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July 17, 2014 - Radio Free Nortwest - H.A. Covington
01:07:08
20140717_rfn
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Oh, then tell me, Sean O 'Farrell, tell me why you hurry so.
Hush, a vocal, hush and listen, and his cheeks were all aglow.
I bear orders from the captain, get you ready quick and soon, for the pikes must be together by the rising of the moon.
By the rising of the moon, by the rising of the moon.
For the pikes must be together by the rising of the moon.
Oh, then tell me, Sean O 'Farrell, where the gathering is to be.
In the old spot by the river, 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 July the 17th, 2014.
I'm Harold Covington, and this is Radio Free Northwest.
Right, first off this week, I have a kind of housekeeping or internal issue that I want to discuss.
Last week, I mentioned a comrade in Chicago who did something very good for the Northwest Front.
He produced an excellent propaganda item, and he sent me some samples, and he offered to send me many more of them if I wanted him to.
Well, I do.
The problem is that I now have no way to get in touch with him except hope to God he's listening to this podcast.
Both his email and his postal address are no longer functioning.
If he's listening, yes, please send me as many of those yellow things as you can see your way clear to producing.
Now, I can see why this guy would want to change his email address.
Like so many of us, he seems to have picked up some kind of parasite or stalker on a certain quasi-intellectual blog that he used to frequent and comment on.
The individual in question is either one of Cass Sunstein's cognitive dissonance internet operatives, or else he's just one of these weird dysfunctional kooks who gravitate to our movement, or maybe he's just simply a general troll.
God knows there's enough of those out there.
This idiot somehow found out our comrade's real name, and he's been showing his butt, posting homosexual crap in the comments section of blogs under our friend's name, and that kind of stuff.
Yes, that can be very annoying.
Hey, it's the internet.
What can I tell you?
It's a loony bin.
But it takes what?
Three minutes to create another Gmail or Yahoo address?
I hope this comrade will get in touch with me again soon, and liaise with me on getting us a large shipment of those very fine propaganda items he made.
Alright, I have some loose odds and sods and tag-ins I need to clear up.
First off, last week I received yet another nasty lawyer's letter from the Federal Communications Commission stating that Radio Free Northwest is still not in compliance with the official government policy for quote-unquote community broadcasters, which apparently includes us, to contain, and again I quote, significant minority viewpoints, specifically gay viewpoints, and threatening to bring a lawsuit against us until we complied.
Well, I don't know any faggots, and so once again I headed over to the bus station in Seattle looking for my main minority, Dry Ice Washington.
Or if I couldn't find him, maybe I could find his woman, Effie Sue.
I took along Dry Ice's usual fee, one of those big four-liter jugs of Carlo Rossi.
Racist or not, Dry Ice really likes me now because I bring him white man's wine and not that Thunderbird and Night Train and Mad Dog 2020 he's used to.
But I'd forgotten that this was Sunday.
I caught Dry Ice just in time at the bus station.
He was in the dumpster out back getting dressed for church.
Now, I didn't know this, but Dry Ice is actually a deacon in his denomination, which, if memory serves, is something called the Afro-Caribbean Holy Tabernacle of the Presumption in Rainier Valley.
So, what I did was I drove him over to the church, and the Monkoids there let me sit in on the service so long as I passed around the Jug of Carlo Rossi.
And I recorded Dry Ice's sermon as this week's Minority Viewpoint here on Radio Free Northwest.
I understand we need to move beyond color.
I'm not about that, but y 'all raised it.
If you start it, I'll end it for you.
Don't start nothing.
There won't be nothing.
But we got a problem.
Black people got a problem.
Now we can move to colorblindness and always look at the man by the content of his character, never the color of his skin.
I'm down for that.
You're getting my vote.
Yay and amen.
I'm for that.
But before we get there, we need to hear some truth.
Black people and white folk.
Black people got a problem.
And it's a God problem.
When black people see the world, I don't care.
You can train them.
You can train a black man to be a physician.
You can train them to be astrophysicists.
You can train him to be a lawyer, but you can't train him to understand the world.
He doesn't know.
I'm telling you.
There's not two cents worth of difference between a mass murderer, there's not two cents worth of difference between a petty thief that's locked away in prison than a black doctor when it comes to understanding the world.
Listen, you listen to me.
We got to deal with this.
And we need to begin to acknowledge it, talk about it, ask God to help us because only God can help black people where they are.
Black people had Africa, that big old continent over there.
They never built one boat that was seaworthy.
Not one!
There's not one monument in Africa, in all of Africa.
I know you're talking about Egypt.
Egypt is not Africa.
There are no great cities that were built even before the first colonization of white people coming to the shores of Africa or the slave ships.
Black men built nothing.
No sewer system.
No houses above one level, and none of them made out of stone.
All of them made out of grass and wood.
Black men, before the white men ever got to Africa, the worst thing that could ever happen to South Africa was when they gave it to Nelson Mandela and black folk.
That was a great nation.
Now, notwithstanding apartheid was wrong, we all know it's wrong.
I'm against it.
There should have been some other resolution, though, than turning it over to Nelson Mandela.
Disease, AIDS, and crime is running wild in Johannesburg.
They're killing one another over there.
They're dying of sickness.
The government has mismanaged.
The people who ran the nation are now leaving the nation because black folk don't know how to run no nation.
