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June 25, 2015 - Radio Free Nortwest - H.A. Covington
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20150625_rfn
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Greetings from the Northwest Homeland, comrades.
It's June the 25th, 2015.
I'm Harold Covington, and this is Radio Free Northwest.
This week, I will be doing a special shortened podcast, all on one topic, and I bet most of you can guess what that topic is.
I'm going to have to choose my words more carefully on this one than on almost any of these shows for the past five years.
You see, the June 17th incident in one of my three old hometowns of Charleston, South Carolina, has badly frightened the Lefty Lib establishment.
And when monsters with power become frightened, they tend to lash out in all directions like some dying octopus squirting ink.
And we little fish who are trying to swim in the nearby waters need to beware.
The Lefty Lib crowd at Salon Magazine and Huffington Post are badly frightened.
You can detect this when you read their screeching hate posts against Dylann Roof and the Confederate flag and against guns and, of course, against the hapless Republicans.
It's not just hate, it's deep and visceral fear.
The lefty libs are terrified because there are over 300 million privately owned firearms in this country, almost all of them in the hands of white people, mostly white males, who use them as a kind of security blanket, hiding the weapons in closets and basement gun cabinets.
Taking them out periodically and lovingly feel, stripping them and cleaning them, taking them to remote places on weekends to fire bullets into inanimate objects of various kinds.
I think some of us take those guns out at night and cuddle them and stroke them and make love to them before returning them to the closet, where they will affect not one jot of change, and while the Minutemen of 1775 twist and turn in their graves out of shame.
But the Lefty Libs have always been terrified that one day all those guns might come out of the closet and be turned on them.
And that is why what happened in Charleston has them literally screaming on their blogs in terror as well as rage.
In Charleston, the progressives have seen a preview of coming attractions.
They've been given a vision of a time in some imagined but possibly not too far distant future, when all of a sudden...
On the street, or in their office, or in some trendy fern bar, or Starbucks, or wine and cheese boutique on the Upper East Side, or in San Francisco, they will look up, possibly from the laptop, where they are typing out their day's quota of left-wing liberal horse shit.
And they will see a young white man like Dylann Roof standing in front of them.
With no big steroid-pumped policeman in blue to protect their liberal candy asses from the consequences of years of their own behavior.
They will see in that young white man's eyes that he recognizes them, that he is now beyond deception or bullying or browbeating or twitter-shaming or intimidation, that he knows them for what they are, and they will look down and see that he has something in his hand.
The left does not want gun control.
They never have.
They don't care how many guns the Crips and Bloods and Baltimore mobs or even the police have.
Columnists for Salon and Huffington Post never go into those neighborhoods, and most of them know full well who owns and pays the police and determines how they use their weapons.
What they want is to control white males.
Anyway, like I said, I have to be really careful how I navigate around this one, since it involves a young white man actually taking physical action in the real world.
Whatever opinion one may hold about the value and advisability or otherwise of that action.
Anytime a white male does anything other than sit behind a desk tapping on a keyboard, like I'm doing now, that's going to rattle the power structure.
Now, it used to be that this was not the case.
It used to be that we had a constitution with the First Amendment which gave white Americans the right to speak our minds, even if we were saying things that people in expensive suits with money and power didn't like.
And that's no longer the case.
I have said before that the old American Republic and the old American Constitution finally came to an end on November the 20th, 2014.
But guys, I really mean that.
It's true.
It really is all over now.
And we really are living in an honest-to-God third-world dictatorship under rule by decree from El Jefe.
Burn that date into your brains, people.
November the 20th, 2014.
That is the day.
That Barack Hussein Obama changed the very nature of this country by legalizing millions of racially and culturally unassimilable foreigners who have entered America unlawfully and who have been brought here for the purpose of voting democratic and creating a one-party state.
He did so with the stroke of a pen, without even the pretense of consultation with the people's elected representatives, and the Republicans in Congress simply sat there like potted plants and did nothing.
Signing their own political death warrants and the death warrant of white America.
That was the significant point where the old American republic finally died.
