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Jan. 12, 2017 - Radio Free Nortwest - H.A. Covington
01:09:46
20170112_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.
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, out the marching tune.
Warrior bike upon your shoulder by the rising of the moon.
By the rising of the moon.
By the rising of the moon.
Switch your eyes upon your shoulder by the rising of the moon.
Out from many a mud wall cabin eyes were watching through the night.
Many a man did chest was throbbing for the blessed warning light.
The waters passed along the valleys like the man she's lonely crooned.
And a thousand blades were flashing at the rising of the moon.
At the rising of the moon, at the rising of the moon.
And a thousand days were fleshing out, rising all the moon.
It's January the 12th, 2017.
I'm Harold Covington, and this is Radio Free Northwest.
Okay, I'm going to kick off the show this week with a few housekeeping items and some inside baseball stuff.
My proposal last week...
To adopt the term Weltfeind as a generic term for the racial enemy has met with an underwhelming response, but a few German speakers in our audience did correct my pronunciation, which I appreciate.
Apparently it's find rather than fiend.
I'd only ever seen the word written, and so I had to guess at its pronunciation.
As I said, the enthusiasm for the new word seems remarkably restrained thus far.
It seems to go over better written than spoken, so I'll probably continue to use it in my writing, but I won't really push it that much.
I've had somewhat better luck introducing the term muggle for racially unaware, uninitiated white people who are still part of the consumer herd, but that's from the Harry Potter series of books and movies, and everybody gets it.
Plus, it doesn't sound furrin' too much.
I have to say that the alt-right on the internet is doing pretty good at changing and adopting the language.
I like their term red-pilled for a white person achieving racial awareness.
I understand that comes from the movie The Matrix, which, since it's had such an effect on Generation X and beyond, I suppose I really need to watch one day.
No, no kidding.
I really have never seen The Matrix.
That's not to say I haven't made any linguistic contributions to the struggle at all.
I'm the guy who came up with the term munkoid back in 1973, in fact, on the old Arlington White Power message, thus adding to the English languages over 100 existing terms for nigger.
And I knew Eric Thompson, the guy who invented the term zog.
That's even made it into some mainstream usage.
Okay, next internal note.
I noticed that we're getting a lot of new contacts who claim that they don't want to give the party a mailing address, usually because they say they're living with friends or family and they don't want wicked, evil, racist mail coming to their home because they are at the mercy of whoever is letting them flop on the couch.
Well, that sounds legitimate, and in many cases it probably is legitimate.
I've been there myself.
When I came back from Ireland in 1987, and on a couple of other occasions, I have been damned lucky to have a friend with a job and a couch.
Yeah, I know.
White people, especially younger white males, are in really bad shape in Obama's America.
The days I grew up in, where everybody lived in houses and when my father could spend 35 years working for the same company and retire with a pension, are long gone.
I get that.
But here's the thing.
In the first place, the party needs a valid mailing address so that we can communicate with you off-internet, or maybe off-electronics would be a better word, so that our little friends in the silk suits don't listen in to everything we say.
At some point in time, the internet is going to be lost to us in one way or another, and we may have to go back to the photocopy machine and the postage stamp.
In the second place, one of the things that I admit we let slide in the past year is the vetting of new contacts.
For a long list of complex reasons, I won't get into because none of it would mean anything to you.
And even if I did spend an hour explaining how we actually roll around here, no one's interested.
But we're going to spiff ourselves up in that department.
I'm kicking around the idea of reviving the almost moribund NPA and demanding social security numbers and dates of birth so we can at least run a criminal records check.
Not so much looking for criminal records, per se, as to see whether someone is lying to us about who they are and where they've been.
Now, we would eventually create a sort of inner roster of people whom you might call vested, or in Twitter terms, verified accounts.
People who are not only helping us in real-world ways, other than words, but who we know are more or less as advertised, without any hidden agendas or any skeletons waiting to leap out of the closet.
If you're at all familiar with our wee little movement, then you know why this has to be.
Now, what I notice I'm getting a lot of recently is people contacting me by internet through the comments section or the website and wanting all kinds of conversation and detailed information sent to an email address, but they don't want to provide any verifiable information about themselves.
