seriously, guys, you might say the Donner part of the thesis comes from the lesson I learned about my own behavior while migrating.
And honestly, my speculation wasn't at all wrong, as I said before.
What was wrong with the whole picture is that I hadn't migrated yet.
Okay, I said I'd leave migration alone, but we're going to have to hit it eventually.
It's not wrong to chatter online in any particular venue about your own opinion on how the NF needs to work, but we all need to bear one thing in mind.
Advice tends to be somewhat empty or lacking unless it comes from a perspective of experience or responsibility.
Another way of looking at this is best illustrated by re-listening to old episodes of RFN and closely scrutinizing emails Harold responds to.
And sometimes they're along the lines of, if only the NF could provide or would do or said or didn't do and are never from individuals taking responsibility for coming home or bringing about the 14 words in some other concrete way.
To be a bit more blunt, those not willing to come home have refused to change their own character in such a way as to bring about a revolution in themselves.
I learned this lesson while migrating, but it didn't sink in until I crossed the homeland border for the last time in October 2011.
Anyone who hasn't brought about some sort of change in themselves or in the world is in an awkward position to advise the NF on how best to do so Since their input comes from a perspective of pure theory and has no real-world proof to back up their ideas.
Please understand, guys, I'm not trying to belittle you or insult you, especially since I've already admitted I used to do the same thing you're doing now.
What I am trying to do is get across to the listeners what sort of character change we in the NF are asking you to perform.
Someone once said you catch more flies with honey than vinegar, but the white nationalist movement has been offering us all nothing but honey for the last several decades, and we all know where that's gotten us.
We're now in the position of having to pack up and move northwest to create a revolutionary party in hopes of taking back part of an once all-white country.
We've got far too many so-called comrades who absolutely refuse to lift a finger and would rather tell those of us who are doing something all about how we're not doing it right.
And what we need to change and how they're so kind as to bring their knowledge down from the mountain to us.
Alright, maybe that last bit was a bit harsh, but I'd like to bring it back to the Covington-Donner thesis and fully illustrate why this is such a problem.
I think then you'll see through my tone and into the truth of the situation.
Harold created an entry on the Homeland blog where the NF Internet Hangabouts could discuss the issue of organism versus organization in response to a British comrade who brought the issue up...
As a comment response to the aforementioned RFN episode.
To give this comrade their due, as I did in my response to Harold's request for more input in the situation, they were honest enough to say where they're from, since we frequently interpret what we hear in emails and comments through the lens of where the person lives and whether or not they've migrated.
Our Brit comrade admonished me in one of their comments to understand Americans aren't going to respond to our message in the way we would like, and we've got to move towards our activities in the homeland.
I did some disagreeing when I gave Harold my email response, and that's largely what this comrade was dealing with in their admonishment towards beginning formal local proselytizing.
I was hoping to come across some sort of specific, measurable, and actionable suggestions which we could use, but no such luck.
One of our stateside comrades asked this Brit to consider relocating here and helping with the effort.
Once again, the Covington-Donner thesis survived the day.
A thesis is a thesis because it makes a prediction which at any point can be disproved with a single example.
It isn't a hypothesis because a hypothesis by definition has no evidence to back it up.
It isn't a theorem because a theorem is something abstract that has been proven true in every possible case by logic.
Our British comrade, in response to the suggestion they relocate, reinforced the Covington-Donner thesis yet again by refusing to leave Britain because they love their island too much.
Comrade, please don't think I'm trying to ridicule you.
I once considered myself a proper red-blooded American, and if you'd seen me barely three years ago, you would never have predicted I'd be where I am today doing what I'm doing right now.
I understand exactly what you're going through, and despite my harsh words, I empathize.
No, I don't sympathize, I empathize.
But to put this in academic terms, you're trying to teach me the quadratic formula when you've yet to begin learning arithmetic.
Yeah, yeah, look, okay, I've been guilty of doing this to the NF myself, so I know whereof I speak.
One of the purportedly younger comrades saw fit to refer to the listeners of RFN as dickheads and let rip a few other choice words in a blog comment response.
I don't feel like going that far.
Perhaps this comrade left me a wide berth, but I do feel I've been sufficiently restrained to get my point across without truly alienating the audience.
Having said all that...
I'll bring everything back to the practical level, and I'll do what I can to give everyone something to take to heart and hopefully stir some migration effort.
