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Jan. 16, 2014 - Radio Free Nortwest - H.A. Covington
01:13:55
20140116_rfn
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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 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.
And 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 of the marching tune, for your bike upon your shoulder by the rising of the moon, by the rising of the moon, by the rising of the moon, with your bike upon Greetings
from the Northwest Homeland, comrades.
It's January the 16th, 2014.
I'm Harold Covington, and this is Radio Free Northwest.
Okay, as we get ready for another week of waiting for Godot, or anyway, waiting for somebody else to go first, I'm going to start off with a pretty grim story.
Actually, I spent most of yesterday thinking about how I'm going to tell this, and trying to decide how specific I can and should get here.
Now, you guys will remember that I mentioned that after I get this one last writing project finished, I was going to stop writing for a good long while and become the principal of Movement Junior High and actually try to start dealing with the horrible people issues, which have always been the primary reason that we go nowhere.
Well, I finished the 5th edition party manual this week, and at the same time, for a lot of this week, I've been attempting to deal with a problem which I have seen recur in many variations time and time again down through the past 40 years, and which I think it's time I discussed openly.
Because it is a problem.
It is going to keep on happening, probably keep on happening more and more as time goes on, and no matter what I do, I am going to be attacked and vilified and criticized for the way I handle it.
It's one of those cases where there is no right answer, and I'm damned if I do, and I'm damned if I don't, so we might as well just lay this out on the table where everybody can look at it.
Now, to some of you, this is going to make me sound mean and cruel and arrogant and hateful and so forth and so on, but one of the things I'm trying to do here is to convey to you people out there some of the problems involved in being a white nationalist fearless leader.
Because the time is coming, at some point down the road, when at least some of you guys are going to have to do this job and deal with these problems yourselves when you lead your own units and groups, either for the NF or somebody else, and you're going to have to do it without me to pass the buck to.
Now, if we do not develop what amounts to a trained leadership cadre, Willing to step forward and take over the reins when I either hit the floor with a stroke or the dictator's servants kick in the door and drag me away, then our race is going to perish from the face of the earth.
Somehow or other, I have to find some way of transferring 40 years' worth of knowledge and experience to those of you who are capable of learning it, so that when you face these problems, as some of you will, you will at least have some faint idea of what the hell to do.
Okay, yeah, I'm kind of meandering here, so I'm going to get right down to the point, no matter how cruel and mean and arrogant and hateful it sounds, because this problem is very real.
Now, as you know, the movement attracts a lot of people who really don't belong here.
One of these is a type of individual that back in my day was called a sad sack.
Most of you are probably too young to remember that term.
The sad sack is...
Not a bad kind of guy.
Actually, in most cases, a likable kind of guy.
But he's someone who suffers from a typically modern American pathology.
A lifelong and congenital inability to get his act together, combined with consistently bad, terrible luck, almost to the level of a jinx.
An apparently inbuilt inability to cope with the crap.
That politically correct America dishes out to white men and women.
I'm sure we all know people like this, especially some women.
Beautiful and loving and good people who just can't cope with the horseshit of living in Barack Obama's America, and so they implode and self-destruct in various ways.
Now, I won't use the term loser, because that term has been overused and abused by the power structure in the media until it's meaningless.
But I will call to mind an old Irish saying.
Sure, if it was rainin' soup, he'd be the only one with nothin' but a fork.
Back in the old days, of course, when society was stable, and most people never moved more than ten miles from where they were born, and everyone pretty much had a preordained place in the world, sad sacks didn't do too badly.
They may have subsisted on menial jobs as stable hands or Bob Cratchit-style clerks or whatever, and they may have led dull and unimportant little lives, but at least old Western society gave them that much.
In the old days, most people had functional families.
And if you just stayed put and didn't rock the boat by preaching anabaptism or robbing stagecoaches or whatever, you would always be guaranteed a place by the kitchen fire, even if you were regarded as a bit of an O for a simpleton.
That's what families were for back in the day.
They were your support system.
Every family had a member or two whom it was understood had to be carried a bit by the stronger members, and that was the way things were.
It was an obligation, and everyone took care of it.
Now, unfortunately, most white people who end up on the bones of their ass have no support system.
They're probably a whole continent away from what little family they have, and then there are the 101 dysfunctional problems that had destroyed the white family and made it impossible for sad sacks to survive, or at least a lot more difficult.
I know I seem like I'm rambling again, but this time there is a point.
The old social support structure of Western society is almost gone now, and there are God knows how many broken, damaged, confused, and isolated white people of both sexes and all ages wandering the landscape out there, and they're all desperately seeking warmth and shelter and white strength to lean on.
Perfectly natural.
Whitaker Chambers once referred to certain leftists who dabbled in the Communist Party as hobbyists in search of an intellectual night's lodging.
In our case, our sad sacks leave out the intellectual part.
Most often, they're just looking for lodging, and anyone's couch or basement or garage will do.
Okay, rolling right along here.
We had another incident this week where an individual whom I know only from the internet basically came to me by email with a long...
Abstruse, convoluted story about how he lost his life savings and ended up on the bones of his ass.
There is always a long, convoluted story, and I have heard a few hundred of them down through the years, but this story is a doozy, let me tell you.
And by the by, for all I know, every damned word of it may be gospel truth.
I won't go into details, but if it's true...
America has really fucked this guy over, and my heart goes out to him, and that is in no way sarcasm or exaggeration.
Anyway, this man is now facing eviction on February the 1st, and what makes it worse, he's in Idaho, and so he's in a position to say, well, Harold, you're Mr. Northwest.
You asked me to come here, and so now you're responsible for me.
Well, that isn't exactly what happened.
Actually, I just got an email from him one day announcing that he was in Idaho, but that's what he'll no doubt say as he screams and curses at me all over the internet.