They claim that they're paranoid about bad people finding out about them, which sounds superficially plausible, and I'll send these people stuff, like a PDF copy of the White Book, but they keep asking for a one-way street.
Now...
I don't believe that these people are necessarily FBI undercovers or so-called anti-fascists fishing for information or media people or weirdo movement goat dancers.
Some of them probably are, but most of them are probably just silly kids with the attention span of a housefly doing what silly American kids do, using the internet to play.
The cardinal rule of the internet, which none of you must ever forget, either in your movement, political work, or in your daily lives.
First rule of the internet is you never know who you're talking to.
Unless, of course, you do.
Unless it's someone that you've met personally, and someone whom you've had a chance to assess as to what they're like, what their personality is like, what their motivations are like, etc., etc.
On the internet, unfortunately, that is very much not the case.
So, nope, it don't work like that.
Basically, if you don't trust us, then we don't trust you.
If I'm going to invest time and effort in bringing somebody to the truth and bringing them home, I'm going to know who the hell I'm talking to.
Now, regarding the call-in shows.
They're very popular, and I've had people wanting to know when we're going to do some more of them.
Once again, I won't get into the logistic details of all this, but those of you who have tried to participate in these shows know that as good as they sound to listeners, once Don and I get through sound editing them, they can be a technical disaster for the people who call.
First off, every show we either get too many calls or no calls at all.
The last one we tried ended up being just one caller for about three minutes at the beginning of the show and then me and Don alone for the rest of the show because the internet in our neighborhood went out.
People who have called before have been cut off by technical glitches or because I'm trying to handle six incoming calls at once and I get flustered and I flub it and I drop the calls and so forth and so on.
Now, what we're doing is using a Skype number for people to call in, and then using a sound program to record the conversation, and sometimes we have trouble getting those to work in sync, etc., etc.
Our computer equipment at that station is donated, as was the labor to set it up, for which I am profoundly grateful.
But I have to concede that the gear is very old, and the system is, oh, how can I put this, idiosyncratic.
Old and idiosyncratic, like me, so that's not a good combination sometimes.
Now, in my dream world that I fantasize about at night and in the organizational letters, we would have a secure and stable work platform, which would include a spacious, proper internet radio and media center filled with modern, state-of-the-art equipment, which would be operated by a crackerjack IT guy who knows how all this stuff works.
and who functions as a sound and production engineer so we could have a for real, proper, Rush Limbaugh-style call-in show.
And myself and Don, or whoever my co-host was for the week, Dream.
and trying to find the cursor on multiple screens while talking to a caller and trying to think about race and politics at the same time, so forth and so on.
Dream, dream, dream, dream, dream, dream, dream, dream, dream, dream, dream, dream.
Anyway, there are two ways the talk show could go.
Either we could have certain specific people load a program called TeamSpeak onto their computers and then basically record TeamSpeak conferences.
Or else we could just have one or two invited guests on per week so that the existing system is more manageable and I don't get slammed with a dozen calls at once, which I can't handle while talking, etc., etc., etc.
We'll talk about this later.
Now, a quick word or two in your shell-like ears.
One of the things I've noticed down through the years is that our wee little movement is seasonal.
We are now going into what I've come to call winter doldrums, and this is a particularly vicious cold winter with the whole continent in an arctic deep freeze.
Plus, we're starting to come down from the past year's Trump high, exhilarating as that was.
That's the trouble with all highs.
Eventually, what goes up must come down.
We now realize that we have an orange-haired billionaire whom nobody really knows much about settling in to rule us for the next four years.
We understand that the chances he really does give a damn about any of us is pretty slim.
We are freezing cold and living in cheap rented rooms or mom's basement or crashing on some friend's couch with our welcome rapidly wearing out.
Those of us who do have jobs are doing something we really hate for $11 an hour, and this asshole Covington still hasn't pulled the magic beans out of his pocket where we all know he's hiding them.
Okay.
I had about another paragraph of sarcasm after that, but I deleted it.
Guys, there are times when I simply don't know what to tell you, because it's so fucking obvious.
You know that world I describe in my Northwest novels?
You can have it if you want it.
You could actually have it pretty quick if you'd just get on the stick and quit waiting around for me or someone else to just hand it to you on a silver platter.
I've told you what I need.