They don't know how, and we need to admit it!
I know you don't like it, but you need to stop shucking and jiving.
We got a problem!
Nigeria produces oil every year, yet the children over there are hungry and pot-bellied and walking barefoot!
We got a problem!
You talk about the Hutus and the Tutsis!
Look what's going on in Zimbabwe now with Mugabe.
We got a problem, black folk.
And forget about Zimbabwe and South Africa, Nigeria.
Look at what y 'all have done in Harlem.
You can't even hold on to Harlem.
We got a problem.
Black folk don't understand the world.
You can get mad with me all you want.
You can say what you, but you can't prove me wrong.
Now, I'm not saying this because I hate black folk.
I'm saying it because I love you enough to tell the truth.
The only person that's going to ever help us get out of this situation is going to be God.
There's something wrong with the black man's mind.
There's something wrong with his mind.
He does not understand the world.
He doesn't.
I don't care if he learned medicine.
He doesn't understand the world.
He can't even hold on to Harlem.
When he was here, he moved out.
We got to talk to the Lord.
People, we got to talk to God.
And black women, Shirley Chisholm, Harriet Tubman, Coretta King, one of her boys, yeah, okay, then we got a black president.
But you black women, what's wrong with y 'all?
Y 'all gonna let that white woman, what's wrong with you black women voting for Barack?
Don't you understand?
It should have been a black woman if you're going to have a black president.
What's wrong with you?
Y 'all ain't got no sense, you black women.
Your men treat you like the dogs, like your dogs.
They walk all over you.
They make you pay the bills at home.
And then the preachers pimp you in the churches.
They make you pay the bills.
Y 'all crazy black women buying these black men private jets the tune of $50 million for a nigga to ride around in a private jet.
And you talk about looking out, Pastor, what's wrong with y 'all women?
What's wrong with you?
What's wrong with you?
And what's wrong with a black man that would take that kind of money out of a poor neighborhood and buy himself a private jet?
What's wrong with y 'all niggas?
What's wrong with you?
What's wrong with you, black women?
What's wrong with you voting for Barack Obama?
What's wrong with you?
What's wrong with y 'all?
You niggas are crazy!
Black people, let me tell y 'all something.
If y 'all don't ever hear me say preach again, they can kill me tomorrow.
Let me tell you something.
We're not going to ever get anywhere until we look into the mind of a black man.
He doesn't think correctly.
I don't care what he is.
He can be a doctor.
He can be an astrophysicist.
The nigger ain't got no sex.
You talk to him.
You talk to a black man, he doesn't understand the world.
He's never built anything.
The most the black people have ever done, they did it here in America under white people's help.
When they were in Africa, they didn't do nothing!
Okay, I just re-read this letter, and I looked at the FCC website and read all their fine print crap on there.
Apparently, niggers ain't gonna do it this time.
When they say we have to have gay input or gay viewpoint or something on this show, they mean gay, sweetie.
And I don't really know what to do about it.
Like I say, I don't know any faggots, and certainly if I did, they wouldn't be willing to come on here.
The Best I Can Do is an old advertisement for one of the first immortal pieces of gay cinema ever produced.
Plus, I'd just like an excuse to play this any time I can.
And now a preview of our coming attractions.
Manhole Productions presents...
Eric John.
And Chuck U. Farley in the South Sea Saga...
Buggery on the High Seas.
All right, tie that scurvy dog to the yardarm.
Gentlemen, bosom.
Sir!
Read the charges.
All right, Captain.
Simon, going!
You have been charged with an honest crime of buggery on the ISA.
Add him, right?
I'm innocent.
I'm innocent.
I didn't do it.
You've got to believe me.
I'm innocent.
He's lying.
I am not!
You are so, you big fibber.
Look, I'm not lying, Captain.
Yes, he is, Captain.
He's a big liar.
Look, you shut up or I'm going to get you.
You already did.
That's why you're in trouble now.
All right, both of you, shut up.
Liar, liar, pants on fire.
Look.
I told you to shut up.
But he's a big fibber, Captain.
He's lying.
You either shut up or I'll give you what he's going to get.
And what's that?
Fifty lashes with a cat and eye tails.
Fifty lashes?
He should get at least a hundred for what he did to me, that big fibber, you liar, liar, liar.
Tie that scurvy dog to the yardarm, too.
Get your hands off me!
You smell like fish, you big brute.
Here, give me that whip.
Voice that dog from the yardarm.
Hey!
You're hurting my wrist!
This isn't funny now, you guys!
Hey, come on!
Oh, rip the shirt!
How cliché!
I suppose you'll have me walk the plank next to something.
Here, here, take this, you dog!
Oh!
Oh!
Ah!
Ooh!
Yeah!
Oh!
Ah!
Yeah!
Ooh!
Yeah!
Yeah!
And now, from the ridiculous to the sublime, first music break.
Now, last week I musically celebrated the 12th of July in Northern Ireland, and Saturday was the glorious 12th itself.
But on Monday we experienced another holiday with great significance both in Europe and to us today, and that is La Catorge Gilet, the 14th of July, Bastille Day in France.
Bastille Day is actually a historical event of great significance to us and to all revolutionaries everywhere, because it is the paradigm, the perfect example of how all revolutions, in our mind's eye, are supposed to happen.
You know, the kind of revolution that you guys keep expecting Harold Covington to pull out of his hat, and which I deeply wish I could.