What he wanted, pretty clearly, was a bus ticket in somebody's couch or basement to crash in.
He wanted, and after all my fine racial rhetoric, indeed expected to be allowed to move in with someone from the Northwest Front, sight unseen.
Nor is this an unusual case.
In the short time that the ENF has been up and running, which is technically since Black Tuesday of 2008, this or something like it has happened at least five times to my recollection.
Back in 2009, I once had a guy screaming slanders and abuse at me on the internet for six months because I wouldn't hook him up with one of our people who would let him crash in the basement or garage.
That individual was probably more typical of the breed than our present guy in Idaho is.
The 2009 character was a job hopper.
A guy with a good trade and sufficient skills to earn a living who could always get a job but never hold on to one for more than a couple of weeks, which is why he was always homeless.
I never met him either, but one of our people actually knew him, and he told us the guy was bipolar.
On his good days, he was the nicest person you would ever want to meet, and then all of a sudden it was a case of Jekyll and Hyde, and our contact told us that this guy's Mr. Hyde was not somebody you wanted around your home or your family.
We get a lot of those.
T-shirt youth and t-shirt middle-aged who can't stay in a workplace or any structured environment or submit themselves to any external discipline long enough to collect more than one or two paychecks because there's niggers at work, there's Mexicans at work, there's American assholes at work, and because there's a boss who demands he take orders, etc., etc.
The typical American, you're not the boss of me type of pathology.
Sorry, I'm wandering again.
Anyway, as regards to the man in Idaho who was facing eviction and wanted to move in on us, I had to say no.
I hope that I don't have to explain to the rest of you why we can't have internet walk-ins literally walking into our homes and plucking their asses down on our couches and in our guest rooms, and this is the first time anybody's laid eyes on them.
I don't have to explain that, do I?
Really?
So...
Brace yourself for another round of internet screaming and abuse as to how wicked and horrible Harold deceived this poor innocent to the Northwest, and he just had this terrible bad luck, and all these bad things happened, and now he's about to get thrown out into the cold and the freezing rain, and there's no room in the homeless shelters, which in this part of the world this time of year is not surprising.
And now he's going to be freezing and starving under a bridge except for every day when he staggers to the public library to get on the computer and curse and insult Harold the liar and deceiver.
Yeah, that's happened a few times as well.
And by the way, I do not for one instant say that what this man has told me about his life and about the crisis he is facing is not true.
It may well be true, every word of it.
And it may well be that on February the 1st, he really is going to be thrown out into the snow and the sub-freezing cold to die on the street.
It's just that we have no way of knowing and no way to check.
No one has ever met him or seen him.
Now that, in itself, shouldn't be.
And that's on us, because we refuse to live in communities and build proper NF units, but the fact is that's the way it is.
Every week I get on here and I beg and I plead with you people on my damned knees to come here and form communities of white nationalists who live and work and make their lives within half an hour's drive of one another, who know one another's faces and visit one another in your homes.
So this kind of thing doesn't happen.
You won't do it.
You sit there waiting for Godot, and so this is one result, a white man in complete isolation and fearing expulsion into the wilderness here, in what is supposed to be our people's homeland.
I'm sorry.
Just as I do not have any magic beans in my pocket, neither does the Northwest Front have Ali Baba's magic carpet with which we can descend from the clouds and just whisk our people away to some secret Northwest redoubt where they can be safe and toasty warm.
We could have that if you wanted it.
Maybe one day you'll realize that Godot isn't coming and you'll come here and do what the hell you should be doing to get that kind of capability.
Okay, back to the Idaho email guy.
We simply have no way of knowing what the real story is, and let me put this as meanly and cruelly as I can.
We are a revolutionary movement trying to change the world.
We are not a social welfare organization, and we cannot run a homeless shelter for the human wreckage that the putrid Sea of Obama casts onto the shore.
There's simply too much of it.
If we stop to do individual air-sea rescue cases, we will not be able to prevent the whole ship from sinking, if you'll pardon a strained metaphor.
I wish we could, because I myself have been...
So close to where this man is, and I know that in this society, once you fall below a certain level, you can never get back up.
I wish I could share this roof that you guys give me and these pots of goop that bubble away on my stove with this guy in Idaho and every white man and woman in the world that Obama and the Democrats have thrown away like garbage.
But I can't.
You don't give it to me to share.
You give it to me to keep me alive and functioning so that I can try to change the world, and that's what I have to use it for.
But don't ever think that I don't know what this man is going through.
The possibility that he might really be thrown onto the street in the middle of an inland northwest winter haunts me and upsets me.
If there was something I could do about it without placing other people at risk and possibly compromising everything I do, I would do so.
But we cannot simply open our homes to every Tom, Dick, and Harry who walks in off the internet sight unseen with a hard luck story.
There are simply too many horrifying for real hard luck stories out there in Obama's America.
All that having been said, one day I hope the Northwest Front can provide such help.
This is how Hamas and Hezbollah and the Muslim Brotherhood do it in Gaza and the West Bank and Egypt and Tunisia and the whole Arab world.
These organizations win the trust and the loyalty of the people by providing for them, when the corrupt Zionist state will not.
Hamas builds free clinics in Gaza.
Hezbollah builds schools in Lebanon and Syria.
The Muslim Brotherhood can get a young man a job in Cairo and get him off the street corner.
Someday, the Northwest Agency will be able to come and whisk at-risk white people away to safety.
Someday we will be able to provide basic survival to our own people, which, after all, is why the Northwest Republic is supposed to exist.
That day will come when you do.
Alright, enough depressing stuff.
As many of you know, the song Dixie was allegedly the national anthem of the Confederate States of America, although I don't believe it was ever made official.
And the history books will tell you that it originally came from an old showboat or minstrel show tune, which it did.