I need money, as much of it as you can spare, because money is power.
Money makes things happen.
And I need bodies.
I need you here, in the Northwest Homeland.
You want the Northwest American Republic?
Come and get it.
Okay, now I need to get into something else with you guys.
Again, on a subject I've touched on in the past, but which I have difficulty getting any traction on.
Now, how can I put this?
You guys out there, especially you younger fellas, you do understand, don't you, that the Northwest Front and the alt-right and white nationalism in general is for white people only?
You do understand, don't you, that having sex with non-whites is not okay?
You got that right?
You do understand that having non-white family members is not acceptable, do you not?
I don't mean your slut aunt or sister who married a Mexican.
Nothing you can do about that, but you don't treat the Mexican or the gook, and you damn sure don't treat a nigger as a family member.
You don't sit across the Thanksgiving dinner table from it, or let your kids play with their little brown cousins.
If your family objects or hassles you about your attitudes, then you dump your family, because your race is more important.
We're clear on that, right?
And you damned, damned, damned sure don't ever engage in homosexuality on a casual basis and then expect to have it all just taken in stride by the rest of us because you quote-unquote do so much good for the movement.
I had a South Park clip I was going to play here of Butters, but I think I'll pass.
It's too raunchy.
I've come across way, way too many cases of that in recent years.
Movement modernization aside, most of the bugger boys among us do still retain some sense of shame or at least discretion, but it happens often enough to make me want to do some things with a meat cleaver.
Because if you do put up with these things, then what in God's name is the point of any of what we're doing?
Why do you claim to seek...
Our survival is a race when you yourself engage in the behaviors which are themselves the ultimate end objective of everything the enemy has thrown at us for the past hundred years in order to get us to do these things so as to end our existence.
You do understand, don't you, that even a little drop of Jewish blood or non-white ancestry Which, given certain weird American pathologies may or may not actually exist, anyway, that's not okay.
I mean, you guys do have that much racial consciousness, don't you?
I mention this because certain personalities on the alt-right who seem to be otherwise pretty much squared away are suddenly dropping little remarks about alleged Jewish grandparents who may or may not exist.
I don't know.
Maybe these turkeys think that this way they'll get organized kikery to leave them alone, which they won't.
That never works.
Maybe they think it's chic or cute or whatever, which it isn't.
Jeez.
I'll give you an example.
We were speaking of the call-in shows.
Now, some of you may have heard Chris from London on some of those shows.
Anyway.
Chris has a Facebook page, or Facebook access of some kind, I'm not sure, and he was IMing on there with some American who called himself Eagle something or other, who described himself as a three-percenter, not sure exactly what that is.
Anyway.
This individual was sounding and reading real good online, as many do at first.
Chris sent me this conversation, and things had reached the point where Chris had given him the link to northwestfront.org and was plugging the NF to him.
And then this Nimrod sends him a photo of two Chinese girls of maybe 14 or 15 sitting in a McDonald's or something of the kind, and he says to Chris, These are our two adopted daughters.
Hey, they're whiter than most, except in their DNA.
Mother of God.
Nor is this unusual.
In the early 1990s in North Carolina, we had some kid who wanted to bring his Chinese girlfriend to a Klan rally, and neither of them saw anything at all wrong or dangerous about it.
They thought it would be cool.
After all, the girl wasn't black, right?
I had a similar experience about eight years ago at a dinner get-together at an Irish pub in Bellevue.
I sat next to a man, and we talked for over an hour.
He was intelligent, well-read, well-informed, and clearly knew his race and his history.
He was sharp on the Jewish question, and we were talking about how he could help the party, and then out of the blue, he asks me, Oh, by the way, I'm married to a Chinese woman.
Is that going to be a problem?
Then there was the guy who tried to bring his mixed-race mulatto son to a Nazi rally in uniform.
Then there was the guy who expected me to accept his adopted Mexican son, and I'm talking about...
An almost full-blood Indio here.
The kid had a face like something off of my own temple.
Now, if these people were just nuts or trolls, I could get it, but often they're not.
It's like, other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, how did you enjoy the play?
They genuinely understand the existential crisis that we're facing.
They're knowledgeable and sometimes in a real position to be of serious help.