I understand I've done a fair amount of criticizing here, and I really ought to balance out the scales by making a contribution of a positive nature.
Here goes.
I'm recording this audio one week after Son of Black Tuesday.
For those of you who don't get the reference, this is one week after the 2012 elections, and the Northwest Front was founded the day after the 2008 American elections.
Which we as a community have taken to calling Black Tuesday, in honor of the first mulatto dictatorship our nation has seen.
Black Tuesday was certainly an omen for all historically sound white nationalists, and the son of Black Tuesday really stirred the pot, or so it seems right now.
In the week since the selection, Twitter has gone nuts with the secession hashtag and calls for an American Golden Dawn, and I've tried to turn the tide a little bit, but I don't see anyone making any effort to participate.
That might actually be good, since some damn American fools have decided they're going to show off with petitions for their states to secede.
Of course, this just isn't going to happen, and I'd like to think no one with NF aspirations has been fooled by it.
The state governments are just as much our enemies as the federal government, and the states themselves aren't going to secede.
Really, this is a bunch of confused angry Americans blowing off steam and crying for someone to save them.
I can't fault their idea or their anger, but they're new to this, and they don't yet dare admit the system itself is the problem, and whining won't get them anywhere.
This is the same problem the movement has mired itself in for its whole history.
Even the Southern nationalist websites, and that's all they are since they don't do anything in the real world, are more or less crying for someone to do something for them, rather than leading the community they claim to have in creating a real secession movement.
The Northwest Front has a plan, and despite appearances, we are making some sort of progress in encouraging migration.
Even Dr. William Luther Pierce had a concept which relied on someone else getting high-ranking military and politicians, of which he was neither, to do all the work.
Dr. Pierce produced fine material of all sorts, but that's all he ever did.
Ultimately, the white nationalist movement has always fallen back on the assumption that someone else is going to come along and do work for them after they've sat back behind their computers, or decades ago their mimeograph machines, and were so kind as to tell everyone else exactly how fucking brilliant they are.
Who knows?
Maybe these intellectuals could be the new fearless leader after their words caused the revolution they weren't willing to work for.
After all, they're clearly leadership material what with all that talking they did.
Okay.
I think the Covington-Donner thesis connection there is obvious, so I'll stop with the examples.
But the application is that the one thing no one has done up to this point is to take responsibility for the state of things and certainly not to actually attempt change.
I've been harping on this point long enough, so let's bring it home.
Large changes and large actions are made up of small changes and small actions.
The first step in migration, which you are all morally responsible for, is to change yourself.
Into the sort of person who accepts their racial responsibility and channels that acceptance into change, which first and foremost brings you home.
As my final response to the organism versus organization issue, I'll say this.
We don't have the boots on the ground to start an actual organization.
I understand those outside the homeland think we need to do things differently, and I respect concerns of this nature, but only up to a point.
The facts are this.
We don't have enough people within half an hour of each other right now in order to do such a thing, and that's the reality on the ground.
Being told otherwise from people who ought to be here with us isn't going to massage reality into something more palatable.
If you're willing to accept your responsibility, spend 15 minutes a day working on your migration.
I wish I could give you a step-to-step guide, but it's different for everyone.
I spent some weeks working myself up to the point where I was ready to start this process and if I hadn't, I would never have migrated.
I understand it's difficult and anyone who genuinely has trouble with this process ought to feel free to reach out to me.
I've got a lot of time for someone trying to migrate who has trouble working themselves up to it.
Hail Victory Comrades!
Hail Victory Comrades!
Good evening, comrades.
Tonight I would like to review a book about the life and work of Jack London.
This is called Racial Lives, and it's by an author by the name of Janine Campbell Reisman.
This is a critical essay dealing primarily with Jack London's writings.
It's really also a biography of London.
London's upbringing was rather unique.
His mother was a woman by the name of Laura Wellman, and she was highly eccentric.
She was very much caught up in the spiritualist movement that was going on in the late 1800s.
She was romantically involved with a man by the name of Channy.
They were both very interested in both spiritualism and also astrology.
Now, one of the things that Chani and Flora often talked about, they often discussed when the ideal time would be to have a child in terms of astrology and the arrangements of the stars.
So at one point, Flora Wellman becomes pregnant, and she tells Chani that she's pregnant, and Chani's response is to say, please end this pregnancy.
And Channy wants to really hit the road.