I think I've played the Albert Pike version and a couple of others on here down through the years, but as a historical curiosity, this is in fact the original showboat tune.
The first completely non-political song, Dixie, probably written in the 1830s sometime.
This is the Second South Carolina String Band.
The Second South Carolina String Band
I wish I was in the land of cottonwood, and there I am.
Look away, look away, look away, Dixie land, in Dixie's land, where I was born in early on one frosty morning.
Look away, look away, look away, Dixie land.
And I wish I was in Dixie, hooray, hooray, in Dixie's land I'll take my stand and never die in Dixie Away, away, away outside the Dixie, away,
away, away outside the Dixie Oh, this is Mary, Will and the people, William, Wilson, D.C. But look away, look away, look away, Dixie's line up and when he put his arms around us My best friend says I'm holding my, look away, look away, Dixie
I wish I was in Nixie, hooray, hooray In Nixie's land I'll take my stand Look at I in Nixie, away, away, away Outside the Nixie,
away, away, away Outside the Nixie Yes, this was shown as a butcher's creaver But that did not seem to creeper Away, away, away, away Nixie's land Now this is a hate, the foolish part I'm going to die in Nixie, away, away, away, away, away
I wish I was in Dixie, hooray, hooray In Dixie's land, I'll take my stand, live and die in Dixie Away, away, away, outside the Dixie Away, away, away, outside the Dixie Away, away,
away, outside the Dixie, hooray, away, outside the Dixie Now here's to the health of the Dix, to the missus and the gals that want to kiss us Look away, look away, look
away, Dixie And if you're gonna drive, please, so come and hear us on the mower Look away, look away, look away, Dixie I wish I was in Dixie, hooray, hooray In Dixie's
land, I'll take my stand, live and die in Dixie Away, away, away, outside the Dixie Away, away, away, outside the Dixie Now here's to the kick me kicks and itch and batter me Wish you'll find a little batter
Away, away, away, Dixie's land Then all the way down and scratch your gravel to Dixie's land, I'll come to travel Away, look away, look away, Dixie's land Then I wish I was in Dixie, hooray, hooray, in Dixie's land I'll take my stand and let die in Dixie, away, away, away down side of Dixie Oh, it ends up Dixie
Oh, it ends up Dixie
Well, I wish I was in the land of cotton, old town there I've long gone to look away, look away, look away, Dixie's land In Dixie's land where I was born and early on across the border Look
away, look away, look away, Dixie's land Then I wish I was in Dixie, hooray, hooray, in Dixie's land I'll take my stand and let die in Dixie, away Away, away, away down side of
Dixie, away, away, away down side of Dixie's land Now love In Dixie's land In Dixie's land In Dixie's land For more information
visit www.fema.gov For more information
visit www.fema.gov For more information
visit www.fema.gov Here's something you don't hear about every day.
In fact, many of you may never have heard this interesting little fact at all.
We all hear ad nauseum about the African slave trade and how horrible, awful white men enslaved all those peace-loving Africans who were just minding their own business and living their lives, right?
But it wasn't just the Africans who were traded as slaves.
There was also a huge trade in white slaves.
The Irish.
The history of white Irish slavery is very similar, and sometimes even worse, than anything done to the African slaves.
But it's very rare today that you will ever hear mention of this in any history class, let alone in-depth exploration of the topic.
In an article by John Martin entitled The Irish Slave Trade, The Forgotten White Slaves, he states, They came as slaves, vast human cargo transported on tall British ships bound for the Americas.
They were shipped by the hundreds of thousands and included men, women, and even the youngest of children.
Whenever they rebelled or even disobeyed an order, they were punished in the harshest ways.
Slave owners would hang their human property by their hands and set their hands or feet on fire as one form of punishment.
They were burned alive and had their heads placed on pikes in the marketplace as a warning to other captives.
We don't really need to go through all the gory details, do we?
We know all too well the atrocities of the African slave trade.
But are we talking about African slavery?
King James I and Charles I also led a continued effort to enslave the Irish.
Britain's famed Oliver Cromwell furthered this practice of dehumanizing one's next-door neighbor.
The Irish slave trade began when James I sold 30,000 Irish prisoners as slaves to the New World.
His proclamation of 1625 required Irish political prisoners be sent overseas and sold to English settlers in the West Indies.
By the mid-1600s, the Irish were the main slaves sold to Antigua and Montserrat.
At that time, 70% of the total population of Montserrat were Irish slaves.
Later in the article, he touches on something we've all probably heard.
Many people today will avoid calling the Irish slaves what they truly were, slaves.
They'll come up with terms like indentured servants to describe what occurred to the Irish.
However, in most cases, from the 17th and 18th centuries, Irish slaves were nothing more than human cattle.
But wait, it gets worse.
Way worse.
African slaves were very expensive during the late 1600s, 50 pounds sterling.
Irish slaves came cheap, no more than five pounds sterling.
If a planter whipped or branded or beat an Irish slave to death, it was never a crime.
A death was a monetary setback, but far cheaper than killing a more expensive African.
The English masters quickly began breeding the Irish women for both their own personal pleasure and for greater profit.
In time, the English thought of a better way to use their women.
In many cases, girls as young as 12, to increase their market share.
The settlers began to breed Irish women and girls with African men to produce slaves with a distinct complexion.
These new mulatto slaves brought a higher price than Irish livestock and likewise enabled the settlers to save money rather than purchase new African slaves.
This practice of interbreeding Irish females with African men, well, not really men, went on for several decades and was so widespread that in 1681 legislation was passed forbidding the practice of mating Irish slave women to African slave men for the purpose of producing slaves for sale.
In short, it was stopped only because it interfered with the profits of a large slave transport company.
I always wondered how we ended up with so many mulattos in the world, because I have a really hard time imagining white men and women of those times actually being attracted to the African niggers.