Not when a cheesy third world dictator full of hatred for America and the white people who made it staged his final power grab.
We'd all seen that coming for years.
The old America finally died when Congress allowed itself to be disregarded and rendered irrelevant and did nothing to stop Obama's coup d 'etat of 2014.
Because the expensively tailored thieves and leeches who live in Congress were too invested in the present system to put up a fight for the country and the law when the butcher in the Oval Office finally unsheathed his knife and hauled them to the block for slaughter.
Anyway, the result of November 20, 2014, is that we are no longer living in a constitutional republic.
The final tattered remains of the rule of law are gone now, and all is subject to the will of the dictator and his bureaucratic servants only.
Now, this means no more First Amendment, and it means that I have to be really careful about what I say about Dylann Roof and Charleston, so that nothing I say can be determined to be some kind of quote-unquote incitement, or quote-unquote making terroristic threats, which is one of their favorite catch-all laws nowadays that can mean whatever the hell they want it to mean when they want to shut somebody up or prevent any discussion of genuine change.
But before I talk about Dylann Roof...
I want to talk about something else, and this is where I'm going to get a lot of listeners in our own wee little community really pissed off at me.
I want to talk about conspiracy theory, its role in our lives, and why we are so obsessed with it.
Yeah, listen up, guys.
Horrible Harold is at it again.
Here comes the heresy.
Now, we had all barely woken up on Thursday morning and seen the headline on Drudge Report when the conspiracy theories started flying over the internet in our tiny little community, with our blogs that nobody reads, and our 43-man Twitter followings and our email lists that send what Andy Donner called bad news porn in endless loops all over the internet to the same few thousand people over and over and over again, because, you see, we only talk to each other.
Now, for very complex psychological reasons, having to do with being raised in a crumbling and unnatural society, teetering on the brink of insanity, and also having to do with 75 years of almost nothing but political failure to do anything about it, we most of us found it utterly inconceivable that a young white man in a niggerized state like South Carolina had finally just plain had enough And decided to end his life in a futile gesture of what,
in his youth and naivete, he no doubt thought would be a blaze of glory.
Now that just couldn't have happened as it appears to have happened.
Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.
It must be some deep, dark, convoluted conspiracy on the part of the Jews, or the insiders with a capital I, or the Bilderbergers.
No, I'm not making that up.
I actually had a guy send me a long email, which I didn't bother to read beyond the first couple of sentences, seriously explaining to me how an octogenarian Jewish multi-billionaire living out of his private luxury jet over Europe Personally selected a 21-year-old 9th grade dropout living in a mobile home in Lexington,
South Carolina, and somehow bribed or persuaded or brainwashed this kid to go shoot up a church in Charleston, South Carolina, destroying his own life forever in the process, so that Soros' minions on Salon Magazine and Huffington Post and the Daily Beast could write bad things about the Confederate flag.
Okay, look, I'll get straight to the flat-out heresy here.
That will no doubt get some of you screaming that I am part of the great world conspiracy of billionaire Bilderbergers or whatever.
Well, it won't be the first time.
Look, guys, like Sigmund Freud once wrote, sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, or if my quoting a Jew bothers you, let's go back a bit further to the great medieval scholar William of Ockham.
Ever heard of Ockham's Razor?
The simplest explanation is usually the correct one.
Yes, Virginia, sometimes things really are just what they look like.
And I suppose I need to go ahead and set off the chorus of horrified screams by telling you guys that right now, from where I sit, with the admittedly limited evidence that is available to me, it appears to me as if this Dylann Roof incident is exactly what it appears to be.
Alright, before the howls get too high, I am willing to leave the conspiracy door open just a crack.
I admit there are a couple of odd and inconsistent things having to do with all the niggers on his Facebook page and so forth and so on.
But I'm sorry, guys.
As much as we might want to reject this idea for whatever reason we want to reject it, this does kind of play.