He doesn't want anything to do with being a father.
And so Channy quickly exits the scene as fast as he can.
Flora decides to maintain the pregnancy and eventually gives birth to Jack London.
Now, this is a very difficult time in Laura's life, and eventually she gets very depressed and attempts suicide.
Clearly, she's in no position to take care of her young son, and a lot of the child care responsibilities are taken over by a woman who is named Anna Prentice, and she is a freed slave who actually becomes the wet nurse of Jack.
Now, obviously, back in the late 1870s, this was quite an arrangement, and because of...
Flora's eccentric lifestyle, she's considered, in a sense, rather lower class, even though she has a very long lineage, a very long, I guess apparently Welch and Saxon lineage, but her lifestyle is really, I'm sure, very ill-considered in those days.
Now, eventually, Wellman marries a man by the name of London, and I'm really not sure how much Jack knows about his portrayal as a child, but when he comes to be of age, his mother tells him all about Channy, and she knows where Channy lives, so she gives London Channy's address.
Now, at this point, of course, London writes to Channy, and Channy denies being London's father.
Now, of course, this greatly traumatizes the young London, and at this point, he runs off to the Canadian Klondike because he wants to be part of the Gold Rush.
Now, when he's up in the Great White North, London starts to write short stories, and his first short story is something called Daughter of the Snows.
In this story, he tackles the issue of character and the white man, kind of like what Harold is always talking about.
He tells a story about a white man who is rescued by another group of whites in the Klondike, but it turns out, unfortunately, that this man is actually a coward because he's run from a fight.
And so the lady that he proposed to turns him down, and she ends up living alone with her father.
He writes a series of adventure stories.
Some of them turn out to be rather, according to this author at least, rather canned, and some of them contain characters that are really quite a day in their presentation.
Now, at some point, London decides that he's interested in getting married, and he also decides that he's very interested in the ideology of socialism.
And I think this is very understandable because London sees socialism as a leg up for the common man.
Because you have to understand that London is really struggling with identity.
He's struggling with where he belongs in terms of class.
He tries to better himself, and he's very driven by that.
So, at one point, he proposes to a Russian Jewish woman, which is quite strange for someone who is an emerging racialist writer, or who is at least trying to be one, or at least appear to be one.
I'm not sure which.
She turns him down, and then the next day he impulsively proposes to another woman by the name of Beth.
And Beth is really an appropriate bride for London.
She's of the same ethnic background as London is, and London tells her that he doesn't love her, but that he wants to marry her for procreative purposes.
And she obliges him, and they're married for four years, and they have two daughters.
But London doesn't stick with the marriage.
He ends up divorcing her and marrying another woman in 1905 by the name of Charmin.
Now this marriage is much better for London.
Both Charmin and Jack are adventurers, and they love to travel.
At this point, London goes to the South Seas.
Prior to that, he's traveled to Japan because he was covering the Japanese War, and he develops a certain respect for the Japanese.
He believes that the Japanese and other Orientals could be a genuine, almost a competitive source in some sense with regard to whites.
But at this point, he goes to Hawaii and the South Seas, and he writes a lot of stories at this time about people who are mixed, and it's not really that surprising when you consider there are a lot of mixed people in the South Sea area.
And he also writes about various Polynesians, and at one point writes a story about a Polynesian hero who is actually dark.
He's one of these really black Polynesians, or dark Polynesians, and he ends up being the hero of the story.
Actually, he rebels against a certain white man, and it's really quite a gruesome story, but it's considered a very progressive story by this author.
Also, too, another thing that London does, because at times he's overtaken with various tropical illnesses, he travels quite a bit, goes back to California, but he's always being called away, and he's called away to Mexico on several occasions to cover the revolt in Mexico, because at that time there was a dictator in Mexico.
And the Mexicans wanted a democratic government.
So he writes a lot of correspondence reports.
He also does correspondence about a boxer by the name of Johnson, who is a black boxer that fights a white boxer by the name of Jeffries.
At that time, this boxing is really seen in very racial terms, and he's favored to cover this boxing match because, although pretty much all reporters are somewhat racial at this point, London is very much known for that.
But he has a certain amount of fame at this point.
Ends up drinking a lot, and he's trying to vacation at one point in California, and he's planning a trip to Japan, but he gets called back to Mexico, again, for all the political unrest that continues on in Mexico.