At the conclusion of his article, Mr. Martin points out something it would do us all good to think about.
There is little question that the Irish experienced the horrors of slavery as much, if not more, in the 17th century as the Africans did.
There is also very little question that those brown-tan faces you witness in your travels to the West Indies are very likely a combination of African and Irish ancestry.
But if anyone, black or white, believes the slavery was only an African experience, then they've got it completely wrong.
Irish slavery is a subject worth remembering, not erasing from our memories.
None of the Irish victims ever made it back to their homeland to describe their ordeal.
These are the lost slaves.
The ones that time and history books conveniently forgot.
The Irish slaves are not the only white slaves history chooses not to recognize or discuss, though.
Each and every white person today is a slave in one way or another, whether to credit and other forms of financial debt, espousing ideas and philosophies that are racially destructive, or simply by virtue of living in the world where we are forced to confront mud people every day and can be prosecuted for speaking the truths of racial difference and inequality.
Don't you think it's time to start putting our courage where our mouths are and set the process of building a white country of our own in motion?
I certainly do.
What are you waiting for?
Hail Victory, comrades!
Hail Victory, comrades!
Hail Victory, comrades!
Good evening, comrades.
Recently I was made aware of a new novel by Ward Kendall, and this one is called The Towers of Eden.
Now, I really enjoyed Hold Back This Day, and one of the difficulties that I...
Encounter once in a while is when I've read a really terrific book by a particular author.
Sometimes I have difficulty when starting a new book by the same author because I'm always comparing in my mind the two books.
And this only happens when a certain book really knocks it out of the park for me, as Hold Back This Day did.
So the first few chapters, I kept asking myself, is this scenario more or less realistic than the scenario in Hold Back This Day?
Because you have two very different futuristic scenarios.
In The Towers of Eden, it starts out with this protagonist who is a humanitarian, and he's working at one of the many refugee and feeding camps around the world where they give, often, Third world people, they give them food and maybe other necessities at this sort of a feeding station.
At a certain point we also find out about this sociologist by the name of Vogel and he steals a sterilization device that was designed by a German scientist.
And it's actually a very upsetting scenario where he actually destroys the German scientist's lab and takes this device that the scientist has worked out.
The sociologist wants to create a containment facility where all of the unemployed will go.
They're not strictly non-white.
They often are, but there's also a lot of white people that end up going to the unemployment camp.
They can live there and they have all their needs taken care of, but they do end up having to be sterilized as part of their intake process.
And the thing is, as you read this book, pretty much anybody in this society can fall into unemployment because it's a society where they have an extreme amount of unemployment, and so there are really very few jobs.
This is primarily affecting the United States.
Other societies still allow blue-collar workers, but in the United States, they've decided that everything is going to be automated.
So Vogel has to convince the President of the United States, who is a war hero in the story, that this idea is a really good idea to control all of the unemployed.
The president is really hesitant to go along with this because it's taking away people's freedoms and rights.
And the president in the story is very idistic and has really fought very bravely against the Chinese and really has a hard time accepting this new idea.
Now, the other person that Vogel has to convince, and it takes a very long time, is the protagonist, Alex Kincaid, that the Towers of Eden is really a good idea.
Kincaid holds out for a long time.
He actually goes to Texas, and he helps the citizens there to have a revolt.
For a time, he is very steadfast in this.
Then Vogel comes in and says, what we've decided to do since you fought so bravely, we've decided to make your town into a museum, into a national park that reenacts America as it was.
And a lot of the townspeople who have been still fighting with Kincaid end up being bought off.
And Kincaid is very disgusted by this.
He's disgusted by how really most people, they don't really want freedom.
They just want a job and they want security.
So finally, Kincaid decides that he will help with this Project Eden.
He will help with the sterilization and the internment of the unemployed.
But one of the funny things that happens, interestingly enough, because a lot of the unemployed do become interned, there's a lot less crime.
So then a lot of the police officers and the judges that used to work with all these unemployed also have to go to Project Eden.
So the question is, where does this end?
Anybody, it would seem at any moment, could become unemployed, potentially, or become unable to work for whatever reason.
And suddenly, is everybody going to have to go to the internment camp and be sterilized?
So that's the only thing about this story that seems rather absurd in a way.
Personally, if this was going on here in the States and I had any way to leave, probably, even if I was employed or regardless, employed or not employed, I'd try to get out of the country if at all possible because I think any...
Anybody could possibly, for whatever reason, become unemployed or unable to work, and anybody can have a reversal of fortune for whatever reason, as Andy was saying last week, no matter who you are.
So, in that sense, it seems, in that regard, maybe somewhat ridiculous, although, you know, I'm trying to figure out which of the scenarios is more plausible, and who knows, maybe this scenario is more plausible for a potential...
Well, in some ways kind of a dystopian future, although certainly a future where vagrancy and dereliction is handled very efficiently.
You really don't know who to root for in this book.
It's really shades of gray, I suppose.
I have to say, I found it a little slow at first, because I kept comparing it to the other book, and maybe that's just my problem, but as I got, I don't know, maybe two-thirds of the way into it, it started becoming more and more of a page-turner, and as I got to the end, I really got more and more curious about what was going to happen.
There's a certain degree of racial element in this because Vogel wants to restore more of a Eurocentric hegemony, certainly in the States and maybe elsewhere by using the sterilization technique.
But Vogel is also...
Obviously, more or less a patriot as well, because he's focused more on the states than anywhere else, even though this idea could really be taken around the world, given the demographics globally.
I have to say, these kind of futuristic novels can be real page-turners, because it's always interesting what this world is coming to, although I found it rather unbelievable.
This goes on mainly in the 2050s, the later part of the 2050s, and in a way, it's rather amazing how many white people show up in this story.