A young white man, dispossessed, derided, robbed of his birthright, invalidated and insulted, and held up to ridicule and contempt by the Salonistas and all their kind every day in Obama's America, decided correctly that he had no future in Obama's America besides pumping gas or serving up fast food and paper sacks to people who had only a few more bucks in their pocket than he did.
He came to understand that he had nothing to live for.
So why not end his life with some grand and melodramatic gesture for the ages?
And yes, his life is over right now just as much as if he'd lay in his grave.
Now why choose that way?
Because time and again, he saw on television and on the internet the coverage that these shooting sprees, many of which apparently are genuine false flag attacks, if you'll pardon the contradictory expression, And he decided that this was the quickest way to get his face on TV and get people to read the racial manifesto he left behind, which, as it turned out, was correct.
By now, millions of people will have read Dylann Roof's message to the world.
If he hadn't done what he did, then it would have just turned into a thread on Stormfront, and maybe 300 people might have seen it in a year before some dumbass moderator started spatting with Dylann online and pulled down the thread.
Now his name is on everybody's lips.
That's how it's done in Obama's America, where Twitter and Facebook are now reality.
Dylann Roof grew up in a culture which long ago became quite raving mad, so no one should be surprised if he's a little off in his behavior himself.
Why exactly do we find this idea that Dylann Roof is pretty much as advertised to be so improbable or impossible?
Are we really so embittered and disappointed with the white millennial generation?
Do we really despise them so much that we consider all of them to be incapable of such a gesture of idealism and self-sacrifice, however confused and pointless?
Human nature being what it is, and this sick and twisted politically correct society being what it is, I personally am astounded that there are no more such incidents than there are.
But it absolutely fascinates me that so many of us in our wee little community cannot and will not accept that this incident could, in fact, be just what it appears to be, and that Dylann Roof did what he did for the exact reasons he stated in his manifesto.
And no, he wasn't getting microwave signals in his brain emanating from George Soros' private jet over Monte Carlo.
I was amazed at the incredible speed with which our wee little community leaped onto the conspiracy theory bandwagon.
It's like we were and are genuinely desperate to prove to others and to ourselves, including our wretched enemies, that this incident was not, could not possibly, be just what it looks like.
Why?
I will tell you why, and I'm sorry people, this is a truth that we need to face up to about ourselves.
It's simple and shameful.
And I have seen it happen before, on similar occasions of which I am old enough to remember many, going back to Fred Cowan in 1977.
One of us tiny little pale people actually did something.
Something in the real world, and not in this little fantasy world we create for ourselves on the internet.
This person, Dylann Roof, did the unforgivable thing.
He made waves.
He rocked our wee tiny little boat in the great bathtub of life, and all of a sudden, for a brief moment anyway, it wasn't a game anymore.
It was very real, and it made real people, with real wealth and real power, really mad.
Because it rattled cages.
It got all the weirdly plumaged birds and the monkeys squawking and howling and turning flips on their perches.
It threw Hillary the inevitable off her game, and...
Made real people with real power pay attention to all the noise made them make noises themselves that they don't like making.
The real-world power people hate having to pay attention to the weird lefty birds and monkeys in their own cages, never mind ours, and they're pissed off to the point where they might decide to take away our toys, starting with our beloved Confederate flag that we dishonor every day with our cowardice and our wretchedness.
So, now all the little mighty white internet warriors and blogmeisters and stormfront lounge lizards and rented motel banquet room conference chompers are running for the tall grass as fast as their bandy little legs can carry them, hollering conspiracy and false flag all the way.
Someone has poked the bear and woken him up, and now the bear is grouchy because some stroppy pale peasant boy wouldn't stay in the back room hefting and toting pallets with the forklift like he was supposed to.
But he messed with some of the bear's pets and started up all the cackling and whistling and howling.
Now the bear's been poked and he's pissed off, he may start taking swipes with his paw at anybody he can see moving before he finally lies down and goes back to sleep again.
And oh boy, wasn't that a chowder of strained metaphors, but I think you guys get what I mean.
Guys, look, I don't expect anybody to openly approve of what this kid did.
I don't, and I'll get into that in a minute.