And at this point, he gets really bored with the correspondence in Mexico, and does a few correspondences for Colliers, but has to leave due to illness.
He comes back home, and he's trying to write a book.
At one point, he's writing a book called Martin Eden, which is a book about a man trying to pull himself up by his bootstraps, and it's kind of very much a story of London's aspirations.
After coming back from Mexico for the last time, London is, at this point, he's middle-aged, and I think he's becoming more of a komajan, I guess.
And he turns away from this idea of socialism, that he's adhered to all his life, or at least given lip service to socialism.
Around 1914, he resigns from the Sephardi, claiming that socialism is not radical enough and will never work.
And instead of joining a more radical socialist institution, he just gives up altogether, and he starts getting interested in the Furies of Jung.
This ends up being a real breakthrough for London.
He writes a very intriguing story called The Red One about a white man that goes to the jungle and finds this artifact, either from space or from another dimension, becomes very obsessed with this artifact and wants to see it again and has to offer his head to the tribe to be able to see the Red One.
So his last act is gazing at the Red One and then submitting himself to these headhunters.
And he's writing other books at this time and other stories.
He's writing a story called Cherry, which is about a half-Japanese, half-white woman that lives in Hawaii, and several other books and stories and projects.
Now, some people believe that in 1916, when he dies, he dies as a result of trying to, I guess, poison himself or something like that.
But this author seems to believe that he dies of an illness, and that this illness was brought on by the fact that he was treated with mercury years earlier for a skin problem.
I tend to think that this is a reasonable argument given the many projects that he had going on at the time.
And then the writer goes on to say that after his death, he influenced a lot of other writers.
Now, like many writers and many artists, it seems that his meaning is really in the eye of the beholder.
In this book, the writer is almost making a premise that he was some sort of a forerunner for a more individualistic view of people, whereas the website, or some of the websites I've looked at, seem to have different views of him.
There's even a claim that he might have written the book Might Is Right, which is a book that I've seen in various countercurrents, for example, and other, I guess, sites sell rather right-wing books, although I've never read that book myself.
Although this may just be an internet rumor because I don't know of anything to really back this up.
So I think people tend to see in writers whatever they need to see in a way.
So in a way I was rather surprised by this book in some sense.
I think it's a very interesting book.
I don't know whether you'd care to read it or not, but I found it just interesting to learn about Jack London's life, which was really quite, I suppose, a rather unique life experience.
He has a way, I think, of telling his stories from many different points of view, which was considered quite novel and quite breakthrough at the time.
It's really, I think, unfortunate that he died so young, because you're left, I guess, to speculate what direction his career would have taken, especially as the author points out his interest in Jung, which occurs at the very end of his life.
So I hope you enjoyed my review this week, and thank you for listening.
Thank you.
Speaking of Thanksgiving, at one stage in our history, it would have been almost correct to say that we really were a nation of immigrants.
White immigrants.
There's a little something to the Ellis Island myth.
Some of the ancestors of people listening to this podcast probably came through there in the 19th century.
But like I said on the Mike Harris show, these were racially assimilable white immigrants who could be melded together to make Americans, for better or worse.
Probably the most famous and tragic of the white immigrant groups in the 19th and 20th centuries were the Irish.
They are unique in that most of them actually never wanted to come here, but were forced by extreme poverty and outright starvation, or else through political persecution by the British, to jump on the immigrant ships.
Indeed, the first Irish actually came to America as slaves in the mid-17th century.
When Oliver Cromwell shipped half of the population of Connett to the sugarcane fields in the West Indies.
There's actually a small, indigenous population of poor whites still living in Jamaica called Redlegs, who are descended from these Irish slaves.
I think they're about 5% of the population.
The immigration problem remained up until the time I myself lived in Ireland.
In the 1980s, it was called jumping on the jumbo.
It was pretty much accepted that with a 20% unemployment rate in Ireland, you were going to lose most of your kids.
They would get their leaving cert, which is what they call a high school diploma over there, and then they would jump on the jumbo for Boston or New York or London or Brussels or maybe Australia, any place they could get a job.
This is an immigration song from Dick Gohan.
This is an immigration song from Dick Gohan.