On July 14, 1789, in Paris, there was a lot of political ferment going on between the king and his government and National Assembly, the legislature, which was pushing for genuine change.
On June 20, the king's ministers had ordered the assembly to dismiss.
They locked the legislators out of their usual building, but instead of dispersing and going home, they reassembled in a tennis court, and they swore an oath not to go out of session.
And to reassemble whenever and wherever they were needed of their own will.
That was an important first step politically, but as Napoleon said, revolution is an idea that has found bayonets.
The French assembly had no bayonets yet.
On July the 14th, a young writer and journalist named Camille de Moulin was sitting in a sidewalk cafe, sipping his coffee or wine or whatever, and debating with some of his political friends.
When he saw some soldiers marching by, the changing of the guard for the Bastille, a huge castle-like fortress in the middle of Paris, which was the government's main prison for political offenders.
This is one of these places that have existed in all times and places throughout history where people went in, but they never came back out for many years, if not at all.
Now, for some reason, Camille got really inspired, or pissed off, whatever.
And he jumped up onto the cafe table, and he started haranguing the customers and the passersby on the street about how it was just such an awful sight, and it was time that Frenchmen did something about all this tyranny that the Bastille had come to symbolize in France down through many centuries.
Apparently, Camille was a dynamite public speaker, and in this case, he seems to have reached almost Adolf Hitler levels.
He ended up following the troops down the street, Okay, And he really cut loose, pointing at the fortress and ranting and raving about all the famous Frenchmen who had been dragged away to rotten darkness and be tortured and whatnot inside.
And he demanded that the governor of the prison hand over the keys and release the prisoners inside.
long story short.
Demoulin's fiery oratory was so eloquent and persuasive that when the governor of the Bastille drew up his troops in the square and gave orders to open fire and disperse the mob, the soldiers wouldn't do it.
They actually joined the mob.
They forced open the gates of the Bastille, broke open the cells, and brought the prisoners back out into the light of day, all seven of them.
There's an old story that one of those seven was the Marquis de Sade.
That's not quite true.
Desaad was actually moved to a loony bin about two weeks before, but it makes a good story.
Now, this is the ultimate revolutionary act, the one that every revolution has to strive for.
The moment when the men who have been paid money to kill for the regime refuse to obey orders and turn their guns on the rich bastards who are paying them.
Now, without that epiphany, there can be no revolution.
Why do you think I talk so much on here about cops and FBI and whatnot?
They are what make Obama possible.
If ever they refuse to kill and maim and imprison whoever their paymasters command them to harm, and if ever they refuse to protect the 1% and their minority allies against the enraged white people of this land, Obama and the Democrats won't last a week.
The French Revolution produced one of the greatest of all European anthems.
This is the Marseillaise.
The Marseillaise.
The Marseillaise.
Our arms, our sons, our companions.
To the citizens of the army, form your troops.
Walking, walking, without a pure, a very strong.
Our arms, our citizens, form your troops.
We are our sons, our sons, our companions.
The End The End The End
The End The End The End The End The End The End The End The End The End The End The End The End The End The End The End The End The End The End The End The End The End The End The End The End The End The End The End The End The End
The End The End The End The End The End The End The End The End The End The End The End The End The End The End The End The End The End The End The End The End Amour sacré de la
patrie, conduit soutien aux braves vengeurs.
Liberté, liberté chérie, qu'on vise avec les défenseurs, qu'on vise avec tes défenseurs.
Sous nos drapons que la victoire courra tellement nos accents, que tes ennemis expiront, doit ton triomphe et notre gloire.
Aux autres citoyens, formez vos battagions.
Marchons, marchons, qu'on s'en fait, au revoir, nous allons aussi.
Marchons, marchons, qu'est-ce que tu veux dire, au revoir, nous allons aussi.
Marchons, marchons, qu'est-ce que tu veux dire, au revoir, nous allons à voir.
I just came home today.
I haven't seen very many moving vans out there on the road, so what's your holdup?
This is my thought on the job aspect.
Those of you that are 21 or older, the trucking lifestyle isn't for everyone, but if you're 21, have a clean driving record, basically a body temp of 98.6, and good eyesight, enough to pass the DOT physical, you can get a job.
You'll end up with a roof over your head, and that's a good way to move your stuff from where you are to the homeland a little bit at a time.
You can go and bank account set up and do the direct deposit thing.
You can either go through a trucking school or some of the big companies like WIFT in England, and I don't know if Prime does it or not, but I think Stevens does, and most of the big carriers have trucking schools.
Not saying they're the best.
I went through the Crash and Roll Academy in Salt Lake myself.
I paid for it up front, so I did not have to finance it.
It's at least double if you finance it, and you're locked into being there for at least a year or until your school is paid off.
Whereas if you can afford to pay it up front, at the time I went through, it was only like $1,300 or $1,400.
I'm not sure what it is now.
You'd have to check.
At least if you got into the trucking industry, you could have a roof over your head because you can live in the truck, and my wife and I run a team, and we cook in the truck.
If you're with a decent company like the one I'm with, they have refrigerators in the trucks.
They allow you to have inverters.
Some companies, like Heartland Express and other big carriers, they will not let you hook up big inverters.
Some won't let you have inverters at all, so if you have anything, it has to be all 12-fold.