It seems, in that sense, almost overly optimistic that you do see a lot of young white people in leadership positions and wonders if that's even going to happen in the late 2050s.
So, all in all, it was a fun book to read.
Once you get past the first two chapters, I guess the comparisons, I mean, a part of...
This one has me somewhat more baffled in a way, but every book is different, and you have to accept that, even if they're by the same author.
So, I hope you enjoyed this review.
Thank you for listening.
Thank you.
This is Doogie McLean.
Doogie McLean.
Time for me to push the envelope again.
Now, one of the theories as to why I haven't been arrested and disappeared so far, like Edgar Steele and Bill White, is that up until about four years ago when these podcasts began, I used the written word almost exclusively.
And the dictator's servants are smart enough to understand that most young white people, who are the audience they're most afraid the Northwest idea will reach, no longer have sufficient attention spans and concentration to sit down and read a big, thick book, or even a fairly well-written blog that uses polysyllabic words and think about what it says.
They've been that badly dumbed down, yes, until basically like Boss Tweed, all our lords and masters are really afraid of are pictures.
I think if we ever get to the point where we can produce so-called graphic novels, which is a fancy way of saying comic books for illiterates who can't concentrate on the written word and who have to see pictures, then we might be in trouble.
But then there's still the spoken word, which the internet can transmit.
The spoken word they may be afraid of.
They should be, if they have any sense.
What I'm going to do now is read one of my old articles, which later became a chapter in the Northwest Front Party manual called The White Book.
This article has a few updated modern references, but it has been in written form, both in print and on the internet, for something like ten years, and the regime has as yet taken no official notice of it.
I'm assuming that since it's been around for ten years, and I have not yet been spanked for my naughtiness in writing it, then it's okay for me to read it out loud.
Of course, I may find myself in a courtroom listening to some U.S. attorney explain to a jury full of niggers and imbeciles exactly why it was permissible for me to write these words ten years ago, but not to speak them out loud today.
As Ralph Waldo Emerson said, a foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds.
Anyway, this is called Guerrilla Warfare 101.
The Northwest Independence novels are fiction.
Nonetheless, it's appropriate at this juncture to discuss the subject of armed insurrection and guerrilla warfare against the existing power structure.
Now, these are not pointers.
They are broad and general observations on how not to wage an insurrection against a certain powerful and entrenched tyranny, which shall remain nameless.
The object is to prevent pointless bloodshed.
If people are going to die, it should be to accomplish something worthwhile.
Now, the first thing you need to understand is that it is possible for you to prepare yourself about 95% to conduct an insurrectionary campaign of armed resistance against the dictatorship without actually breaking any of the dictator's laws.
First and foremost, revolutionary movements act.
They do not talk.
They do not run around in the woods dressed in camouflage and waving their semi-autos in the air and then place images of themselves doing so on internet web pages so they can be arrested like the pathetic Huttery militia and god knows how many other turkeys over the past few decades.
Will there be armed insurrection against the government of the United States in the future?
Oh yes, absolutely.
No question.
If not on our part, then someone else's.
Now, this is a foregone conclusion, a historical inevitability.
Someone or other will eventually have had enough of this horror show, pick up a rifle, and revolt.
It's simply human nature.
This regime is riding the back of the tiger, and they know it.
Their Secret Service and Joint Terrorism Task Forces and other goon squads know it, and they're as jumpy as cats on a hot tin roof.
Eventually, they're going to slip off and fall, and the tiger will rip them into bloody fragments.
Somebody is going to bring the Americans down someday.
Hopefully us, but perhaps it'll be the Chinese, or the Mexicans, or the Muslims.
Or perhaps it will be some kind of internal palace coup in Washington, D.C., wherein whatever shambling excuse for a president has been installed is arrested in the Oval Office by dissident army officers and dragged away.
But it's going to happen.
I say again.
Real revolutionaries act.
They do not send people threats by email.
They do not send talcum powder to people in envelopes, thus risking a prison sentence almost as lengthy as if they had sent a genuine bio-war agent.
They do not leave threatening messages on answering machines and cop themselves a long prison term for some symbolic gesture that most people in this country are far too rotted away in their own crapulence to understand or care about.
Threatening someone at all is the act of an idiot.
If you genuinely mean to carry out your threat, then you're simply putting your target on his guard.
And if you don't mean to carry out your threat, then you are a coward and a poltroon who makes us all look ridiculous.
A large part of the lack of respect that our point of view commands in this country is due to the fact that so many of our people are pompous blowhards and posers who dress up in camouflage uniforms and wave their semi-autos in the air for the television cameras while they brag and threaten their way right into a prison cell, babbling about all the valiant deeds they're going to do at some unspecified time down the pike.
The monarch and exemplar of all such idiots was Glenn Miller, but there have been entirely too many other examples as well.
Please, please, please don't make fools of yourself and fools of the rest of us by doing this.
Now there's an old saying, don't talk the talk if you're not going to walk the walk.
That's not entirely correct.
It should be, don't talk the talk at all, under any circumstances.
Either do it and keep your mouth shut, both before and after, or just plain keep your mouth shut.
Do not stockpile weapons.
Do not stockpile explosives.
Do not stockpile anything at all except for food and batteries and medical supplies if you're a survivalist type.
Stockpiles of weapons and ammunition and explosives are nothing but nice, juicy propaganda plums for the secret police to seize and display for the media to show how big and bad and tough they are and do their Jack Bauer imitations for the cameras.
If you have a stockpile, given the poor moral character of most white people, some pale-skinned scumbag will eventually panic and rat you out to save his own wretched hide.
You will lose your stockpile and your freedom.
There will be no other result from stockpiling because the fact that someone stockpiles indicates that they are not serious.
In an actual guerrilla war, weapons are to be found in the hands of revolutionaries who use them.