I am a rambling Irish man In all's that I was born And may's the happy hour I spent By the banks of sweet Loch Heron For to live poor I could not endure Like
others of my station To America I sailed away And left this Irish nation But
the night before we went on board I spent it with my darling From four o 'clock in the afternoon 'Til the break of day next morning When the three were going to part We fell in each other's
arms And you may be sure and very sure That it wounds that both are charms Right ta-na-na-na,
ta-na-na-na Right ta-na-na-na-na But the first night that we spent on board I dreamed about my Nancy I
dreamt I held her in my arms And when she placed my fancy But when I woke up And I found my bosom empty.
Well, you may be sure and very sure that I laid this content at right times on the map.
Tantanana, thine tantanana, runa na me But when we arrived on the other side We were both stumps and
healthy We cast our anchor in the bay Going down to Philadelphia And that every lad linked with his last blue
Blue jackets and white trousers And let every last ling go with our hands Blue petticoats and white flancers Bright sands on the mat Okay,
folks, I know that this is Thanksgiving weekend, and listenership will probably be a bit off, because everybody's got more important things to do over the holiday than listen to me bloviate.
So, rather than go off on one of my usual deep metaphysical rants, I'll just touch on a few highlights.
To begin with, I'm afraid I have some disturbing news on the fate of Edgar Steele.
Nothing definite, but the things I've been saying on here seem to have been confirmed, in that Ed has been out of contact with everybody for a long time, And the prison authorities in Victorville seem to be keeping him incommunicado again like they did for the first six months or so after he was arrested.
I finally got somebody close to the family to respond to me as follows.
Dear HAC, In roughly the first, say, four months that Mr. Steele was housed at the Victorville, California Federal Prison, he was able to communicate with four members of his legal team.
We could send and receive multiple messages per day.
Then, not so gradually, Victorville constricted both his email and printed correspondence.
Now only the occasional email comes from him, usually in the form of a message to one recipient but cc'd to all the others.
Outside mail and books do not appear to make it through the jail walls.
The last known communication that I am aware of was over four months ago, in the form of a telephone call.
At that time, his support team found he was in as good of a spirits as can be expected.
His health sounded stable.
Okay, I won't mention who sent me this, because apparently our friends in the silk suits have warned the family and the so-called official Edgar Steele support group off, quote-unquote, having anything to do with Covington, presumably threatening unspecified retaliation against Ed if there are any disturbing signs of white solidarity here.
Apparently, our lords and masters really, really do not like my keeping the Steele case alive and refusing to cut him loose, which is what most white nationalists do once the prison gates slam shut.
I have no idea what's happening.
Steele could be in the infirmary, he could be in the hole, he could have been moved to another prison, or he could be dead.
In the old Stalin days, the way that a family member knew when a relative in the Lubyanka or the Gulag had died or been shot was when they got letters and food parcels back after some months with a rubber stamp that said, Prisoner Denied Right of Correspondence.
Well, maybe the dictatorship is trying to tell us something and doesn't appreciate it when some of us don't get the message.
Moving along with some housekeeping notes, as many of you know, I have now completed the fifth Northwest independence novel, Freedom Sons.
Some of you have been asking when this book will be available both on the internet and in actual bound hard copy book form.
There are several steps involved in making this happen.
I'm going to spend this Thanksgiving weekend putting a few finishing touches on the whole manuscript, including adding a glossary to the front of the novel just like it was on the other four.
And that should bring the total wordage up to about 360,000 words or so.
So the whole thing is actually only somewhat longer than the Brigade.
But again, as many of you know, I decided to truncate it and not do a full Section 5, because events are catching up to us.
And, frankly, my time needs to be allocated elsewhere.
By the end of the holiday, I should have at least a passable draft of the whole book available, and I will release that in PDF form as a kind of emergency stopgap to make sure that the novel as a whole does, in fact, get into circulation and cannot be suppressed or interdicted in any way by the dictatorship.
After this penultimate draft, there will be one more revision of the entire book from beginning to end, and then I'll start shopping around for a publisher.
I'll talk to you guys about that when the time comes.
I'm hoping to get it in print by February or March, but I can't prognosticate as yet if that'll be possible.
Okay, running way long here, so I'll cut to the third music break by request.
In the last section of Freedom's Sons, which I published on my Thought Crime blog, I make reference to the 50th anniversary of the Battle of Portland and the SS Band sounding the Panzerleid as the last dozen or so surviving veterans of the German stormtrooper unit who broke the American barricades on the Argon side of the I-5 bridge march across the line where this had occurred 50 years before.