Can't plug into the cigarette lighter.
They will not allow it.
But, anyway.
It's an interesting lifestyle.
The scenery's always changing.
Fair share of, pardon my French, assholian drivers out there that like cutting big rigs off.
Another thing about the trucking industry, you're not under that 29-hour Obamacare rule or whatever the hell it is.
We're allowed to work up to 70 hours in an 8-day time frame with the log system we've got now.
So...
Most of the companies offer some kind of medical care and dental, vision, whatever.
You have to be there so long to get it.
I guess any company, so...
This is the trucker again, with more on the trucking lifestyle.
Becoming a...
Or has become a really regulated industry and stuff.
As far as the logs and the work schedule go, we're allowed to drive up to 11 hours in one day before having to take a 10-hour break.
And we have to get that 11 hours of driving in along with your rest breaks within the first 8 hours for 30 minutes.
And within that 14-hour time clock, and that's when you have to go and take your 10-hour break and then go back at it again, a lot of companies now are still running paper logs, but more and more of them are being forced by the DOT or driver ineptitude or whatever, lack of being able to keep their log books straight, to electronic logs, which can be a pain, but once you get used to them, you don't know how to work it and stuff.
And the dispatchers can't force you to run past your hours with that or else it sends off alarms in the truck.
And I'm not sure about it at the office because I'm not there.
But it can be worthwhile having electronic logs.
That way, like I say, the dispatchers can't force you to do something that you don't have the hours to do.
Whereas when we had the paper logs, they could go and tell you to just go and throw all your old logs out and start all over again with a fresh 70. Well, that doesn't cut it anymore.
So, yeah, a typical day starts where you go and get up, do your daily routine and stuff, and then do your pre-trip on your tractor and trailer and get fuel if you need to, check for anything broken on the truck and need to get it fixed before you get going.
Like I say, you're allowed to drive 8 hours or up to 8 hours after you start your logon to your day sometime between the time you start and 8 hours later, you have to take a 30-minute rest break.
That's mandatory now as of last year, so you've got to go and factor that in.
Like I say, you get your 8 hours driving in within that, or 11 hours driving in within the 14-hour time clock.
And you have to plan your day for which receivers or shippers you need to hit and plan for traffic and stuff like that.
There's not much you can do about accidents or weather, except for sometimes you can go to plan on rooting around the weather like I've had to do in the past.
Snowstorms, closed roads, and stuff like that.
You have to detour around that stuff, which can be challenging at times.
You also need to have a good road atlas and stuff, or a good trucker's GPS unit.
Not a car one, mind you, but a good truck one, so you can know where the low overpasses are that you cannot make it under, that some people try to do anyway, and you end up looking like an idiot, and on a twisted trucker's Facebook page, caught up underneath a low overpass, or making an ass of yourself, which you don't want to do.
Yeah, there's a lot of good truckers out there.
They will help you if you need to, but they're coming harder to find.
It used to be more of a driver-helping driver industry, but with so many new people coming in that don't give a crap, all me, me, me, and the heck with you, you end up having to put up with a lot of beaners and ragheads out here, along with some other nationalities and stuff that aren't exactly American-friendly.
And they can give a shit less about us, and they run in their own little cliques and all that, so you've got to go and take that into account, too.
But for the most part, it's a white-speaking industry and stuff, but like I say, you do have your nationalities out there that know speaking English, which really pisses me off, because it's federal regulations that you're supposed to be able to read and write English, Are not interested in learning.
They could care less about it.
And in some states, they'll just go and impound the truck and lock the driver up until the company gets an English-speaking driver to show up to haul the equipment off.
All right, well, this looks like about timed out for this segment, so carry on, comrades, and be safe, and hope to see you in the homeland soon.
This is The Trucker signing off.
We're going to do what they say can't be done.
We've got a long way to go and a short time to get there.
I'm eastbound now.
Don't bandit run.
Don't bandit run.
Greetings from Seattle, comrades.
Andy Donner again.
Today, I'm actually covering the solution itself.
What I'm going to say isn't exactly news to most of you, but it deserves its own segment.
To recap the problem, white people the world over face imminent physical extinction.
The immediate cause of this problem is the presence of non-white peoples.
While its true birth rate also is an issue, It would correct itself were various negative influences removed from society.
If this problem isn't addressed, in two or perhaps three decades, our race is not going to survive another hundred years, because we will have produced our last full generation.
And there won't be enough of us around to compensate for the fact that we didn't take care of business.
But exactly what would constitute taking care of business?
I certainly don't plan on getting into how this is to be done today, but I will cover the Butler Plan.
The Northwest Front, frequently referred to on Radio Free Northwest as The Party, advocates the Northwest Imperative.
The Northwest Imperative is the acceptance of the Butler Plan as the last remaining possible hope for our racial survival on the North American continent, and really, the entire world.
Put more formally, the Northwest Imperative dictates that the Butler Plan must be implemented or else our folk will be exterminated inside of the next several decades.
The Butler Plan proposes the creation of a sovereign, all-white nation separate from the United States in the Pacific Northwest.
Without invoking any of the more spiritual or esoteric reasons why, I'll detail the reasons behind the Butler Plan today.
As I said, how is to be left for a later talk.
Currently, the projected boundaries of this Northwest homeland are what we today refer to as the states of Washington, Oregon, Idaho, and the western portion of Montana.