But for Christ's sake at least, let's not join the two-minute hate on the internet, and let's not deny the poor dumb bastard three times before the cock crows because we're afraid.
He's being kicked enough.
Our own voices are not needed in this particular two-minute hate.
So let's not disgrace ourselves still further by adding them in.
In view of what Dylan is going to suffer at the hands of the dictatorship, we at least owe it to him to try and stiffen our spines a little bit for a moment or two as long as it takes to not roll over and bawl like a baby to the dictator and his servants for mercy.
Music by Ben Thede
Music by Ben Thede Music by Ben Thede Music by Ben Thede Music by Ben Thede Music by Ben Thede you Uh, uh, hurl hurl, what do you think about that dude shooting all them niggers in Charleston?
Yes, I get emails like that.
A lot.
I'm going to tell you guys something now that I've told you before, repeatedly.
And which I'll tell you again repeatedly.
Something which there appears to be at least some chance young Dylan Roof might have been aware of since he made a brief reference to the Northwest Front in his manifesto.
I have no idea if he ever listened to Radio Free Northwest, but if he did, and he heard my comments on the death of Joe Stack and other such incidents, it was something he apparently just ignored.
Well, not the first time that's happened either.
People ignoring what Harold Covington says, and always to their cost.
But let's give it another shot, pardon the expression.
People don't do this shit.
This flipping out with a gun lunacy.
No, this is not just ritual disclaimer.
This is not just Harold trying to cover his ass.
This is not nudge, nudge, wink, wink, we all know what Harold really thinks, okay?
I'm telling you what Harold really thinks.
Don't do it!
Now, I've said this before, and sometimes, as in this case, it seems to have gone in one ear and out the other, but I'm going to keep on saying it.
Now, in the first place, we are not Islamic suicide bombers who are looking for an express ticket to paradise and the 72 virgins.
We are, in theory at least, serious adults who are trying to change the world.
In the second place, it is, in fact, counterproductive.
This kid Roof, whatever his intentions, just handed Jon Stewart and Salon Magazine and Hillary Clinton and the entire Democratic Party an early Christmas present.
They are going to work this one to the bone.
They are going to squeeze every bit of political and propaganda juice out of it, and they're still going to be squeezing a year from now.
Now, how can I convey to you guys how serious I am about this?
I know.
Let's try a Dr. Seuss rhyme to see if that can stick in some of these youthful skulls full of mush sufficiently to stop another one of these things from happening.
From Baltimore to Hilton Head Don't go round shooting niggers dead.
In country lanes or in the town, you must not shoot those niggers down.
You must not shoot them in a car.
You must not shoot from near or far.
You must not shoot them on a boat.
You must not shoot them in a moat.
You must not shoot them in the street.
You must not shoot them while they eat.
You must not shoot them in a mall.
You must not shoot them down at all.
There's better ways of having fun than going crazy with a gun.
Yes, I know that's ridiculous, but it's ridiculous that I should even have to be saying this.
I mean, come on, people.
Common sense.
Do you know the most important and serious reason why you should never do nonsense like Dylann Roof did?
Not because you're only destroying your own life for nothing.
Not because you're simply giving the lefty loons ever more grist for their propaganda mill.
Not because you might inadvertently drag other people who don't want to go down with you.
But because it doesn't work.
Just like dressing up in a costume and standing on a street corner with a sign doesn't work.
And what doesn't work in this movement is something that we have to reject until we find something that does work.
Now let's try this again.
The purpose of revolution is not to kill people.
The purpose of revolution is to free people.
To change the world.
What Dylann Roof did didn't change the world one damn bit and in fact made it marginally worse, especially for him.
Your task as a revolutionary is not to seek or indulge in personal vengeance of any kind, no matter how morally entitled to that vengeance you may be.
Yeah, Dylann Roof got the short end of Obama's stick, and his grievances were legitimate, but he should have read Northwestfront.org a little more closely than he evidently did.
And maybe a Northwest novel or two.
And then come home and made himself a life here, where he's supposed to be.