One of our readers liked this scene and asked to hear this one again.
One of our readers liked this one again.
Thank you.
It's a hard thing to do for any racially aware white man, but in the spirit of the season, I'll give it a shot.
They say that the worst thing about death and ending is not being able to say goodbye.
But in some ways, I've been spared that.
My life has worked out such that I have in fact been able to say goodbye.
To much of what was good and noble about our people's past.
I grew up in the much-maligned Old South, in a family sufficiently well-off so that I avoided the South's traditional curse of hardscrabble poverty, and I'm even old enough to remember a few white and colored signs on the restrooms and water fountains.
I can also remember being allowed to stay out and play on summer nights until ten o 'clock and no one worrying about whether I was being abducted and murdered by a pervert.
I remember going to school only with children of my own race.
I remember order and an acceptance of a wonderful, bright future as a matter of course.
I remember having my mother at home all the time when I was little.
Horrible, racist stuff like that.
I can remember the Civil War centennial in the 1960s and being allowed to bring Confederate flags and toys and costumery to school.
In fact, our local children's show we watched on Channel 2 in Greensboro was hosted by a character called the Old Rebel.
I will always be thankful that I was born when I was, and I was able to catch the last dying rays of the setting sun of our old world, and that I retain some fleeting childhood memories of a better way of life.
I saw the lands of hope and glory that were Rhodesia and South Africa.
And I can say that I know somewhat what life must have been like under the old colonial Raj of Victorian England, since our way of doing things back in Bulawayo still came from that era.
In a sense, I can also claim that I'm a British veteran of World War II, since all our Rhodesian Army military manuals and procedures and even training films came from that era, not to mention those old DC-3s in which we flew supplies to Angola in January of 1976.
Finally...
I've seen the old Ireland of song and story before Ireland became a colony of Nigeria.
I've seen what the old Moore street market was like before all the white faces became black.
I've seen the bullet and shell-pocked frontages of Boland's Bakery in the forecourts in the General Post Office.
And I've smelled the coal smoke of Dublin when it was a white city and I could walk anywhere I wanted to with no fear of being attacked because of the color of my skin.
Because there were no bad areas in those days.
All these times, places and people are now gone, and I'm very fortunate to have been among the last to glimpse them as the shadows faded into the darkness and the old world vanished.
I've been privileged to speak at length on more than one occasion with men who served National Socialism and fought for the Third Reich during the Holocaust of Western Civilization that was World War II.
There was Johann the Fallschirmjäger from my childhood in Burlington and Greensboro.
There was the old U-boat commander, Captain Fenstermacher, who served in both wars.
My first publisher, George Dietz.
And the old Lithuanian that Reza Daric introduced me to in the bar in Marquette Park, who pulled up his shirt and showed me his SS tattoo and blood type.
There was another old man in a pub in Dublin who spent the whole night knocking back pints of Guinness and telling me about his youth with the Blue Division under General O'Duffy in Spain, as well as a dozen others.
I've heard for myself how it really was, from the men who were there.
I would trade those meetings, conversations, and friendships for nothing on earth.
And when it seems to you guys that I rant and rave to excess about the many and undeniable weaknesses of our present-day movement, bear in mind one of the reasons why.
I have seen the real thing.
I've talked to the real men who did the real deed.
And we ain't the real thing, not by a long shot.
And don't get me wrong, there are some good memories from our thing as well.
Foremost among them, Daily Plaza, June 25, 1978.
Let me assure you guys, you haven't lived until you stepped out onto a baking-hot square and heard the roar of 50,000 human beings who want to tear you limb from limb.
And there were some good comrades all along the way.
That's one thing I do remember.
In the old NSWPP, the NSPA, the CNC, and the CKA, we laughed a lot.
Even when me and the Chicago boys were down in the basement of Rockwell Hall poking into the earth floor to see whether or not Frank Cullen had any dead little boys buried down there.
I remember we laughed and we played Bobby Brown on the tape recorder.
There were times like that.
Times when you had to laugh or else you'd weep.
Okay, I'm starting to ramble again.
Like the time I cut the ferry over to Shelbyville?
I needed a new heel for my shoe.
So, I decided to go to Morganville, which is what they call Shelbyville in those days.
So I tied an onion to my belt, which was the style at the time.
Anyway, Happy Thanksgiving, guys.
Our time is up now, 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, 98104.
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.
▲
Export Selection