When I cover the how, I'll explain why those borders are significant.
The situation calls for the remaining white racial population of the United States and the world...
To physically relocate themselves to reside in the proposed borders of the Northwest American Republic for the purpose of assisting the Northwest Front in bringing about the creation of said all-white country.
Okay, that's nothing new.
But why?
Why that and not something else?
Well, part of the answer will have to wait until I wheel around to discussing how this would come about.
I understand this is a little bit unfair since the solution and the implementation thereof are intrinsically linked, but they're best left separate for now.
The more fundamental aspect of the reason behind the need for the Northwest American Republic has to do with the basics I've presented here on Radio Free Northwest.
The most obvious of these is the necessity of racial separation.
White people need their own place to live away from non-white races.
Especially away from Jews, who are historically known for introducing moral corruption and otherwise destroying societies they live in through dishonesty and internal strife.
That much should be pretty clear at this point.
But what about the other basics?
The next place I need to go is actually fringe politics.
Remember that the fringe, among other things, is the preference for failure.
I still don't understand everything that can lead up to such a preference, but it exists, especially in white nationalism.
I suspect this ultimately comes down to a confusion of priorities.
I've regularly whined at the audience for their blatantly self-centered thought process, which results in their being white nationalist just so long as they themselves don't have to be put out or otherwise inconvenienced in the process.
Not only is your personal comfort not part of our politics, it's not part of any white nationalist politics at all.
In what way does your measure of convenience and ease factor into the basic racial facts I've presented?
And on that note, exactly how does avoiding anything difficult or inconvenient gain us anything?
Other people aren't going to do the hard work for you.
Is the height of immaturity.
And if you're one of the people I'm talking about, you're not making any attempt at all to control the lesser aspects of your human nature.
Granted, you probably don't care about any type of reasoning I might use, but I'm obligated to try.
At the very least, try to wrap your heads around the reality...
That we see right through the weak justifications you send our way while trying to carry on as if we should approve of you and the other things you think you need to tell us.
And while all of that by itself should be enough of a case, there's also the practical angle to consider.
It shouldn't be necessary for me to make a detailed case, but quite a few of you aren't ever going to make the effort to grasp the moral force of the case I just made.
As it happens, the separation of the races is pretty practical and is seemingly what most of us say we want.
But why a different country?
Well, race matters and America is a failing multiracial mess.
That's not going to change.
Further, political and legal solutions aren't a factor because white genocide is a demographics issue.
Elect whomever you like and pass whatever laws you like.
But politicians and laws aren't the problem anymore.
At the beginning of this current cycle of white genocide, they might have been.
But we're past that, and someone still worrying about changing those elements is either incredibly new to white nationalism, or incredibly stupid.
Moving forward requires dropping not only past political tendencies, but also giving up our identity as Americans.
To my immediate recollection, there are three times I've made reference to America and its founding as entirely irrelevant to our current predicament.
And it is.
While not as common as the religious distractions we seem to involve ourselves in, the America fallacy is just as wrong.
If we're going to get what we need, we have to stop thinking of ourselves as Americans.
I'd love to get into the main case of the day.
But there's one thing I've been trying to fit into these real politics talks, and now's as good a chance as I'm going to get.
The only other thing of any value in the white nationalist movement is the white genocide mantra created by Bob Whitaker.
I'm not familiar with his career in depth, but the few bits I do know of are enough to assure me he's more than qualified to make the claims he makes regarding the effect of the mantra.
Further, I'm to understand that it was developed against anti-whites on the internet.
With the usual caveats about the internet taken as read, I need you all to listen to something.
I have a very hard time getting my propaganda across because it's so simple and it is not the final solution to anything.
David Duke has solutions.
Jared Taylor has solutions.
All I have is means by which to get in the enemy's fortress to be able to talk.
That was a clip taken from a talk called Incurable Fools, which comes from Whitaker's personal website.
It's part of a series of lectures he refers to as the untrained eye.
I recommend everyone go find those and give them a listen.
They're well worthwhile.
Anyhow, the clip I just played was in reference to the white genocide mantra.
It's a set of talking points.
It's not a solution.
I'm periodically pestered by people who don't understand the difference.
Here's the deal.
If every white, and hell, even every non-white person, were to do nothing but repeat the white genocide mantra to one another, there would still be white genocide because words don't fix anything.
I'm sure someone will become cross with me and think I'm engaging in an attack against Whitaker and his mantra, but I'm not.
He makes no claim about having a solution, so I've got no reason to be cross with him.
I will say, however, he's absolutely wrong about David Duke and Jared Taylor having solutions.
I need to wrap this up, so I'll be quick about the rest.
Basically, we've got the who, whites, the what, a new country, and the why, to prevent white genocide.
Like I said, how is for another day.
But what about the where?
I've explicitly named the Pacific Northwest, and there are reasons for that.
Radio Free Northwest has been over them time and time again, so I'll summarize.
We have to assume there isn't going to be a catastrophic collapse, which means this new nation is going to have to fend for itself against a hostile America.
Among other things, this means it needs to be able to produce nearly everything, if not absolutely everything it needs, with its own resources, and be able to import the remaining commodities.
policies.
That being the case, we're dealing with either the East Coast or the West Coast.
East Coast is out because it's either North or South there.
The South, for obvious demographic reasons, is a no-go.