Not sitting in a barn or buried under somebody's floorboards where they simply rust away and do not affect one iota of change.
Guns are not toys.
They are not phallic symbols.
They are not substitutes for character and courage.
A gun is a tool, just like a wrench or a hammer or a carpenter's level, a tool that the revolutionary uses to create change.
Like all tools, it belongs in the craftsman's hands.
No carpenter ever built a house by assembling five hundred saws and hammers and half a ton of nails, and then burying them all somewhere out in the woods.
At any given time during the Troubles in Ireland, at least when I was over there, out of possibly 10,000 active Sinn Féin supporters, and that's as opposed to drunks who sing the old songs in the pub at closing time, but real Sinn Féin members, the provisional IRA never had more than about 50 people on active service at any given time in the North, and maybe a dozen or so on mainland Britain and in Europe, usually bombing units.
Their ratio of talkers to doers was almost as bad as ours, although at least they did have a few real fighters.
The IRA always had far more guns than they had men willing to pull the trigger.
On an average year, in the 1980s and early 1990s, the IRA actually fired maybe 200 rounds per year of all calibers in actual combat, including assassinations and kneecappings.
One average right-wing gun nut in America pisses away more ammo than that on a Saturday afternoon exterminating beer cans out in the woods somewhere.
And yet, those 50 men in 200 or so rounds per year, along with their explosives, tied down something like 50,000 British troops, police, and auxiliaries for almost 30 years.
If the provost didn't win, technically speaking, neither did they lose.
They fought a major Western democracy to a standstill and eventually forced the politicians to buy them off.
Speaking of explosives, don't.
Leave explosives alone unless you really know what the hell you're doing with them.
No, I mean really.
The first explosives to start modern guerrilla fighters off with are Molotov cocktails and hand grenades, which are illegal to have.
And so you shouldn't even have them until the line has been breached and the FBI is coming after you anyway for posting a poem to the internet or whatever.
So then it's in for a penny, in for a pound.
Anyone can find all kinds of cocktail recipes for homemade napalm and so forth all over the internet.
Hungarian teenagers did wonders with cocktails against Soviet tanks in Budapest in 1956, and Irish teenagers in Belfast did a number on British Saracen and Ferret armored cars in the 1970s with the simple Molotov cocktail.
They should light up Humvees and SWAT teams armored cars quite nicely in this country.
Oklahoma City notwithstanding, whenever possible, a guerrilla group who decides that they want to make things go boom in the night should acquire proper commercial stuff like Simtex and dynamite, and not screw around with homemade concoctions some science nerd whips up in his basement.
Remember, the Northwest novels are fiction.
In real life, the IRA in the 1980s went through a period where they were diddling around with bathtub gelignite.
And they had all kinds of work accidents and blew themselves up all over the place.
They switched to Semtex and used it to bring London almost to a standstill in the early 1990s and thus won their Good Friday buy-off.
Those comrades of a certain age might also remember the three idiot weathermen who blew themselves up in that townhouse in Greenwich Village in 1970.
If you do not have someone who is genuinely trained in their use, don't mess with explosives.
You do not need automatic weapons.
Do not buy them.
Do not stockpile them.
Expel from your group immediately anyone who offers to procure them for you.
He is a cop.
Unless you are properly trained in their use, machine guns are more dangerous to you than they are to the enemy.
Machine guns are not toys with which to play John Wayne on the sands of Iwo Jima.
Automatic weapons have two specific military uses.
One is for the defense of static positions, as in the trenches on the Western Front.
The other is as part of a highly trained and properly led fire team for use in fire and maneuver assaults.
If and when the balloon finally does go up, in any realistic scenario that may actually occur in real life, you will not be engaging in Rambo-like shootouts with police and SWAT teams and troops.
At least not more than once you won't.
You do not have that kind of skill and training level.
No, you don't.
A full-on shootout with the enemy is something that you must make every effort to avoid.
If and when one occurs, it's a sign that you've screwed up.
A guerrilla movement can accomplish anything they need to attain the initial objectives of an insurrection with other tactics and other weapons.
The trick is to learn how to fight high-tech with low-tech.
A large part of guerrilla tactics consists of striking the enemy's soft targets while avoiding direct confrontation with superior forces, not seeking it out.
In the real world, the initial stages of any guerrilla insurgency in the United States, and there will eventually be one on somebody's part, will be more like mob hits or gangbanger shootings than traditional partisan guerrilla groups with bandoliers and berets.
Most of the action will almost certainly be in cities and towns rather than in the open countryside.
This opinion is based on the present American context.
Strategic and tactical considerations are always subject to change, and it all depends on how and when and under what circumstances the balloon really does go up, which we can't know at this time.
What weapons should a new guerrilla group use?
The most devastating personal weapon for close-in combat ever invented, which is the kind of action that American guerrillas will be fighting at first, is the lowly shotgun, sawed off as short as possible, what the Sicilians call a lupata.
When accumulating initial weaponry, which we repeat should be issued out and not stockpiled or hidden away, where it can all be seized at once and carted off by the secret police and displayed for the media, The smart insurgent shopper should buy legal shotguns and handguns, a few good rifles with high-powered scopes, a few good semi-autos, AR-180s or Kalashnikovs, old M14s if any are still around, so forth and so on.
Buy these weapons legally.
Store them safely.
But do not stockpile them in barns or anything that hints at illegal intentions.
Do not flourish them, display them for the media, or let anyone know that you have them.
Do not buy guns in excessive quantity just because you like them.
Do not saw off shotguns below the legal limit until the legal line has been breached.
They're already after you, and you're going to prison anyway.
Then all it takes is a few minutes with a good vice grip and a metal saw.
The first precaution that a would-be freedom fighter must practice, and one of the most vitally important, is also very simple.
Know who you are talking to.