Not immolated himself like some child sacrifice on the altar of the Moloch that is Obama's America.
And now he's gone.
Whether this young man could have been a genuine asset to his people and his new country, we'll never know now.
He purchased a few hours of personal vengeance and satisfaction with most likely 40-odd years of living hell or 10 or 12 years of suspended animation followed by a needle full of poison in the arm.
By which time he'll be 34 or 35 years old, and one way or the other, no longer the same man who went to church that summer night.
So punishing him will be metaphysically iffy, but that won't make him any the less dead.
Christ almighty, what a waste.
Guys, come on, we need to stop this.
We need to make a decision right now, all of us, that we're just not gonna do this anymore.
I know that you have become incredibly frustrated waiting for Harold Covington to pull the magic beans out of his pocket and get to the fun part, as some of you say.
My standard answer to that is that I have no magic beans, but actually I do.
You.
You guys are the magic beans who will plant yourselves into the soil of our people's new Northwest homeland and blossom, if I can persuade you to come here and do that, and not throw your lives away in some pointless gesture that no one at the time will understand and no one in the future will remember.
I do not ask any of you to fight and die for the Northwest American Republic.
I am asking you to live and to work for the Republic, which is much, much harder.
Realistically, that call will almost certainly be made by one of the men who follows in my footsteps, in a time and a tactical situation which does not apply today and which we cannot as yet imagine.
But the call will be made someday.
Make sure you are here in the homeland to hear it and not rotting away for life in some filthy niggerized prison in South Carolina.
Dylan Roof will never hear these words, but what's done is done, and now he has to live with the results, and none of us will ever know what he could have accomplished with his life if he'd had the chance.
In that, he is representative of a whole generation of white youth who have been robbed, dispossessed, insulted, and trampled beneath the dictator's heel.
God bless and keep you, son.
I can only promise you one thing.
We won't forget.
This is David Kincaid.
You Irishman and women To draw me both young and old A doleful lamentation Now to you I will unfold With me to ride For the riddle door To ride her I for the riddle door tonight One hundred gallant Irishman We are left for to deplore Whose bodies fell a victim Upon their Columbia shore With me to ride We're
It was at the siege of New Orleans upon the 9th of May, Our countrymen they suffered so'er upon that fatal day, With me too, I am, Father I am, Father I am, Father I am,
But her and son still loudly cry, "We'll die before we'll yield with me to raya, my father-y-da, to raya, my father-y-da to die home."
We were opposed, they could not stand.
Exertion proved in vain.
They strove to break the enemy's force and drive them from the plain With me to Raya, Fonderyl Da, Raya, Fonderyl Da, to battle But I lost their number, it was too small, and I gave them no fair play.
Not one of them did their escape Upon that free to lay with me To rai-ah, fall a riddle-dah To rai-ah, fall a riddle-dah tonight, oh To see the streets that even engage, heart would rend with pain.
The human blood in rivers, land like any flood or stream.
With me to ride, I fall into the night, oh.
Men's heads blown off their bodies, the most dismal for to see.
And wounded men did lovely cry with pain and agony.
With me to ride, I fall into the night, oh.
The settlers they did then advance and broken through the town.
They trampled dead and wounded men that lay up on the ground.
With me to ride, I fall into the night, oh.
They numbered them among the dead and threw them in the grave with me.
Three hundred killed and wounded that did lay in the grave.
One half of them were Irish, one far from their native shore.
When we do, ra-ya, fa-da-da-da, ra-ya, fa-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da-da.
For orphans now they may weep and cry and hour and through the day.
They let their lovely children go on to our merry-kay.
Toorayah, fobba didda, toorayah, fobba didda, toorayah.
For ye that hear those dopeful lines, do not neglect to toil, and labor for a light, on the same path to sail, when we do, rayah, fobba didda, toorayah.
with grief I'll say no more.
You know it falls through poverty, they left their native shore With me too, raya, fag-a-rilla, raya, raya, fag-a-rilla, tonight, oh May angels them surround before the throne of heaven.
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