If we could clear the South, then we could clear the whole country.
But we can't.
The North is out because that's where Zog is located.
Taking away a colonial territory requires the occupying powers be willing to let it go to save face, and Zog Central isn't a viable option, no matter how white parts of it might be.
So that leaves the West Coast.
A quick tangent here.
The Midwest, which, by the by, has a differing definition depending on whom you ask, isn't viable because smuggling things in would require crossing hostile ground.
It's just a no-go.
It would be surrounded and destroyed, or starved out.
So, the West Coast.
Well, it's true, the Southwest is very different from the rest of the country, but in the end, demographics also make it an impossibility.
Again, if we were able to solve the California problem, we wouldn't be in this mess.
So that leaves the Pacific Northwest.
The demographics are changing, but that's due to the continued economic prosperity here.
The good news is that means you can all come here too and expect to do well.
Also, the natural resources and abundant farmland mean this region would be almost completely self-sustaining.
Or rather, it could be if managed by white folk.
There are some remaining objections.
But they all have to do with the explanation of how we're supposed to do this.
And I'll cover them when I get there.
Hail victory, comrades!
Well, I think it's appropriate that we should follow that last rousing rendition of the Marseillaise with the march of the SS Leibstandard Adolf Hitler.
Needless to say, this is an original recording, but for something that's 70 years old, it's been pretty good, Nick.
The End
I'd like to take this opportunity to drop in a quick reminder.
The actual deadline for Radio Free Northwest is and always has been Thursday night, 8 o 'clock p.m. Pacific Time.
We are not officially late until that time, and so far we've never been late in four years.
I mention this because it looks like next week I have yet another perfect storm of things that only I can deal with coming up, including yet more incoming migrants and visitors from elsewhere in the homeland who are taking advantage of our great weather this summer and coming here to see me.
I will try to begin work on next week's RFN on the Sunday, but there is a possibility that next week I might not be able to upload the show until Thursday afternoon sometime.
Okay, now it's time for another installment of my intermittent feature here on Radio Free Northwest, which I call Qui Custode Ipsos Custodes, which means Who Guards the Guardians in Latin.
That's one of those tags that generations of boys in British public schools used to have drilled into them by their Latin masters.
Anyway, the purpose of this feature is to debunk television shows like Criminal Minds and NCIS and 24 and movies like Silence of the Lambs that show FBI and other government agents as these big badass heroes who fight serial killers and evil Muslims and, of course, us evil white supremists using super science and Chloe with her magic computer that can give them anybody's whole life story in ten seconds, blah blah blah.
In reality, the only thing the FBI Tech Department has ever done, to my knowledge, is to fabricate audio evidence against Edgar Steele.
Now, what are these big, badass, fed super cops like in real life?
Well, let's take a look.
Just as last week's episode might have been entitled The Godfather, we might call this week's installment From Russia With Love.
FBI Special Agent Robert Hansen!
Come on down.
Come on.
Come on.
Secret agent man.
Secret agent man.
They've given you a novel.
I know they take away.
Secret agent man.
In other words, nailing crooked cops who were taking bribes.
In Chicago, there was a lot of work for him.
In other words, he was a paper pusher in what's arguably the most corrupt and incompetent city police force in the world.
After four years of this, Hansen joined the FBI as a special agent on January the 12th, 1976.
He started out in Gary, Indiana, which is a shithole just as smelly, if a good deal smaller, than Chicago.
I can imagine why bureau agents out in the provinces are so anxious to shine and get noticed by the really expensive suits back in the J. Edgar building in D.C. I mean, can you imagine being stuck as a glorified civil servant in Gary, Indiana, of all places?
Hansen moved to the New York field office in 1978, where he may have come across top echelon mob informant Special Agent John Connolly, and there he was assigned to counterintelligence and given the task of compiling a database of Soviet spies for the Bureau.
Hansen was going over all this info, and he got an idea.
Hey, these Russian guys whose files he was looking over might pay him money for information on the Bureau.
Yeah, that ought to be a nice little sideline.
In 1979, only three years after joining the FBI, Hansen began his career as a Russian spy.
During that year, Hansen approached the GRU, which is Russian Military Intelligence, and offered his services.
Hansen never indicated any political or ideological motive for his activities, and he told the FBI after he was caught that his only motivation was the money.
Now, what have I always said about these people being complete mercenaries?
What will happen when Obama and the Democrats can't give them any more money?
During his first espionage cycle, so to speak, Hansen told the GRU a significant amount, including information on FBI bugging activities and bureau lists of suspected Soviet intelligence agents.
His most important leak of information was the betrayal of Dmitry Polyakov, codenamed Top Hat.
Polyakov was a CIA informant for more than 20 years before his retirement in 1980, and he passed enormous amounts of information to American intelligence while he rose to the rank of general in the Soviet Army.
After Hansen burned him, he was arrested and executed.
It appears to be the long-term ambition of all FBI agents to get a nice permanent slot at a desk in the J. Edgar building, and in 1981, Hansen was duly transferred to D.C. He moved to the suburb of Vienna, Virginia.
His new job in the FBI's budget office gave him access to information involving virtually everything the FBI was doing.
Including ongoing investigations, wiretapping and electronic surveillance, the computerization of the Bureau, which was just beginning, so forth and so on.
All of which info Hansen auctioned off in job lots to his Russian handlers for cold cash.