Do not allow any Tom, Dick, and Harry to walk into your living room or your garage without some kind of background check.
Now, right now, the Northwest Front is the only faction in the white nationalist movement who actually does run a background check of any kind on anyone who gets close enough to be assigned to an activity group.
And we don't just mean googling the guy's name on the internet, although you'd be amazed at what you can find out just by doing that.
The NF system isn't perfect, and no doubt with a little effort to dummy up a background, the secret police or the SPLC could slip all kinds of spies and informers on us.
Maybe they already have.
But the party at least makes them exert that effort.
No one else does.
The majority of the preparation that a guerrilla fighter must perform is within himself.
Now let's describe to you in a brief summation what the life is like.
On the subject of tactics, the motto of any guerrilla group must be never defend.
Always attack the enemy's weak points.
Go for the soft target.
Never allow the enemy to bring his superior force to bear.
The rules of guerrilla warfare may be described as follows.
A large and powerful army attempts to surround a smaller, lighter, faster-moving force, and crush it with its superior weight and power.
If the larger army succeeds in surrounding the guerrillas, pinning them down, and destroying them with their superior strength in numbers, then the rebels die or are buried alive.
Like the so-called Symbionese Liberation Army, and the colony of the nation or people remains occupied and enslaves and eventually perishes.
The ancient Romans were especially good at this.
Read Caesar's commentaries.
If, on the other hand, the larger army fails to surround and pin the guerrillas down, and the guerrillas can successfully remain at liberty and outside the enclosing circle, And slowly whittle the larger power down, inflicting casualties and draining the enemy's physical capabilities, his financial resources, and his morale, until holding on to the occupation becomes too great an expense and too much bother for the suits back in the capital city.
Then the colony or nation or race goes free, and the rebels get statues of themselves erected on public squares for pigeons to poop on.
This is the way that the British lost most of their empire in the 20th century.
The basic strategy of most American militia and survival groups, insofar as they have any, which isn't very far, is based on static defense of their communities.
Against urban nigger gangbangers in a civil disorder situation or Mad Max-style outlaws in a time of total social breakdown, that might be a feasible goal.
Against the government and its enforcers, this strategy is absurd and suicidal.
Again, this assumes with a big suspension of disbelief that the present militias would resist at all instead of throwing down their guns and blubbering to the DA for a plea bargain.
Do not rob banks!
Do not commit other criminal fundraising acts like writing Freeman-style bad checks until you have already established your revolutionary bona fides by several very high-profile attacks against the racial enemy and expropriating few bucks will be the least of the charges they bring against you if, indeed, they bother to bring any charges at all.
Now, by that point, they'll probably just gun you down when they catch you, just like they murdered Bonnie and Clyde, Gordon Call, Jeff Hughes, and Evan Abel.
Never, never, never allow yourself to be pinned down in a compound of any kind.
You will be facing the most overwhelming concentration of military and police power in human history.
Ask Randy Weaver how that worked out for him.
Ask the Branch Davidians.
Ask the Montana Freemen.
Ask Ed and Lorraine Brown how well the federal government respected their title deed to their home.
To be surrounded is the end.
Period.
How does one raise initial funds?
Legally, without breaking any of the tyrant's law.
I'll tell you how, and I'm not joking.
Sell the damn compound.
And when you do, don't go out and buy 400 guns and 1 million rounds of ammunition for your little group of 5 or 6 people.
Use the money to buy transport.
Vans, RVs, trucks, vehicles, which can move men and weapons and supplies for small fireteams who will move and strike, and then escape and evade, then strike again.
You do not need land or anything else which may lead to your getting surrounded.
Land is useless to you.
Either you will most likely die and not need it, or you will win and then you can appropriate all the land you want.
Remember, real gorillas must be freedom fighters, not gangsters or bandits or thieves.
And the people you're trying to liberate must perceive you as such.
If the gorillas act like a bunch of mad dog stick-up men, then that's how white people will view them.
Remember, the movie we want to make here is Michael Collins, not Reservoir Dogs and not Natural Born Killers.
Burn this one into your brains as well, people.
Violence is a means to an end, not an end in itself.
One of the worst things that ever happened to the IRA was when they were taken over by a pure gangster element, more concerned with carving up the drug and booze and protection rackets in Belfast than driving out the British.
A guerrilla organization should never just go berserk and start shooting anything that moves or gunning down people purely out of personal hatred or lust for revenge.
However much you may be morally entitled to revenge, a guerrilla army must have a clear goal, a vision, a plan.
A guerrilla army must be soldiers, not a bunch of marauding cannibals.
A Mad Max situation may yet develop in this country.
It's possible.
But it is not what anybody in his right mind wants.
Not outside adolescent revenge fantasy that can't distinguish between real life and a video game.
A resistance movement must establish an achievable goal before it begins.
Now, this is where the Northwest migration has it all over everybody else, and why we will eventually become the foremost movement in the White Resistance, because we have a plan.
No one else does.
The rules for guerrillas are therefore simple.
Never hole up.
Never allow yourselves to be surrounded.
Move, move, move, and hit, hit, hit.
A guerrilla group always faces forces which are vastly superior in numbers, in equipment, in training, in resources, and in organization.
The psychological pressure alone of living like this would send most white Americans stark-raving bonkers in a week.
The guerrillas will always be outgunned on an overall level, so the trick is to make sure that at the point of contact, the insurgents always outgun the occupiers in that one small kill zone.
You will have to move in, terminate the targets, and then move out fast, fast, fast.
Attack, hit, hit, hit, and move, move, move.
Never go to ground, or if you must, never remain for long in one place.
Always change hideouts every 24 hours max, moving by night.
Escape and evade.
Never lose the initiative.
Make the enemy's head spin.
He should never know where you are or what you're doing or where you will strike next.