The commander of Russian military intelligence probably knew more about what was going on in the Bureau than whatever bureaucrat was sitting in the director's chair.
I wonder what that Russian guy thought of William Sessions' wife.
In 1984, Hansen hit hog heaven for a spy.
He was transferred to, you guessed it, the Soviet Analytical Unit, which was directly responsible for studying, identifying, and capturing Soviet spies and intelligence operatives in the United States.
In other words, he was hunting himself, and being paid Boku taxpayer dollars for doing it, as well as his second income stream from Moscow.
Oh, in 1985 he also got another promotion, this time from Big Bear.
He traded up from the GRU and became an agent for the Soviet KGB itself.
On October 1, 1985, he sent an anonymous letter to the KGB offering his services and asking for $100,000 in cash.
In the letter, Hansen gave the names of three KGB agents in the United States secretly working for the FBI, Boris Yuzhin, Valery Martinov, and Sergei Matoran.
Unbeknown to Hansen, all three had already been exposed earlier that year by another mole, CIA employee Aldrich Ames.
Martinov and Matoran were executed, and Yuzhin was sent to the Gulag.
Since the FBI blamed Ames for the leak, Hansen was not suspected or investigated.
When the Soviets began construction on a new embassy, the FBI dug a tunnel beneath the building, right under their decoding room.
The FBI planned to use it for eavesdropping, but they never did for fear of being caught.
Hansen disclosed this detailed information to the Soviets in September 1989 and received a $55,000 payment the next month.
On two occasions, Hansen gave the Soviets a complete list of American double agents.
Here's where it gets really Monty Python-esque.
In 1987, Hansen was given the task of making a study of all known and rumored penetrations of the FBI in order to find the man who had betrayed Martinov and Matoran.
I mean, this guy was literally looking for himself.
He did the study, and by all accounts, it was a really impressive piece of work.
The KGB had it before he turned it in to the FBI, of course.
Did the boys and the girls in the government agency charged with detecting and apprehending spies really have no idea at all that Hansen might have been a bad apple?
Well, yes, actually they did.
They just couldn't be bothered, apparently.
In 1987, Hansen, according to a government report, quote-unquote, committed a serious security breach by revealing secret information to a Soviet defector during a debriefing.
The agents working underneath him reported this security breach to a supervisor, but no action was taken.
In 1990, Hansen's brother-in-law, Mark Wauk, who was also an FBI employee, recommended to the Bureau that Hansen be investigated for espionage.
This was because Bonnie Hansen's sister found a pile of cash sitting on the Hansen's dresser.
Five years earlier, in 1985, Bonnie had told her brother that her husband once talked about retiring in Poland.
Now that's just weird.
Who the hell wants to retire to Poland, never mind an FBI agent?
Welk also knew that the FBI was hunting for a mole, and so he spoke with his supervisor about it, who took no action.
When the Soviet Union collapsed in December 1991, Hansen hit the ground running, and he didn't miss a beat.
He resumed his spying activities in 1992, and this time for the newly formed Russian Federation.
In that year, Hansen screwed up a document drop he was making with a GRU agent who apparently hadn't been read in and didn't know who he was.
The FBI evidently aren't the only incompetents in the espionage business.
Now, for reasons no one ever publicly explained, Hansen went in person to the Russian embassy and physically approached a GRU officer in the embassy's parking garage carrying a bag of documents.
He identified himself by his Soviet codename, Ramon Garcia, and said he was a disaffected FBI agent and tried to hand this Russian guy all these papers, but the Russian officer didn't recognize the name, so he said get the hell out of here and got into his car and drove off.
The Russians then filed an official protest with the State Department.
They believed that Hansen was some kind of double agent.
The Russians actually turned in their own spy.
Because of some cock-up in their own communications.
Now, despite having shown his face, disclosed his code name, and revealed his FBI affiliation, nothing was done.
Unless, of course, sometime later, some of these agents in the J. Edgar building who ignored that incident got permanent postings in Anchorage, Alaska, or Birmingham, Alabama.
In 1993, Hansen hacked into the computer of a fellow FBI agent named Ray Mislock.
He printed out a classified document from Mislock's computer and took the document to Mislock, saying, You didn't believe me when I said that system was insecure.
Mislock believes now that Hanson really went into his computer to see if his superiors were investigating him for espionage.
They weren't.
In 1994, Hansen expressed an interest in a transfer to the new National Counterintelligence Center, which coordinated counterintelligence activities.
When a superior told him he would have to take a lie detector test to join, Hansen changed his mind.
Now that right there should have raised every red flag in the J. Edgar building.
It didn't.
By the way, at the same time Hansen was doing his thing, there were other FBI agents who were picking up a little cash on the side by flogging bureau secrets to Big Bear.
And the FBI did manage to catch some of these guys.
One of them was a man named Earl Edwin Pitts, whom they actually arrested at the famous Quantico Academy in 1996.
Pitts told the Bureau that he suspected Hanson was dirty.
Nothing was done.
Pitts was the second FBI agent to mention Hanson by name as a possible mole, but for whatever reason, either apathy or complicity, whatever, the FBI bosses simply didn't want to know.
After something called the Felix Block Incident, which would take way, way too long to explain here, the idiots at the Bureau finally figured out that they had a mole.
They codenamed this mole Gray Suit, and they spent almost five years trying to find him.
They spent three of those years investigating, harassing, and almost destroying a completely innocent agent named Brian Kelly, whom they suspected of being gray suit, including one ridiculous incident when they had a strange man with a foreign accent knock on Kelly's door at night and tell him to flee because the Bureau was on to him.
Kelly reported the incident to his supervisor.
Kind of reminds me of that incident where the CIA tried to kill Castro with an exploding cigar and then make his beard fall out.
In Director William Sullivan's time, they caught Hansen trying to carry out a major hack into the entire FBI computer system, but he talked his way out of that.
This guy did everything but put up a neon sign saying, I'm a spy!
Take me!
I'm yours!
And the great spy catchers just went, meh.
Now, you may have noticed by now that the FBI really aren't very good at their job.
Kidding aside, these are not real law enforcement officers.
They are political secret police.
As witness to the amount of time they now spend in electronic spying and cruising around trying to recruit informants on political dissidents, or on anyone who's even faintly critical of Obama.
They don't remember how to do the kind of basic police-type legwork that J. Edgar Hoover taught them.
Today's FBI couldn't find the men's room without an electronic intercept or an informer, and even then they'd have to offer the informer full immunity in the witness protection program.
Okay, long story short, Hansen was eventually caught when the FBI paid $7 million to a disaffected old KGB agent who was left out in the cold when the Soviet Union went down, and in return, he gave them a whole suitcase full of files.
They recognized Hansen's voice on a recording.
Like John Connolly, Hansen is in prison now, and like the Connolly incident, this is a very well-known and publicized case, and it's had movie and TV coverage.
In other words, the mighty FBI could not catch a spy in their own ranks.
They had to bribe a foreign spy to rat him out.
In other words, use an informer.
Remind you of anything they do domestically?
Oh, by the way, the investigation also discovered that FBI Special Agent Hansen was a sex pervert.
At Hanson's suggestion, and without the knowledge of his wife, a friend named Jack Horshauer, who was a retired Army officer, would sometimes watch the Hansons having sex through a bedroom window.
FBI Agent Hanson then began to secretly videotape his sexual encounters with his wife, and he shared the videotapes with his friend and possibly others.
Later, he hid a video camera in the bedroom that was connected via closed-circuit television lines so that his friend could observe the Hansons from his own guest bedroom.
Hanson also explicitly described the sexual details of his marriage in Internet chat rooms, giving information sufficient for those who knew them to recognize the couple.
Hanson frequently visited D.C. strip clubs.
That's how he spent some of that money the Russians gave him.
And he spent a great deal of time with a Washington, D.C. stripper named Priscilla Sue Gailey.
She went to Hong Kong with Hanson on a trip and on a visit to the FBI training facility at Quantico, Virginia.
Hi, guys.
This is my whore.
I'm just giving her a tour of the facility.
Hanson gave her money, jewels, and a used Mercedes.
But he cut off contact with her before his arrest when she fell into drug abuse and prostitution.
Nice company that Celie Booth and Agent Hotchner are hanging out with there, eh?
Gailey claims that although she offered to sleep with him in return for all the jewels and the trips and the tour of the FBI facility, Hansen, being a gentleman, declined, saying that he was really trying to convert her to Catholicism.
Secret Asian Man Secret Asian Man They've given you another All they've taken away your name Secret Asian Man Secret Asian Man
It strikes me that I haven't gone medieval on your asses for a while.
This is the Bataglia from the court of King Henry V, early 15th century England.
The Bataglia
Okay, running long again, so I'll wind it up.
Now, periodically, if you follow such things, you're going to hear some pretty silly chatter on the internet in various alleged movement chat rooms and v-bulletin boards, idiotic comments on pointless quasi-intellectual blogs to the effect that there isn't really any Northwest front, it's all a con, Harold's running, that we have nothing up here, so forth and so on.
I won't get into the motivations of the people who are posting these comments, or the identities and provenance of these people, except to remind you that I'm not making up all that stuff about Cass Sunstein and the cognitive dissonance program run out of the Obama White House.
That was first exposed back in 2009 in Wired magazine.
Look, to some degree, these alleged critics, whoever they are, are right.
We do not have anywhere near the resources that the movement had back in the 70s when I first came into it, and everybody and his kid brother had a building, at least a little storefront.
Now, when I receive new migrants, or potential new migrants up here, and we have to meet in people's homes, or the local Starbucks, or my own ghastly tenement, I am acutely embarrassed and ashamed.
I admit that.
These people are right.
The NF is not moving forward at anything like the rate we should be.
But we are moving forward.
Last weekend, either I or other people here in the Puget area met for the first time three new migrants and one new comrade recruited locally.
And in the next week, I am really going to be stepping because I have three more visitors coming into the area, new settlers who have already taken the gap and made that commitment to other parts of the Northwest homeland.
Yeah, that's not much of a growth rate, but it is growth.
And in addition to our primary settlement areas here in Washington and Montana, I hope to get the beginnings of a community going in southern and eastern Oregon soon.
They're coming home, people.
Not in the long lines of covered wagons like they came long ago, but they're coming home.
In rider trucks, on jet planes, in cars, the mountain is finally beginning to move a little.
You need to come home, too.
We're ready when you are.
This is Harold Covington, and I'll see you next week.
Until then, Sasha and the Bond.
Freedom.
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