He should be stumbling after you, picking up bodies, until you suddenly turn around, lay an ambush, and you hit him.
Now, all of this sounds very romantic.
And so it would be for about a week.
And then the majority of American white people would realize what they've gotten themselves into, and they would come to their senses in a fit of terror.
Or, more likely, the short American attention span would kick in, and they would just plain get bored with it all.
They would want to go home, turn on the TV, and forget the whole thing.
But the problem is you can't do that.
Once they're coming after you to send you into Living Hill, whether it's for killing an FBI agent or for posting a poem on the Internet, you either fight on until you win or until you die.
Most likely that last.
Now, how many of these big, bold militia types who put their pictures on the Internet wearing Sears, Roebuck, or Duck Dynasty hunting camos and waving a semi-auto in the air, Can live like that?
How many middle-class white Americans of any kind can do that?
Live for months and years on end like that?
Come on, people, really?
The Order and the Symbionese Liberation Army lasted, what, four months, six months each, something like that?
This is not to say that it can't be done.
It can.
And someday, when the beast is much weaker than it is now, it will be done.
But before you make the decision that you want to enter this particular kitchen, you need to make damn good and sure that you can take the heat, because there's no going back.
You must undergo a spiritual transformation and become the same man that your great-grandfather was back in the day.
You must grow stronger, not just in body, but in mind and soul.
Strong enough to live outside the herd in the lonesome forest all on your own.
Strong enough to do what has to be done and then not worry about it, ever.
Strong enough to accept the imminence of death and not worry about it ever.
Strong enough to take upon yourself the burden of changing the world and to renounce everything that is material and selfish and weakening.
Until you can do that, then stop wasting everyone's time with your silly little pictures in camouflage suits on the internet.
You will find yourself doing the time without having done the crime.
You will find yourself doing a revolutionary's prison sentence without being a real revolutionary, without ever having struck a blow at the people who will torture you every day for all those years and then go home to their sofas and their plasma TVs and laugh at you.
I'm out.
I'm out.
A London Delby I ain't got time for that now Heard about Houston, heard about Detroit, heard about Pittsburgh here You oughta know not to stand by the window Somebody see you up there I got some
voices, some peanut butter To last a couple of days But I ain't got no speakers Ain't got no headphones Ain't got no records to play Why stay in college?
Why go to night school?
'Cause I've been dipping the stride Can't write a letter I can't say zero post-cribe I can't write nothing at all This ain't no party This ain't no kids, no This ain't no fooling around I'm gonna hold you I wanna kiss you but I ain't got time for that now Trouble in transit Got through the roadblock We've been knitting up the crowd
We got computers We're tapping phone lines We know that that ain't enough We dress like students We dress like housewives Or in a sugar nata Changed my hairstyle So many times now What I look like You make me shiver I feel so tender We make a pretty good tea Don't get exhausted I'm just trying it Do wanna get
you some sleep I know my notebooks Oh my good old notebooks They won't let me survive I just say, honey Burned like a furnace The furnace The furnace gives me a lie They won't let me survive I just say, honey Burned like a furnace The furnace gives me a lie I just
say, honey Burned like a furnace The furnace gives me a lie Ha ha ha ha The furnace gives me a lie I just say, honey You can't be a lie I just say, honey You can't be a lie You can't be a lie I just say, honey I'm just trying to get you I don't know You can't be a lie I don't know You can't be a lie I don't know You can't be a lie I don't know You can't be a lie I don't know You can't be a lie I don't know You can't be a lie You can't be a lie You can't be a lie You can't be a lie I don't know You can't
be a lie You can't be a lie You can't be a lie You can't be a lie I don't know Thank you.
Take a short break.
And you're not bad.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Now, having been told in a general way how to do it, don't.
This isn't just an ass-covering disclaimer.
A guerrilla movement that just starts shooting without a political and spiritual base among the people they're supposed to be liberating won't last six months.
Ask the order men how that worked out for them.
A resistance movement that does not take the time to lay a propaganda and political base won't win, and a lot have failed on those very grounds.
We have completely wasted the past 60 years, and now we have a very short time left in which to create the kind of infrastructure and the kind of base that we should have begun working on 55 years ago after Little Rock.
This is a fact of life.
Some of this wastage was due to sincere and hopeful expeditions down some dead ends, which in retrospect were pretty obvious.
The Duck Club and electoral politics are two examples which spring to mind.
We have also been plagued with a series of self-appointed leaders who have been corrupt, Incompetent and dishonest, and we're still plagued with some of these holdovers from the past.
Had we not wasted those sixty years, it's possible that we might be in a position right now to engage in actual resistance against the regime.
We are not, and anyone who tells you otherwise is either a damned fool or a cop of some kind.
Get your heads together and learn.
The party is not asking you to die for your race.
We are asking you to live for it, and more difficult than that, we are asking you to work for it.
This is a message that many don't want to hear.
For the sake of our future, you'd best take heed.
Four hundred years before Christ, a Greek chronicler named Xenophon wrote as follows about the famous March of the Ten Thousand.
Strength and weapons alone do not always prevail in battle.
When an army is stronger in soul, then their enemies cannot withstand them.
You want to know how to beat the United States and take back our freedom in a new country of our own?
Make yourselves stronger in soul than the apes and the mad dogs who are tearing at our flesh.
When you get some iron in your heart, there will be no problem finding some iron to put in your hand.
For now, put your guns away until you are ready.
To stop waving them in the air for a webcam and start pointing them at the men and the women who do such terrible evil in this land.
Well, our time is up, so that's it for this week's edition of Radio Free Northwest.
This program is brought to you by the Northwest Front, Post Office Box 4856, Seattle, Washington 98194.
Or you can go to the party's website at www.northwestfront.org.
This is Harold Covington, and I'll see you next week.
Until then, Sasha on the bond.
Freedom.
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