On the understanding that we, meaning me, just overlook their one little eccentricity.
That I grant them a papal indulgence to violate our equivalent of the word of God, like for so many years Matt Cale allowed unit leader Wolfgang Schrott to shack up in the Baltimore Nazi headquarters with a non-white woman.
At the very least, I'm expected to adopt a policy of don't ask, don't tell, which I would never do, and that's probably one reason why we're still on the bones of our ass after all these years.
It's entirely possible that I could have achieved much more than I have if I had just been willing to overlook certain instances of yellow fever and mystery meat and the whiff of KY jelly wafting around certain people but I never have been.
I suppose I could go off into a long digression that would last for the rest of the show as to why white nationalism and white separatism means white nationalism and separatism but why?
Okay, look, I know I'm from an older generation and we're not cool or hip or copacetic or whatever the millennial term is, but I still don't understand why I have to explain any of this.
This is a conversation that shouldn't even be taking place.
Could any of you explain to me how and why, in your mind, white racial stuff isn't really for white people?
Can you explain to me how performing exotic sexual acts on your carcass magically transmutes a slanty-eyed gook into a white woman?
Jesus.
Okay, I need to wash all that dirt out of my brain with something Viking.
This is Kenneth McKellar.
Oh, blue's plume and passion-breaker.
Oh, sword, the earth's a maker.
E-o-ho, e-o-ho, e-o-ho.
Bright the oar, the billow-weeping, on the shore, the heaven weeping.
E-o-ho, e-o-ho, e-o-ho, e-o-ho.
Bend the arm and swing of shoulder, hold the wind but let his shoulder.
E-o-ho, e-o-ho, e-o-ho, e-o-ho.
E-o-ho, e-o-ho, break the keel the land before us.
Call the Lord and hear our chorus.
E-o-ho, e-o-ho, hear our chorus.
E-o-ho, e-o-ho, "It's not evil." Well, There's a problem with that.
Those books are very long, especially the last two, and somebody's got to read them.
Realistically speaking, it can't be me.
There's just no way I have the time not only to read the books but to sound edit the files.
But there have been some spasmodic attempts made.
We had the famous prologue to Freedom's Sons with the sound effects added.
We had some kid in Louisiana read the first chapter of Hill of the Ravens.
And I myself did part of a chapter of A Mighty Fortress a couple of years ago before my sound editing guy went dark on me and the project fell through the cracks.
The latest among us to give this a try is Comrade Rich from Idaho, who's done the first chapter of Freedom Sons, which is almost 50 minutes long, so I won't play the whole thing.
Just the first part of it so you can get an idea how Rich sounds and see if you'd like to encourage him to continue.
Freedom Sons by H.A. Covington.
Read by Comrade Rich.
Part 1. After the fire.
After the fire, the runes there did lay.
After the fire would come a brand new day.
Ian Stewart.
After the fire.
Chapter 1. A Madhouse of Ministries.
Eighteen days after Longview.
Work expands to fill the time allotted for its performance.
Quote by C. Northcote Parkinson.
On a dark and rainy morning in November, Ray Ridgeway mounted the steps of the Insurance Building on the former Washington State Capitol grounds in Olympia.
He passed beneath the classic portico supported by eight tall and stately columns, stepped into the warm lobby of the building, and closed his sopping umbrella as if it was just another workday, rather than the first official day of business for the government of the Northwest American Republic.
Ridgway was dressed in a conservative suit, tan winter coat and scarf.
Besides the umbrella, he carried an expensive briefcase like the bank president he had once been.
As of 16 hours ago, he was the new nation's finance minister.
At this moment, he had about 40 American dollars in his pocket.
He was paying his hotel bill with Northwest American Republic vouchers, which the hotel manager probably honored only out of fear.
His multiple bank accounts were now frozen by order of the bank's head offices back east, and his extensive portfolio of stocks, bonds, and mutual funds were now technically illegal.
The mortgage on his home back in Portland was way in arrears, although under the circumstances he wasn't worried about any attempted foreclosure.
The finance minister was one of the poorest men in the new country, and yet his heart was light as a feather.
As light as it had been since the day his youngest daughter had died at the hands of a nigger.
Payback was going to be a bitch, and Ray Ridgeway was going to be part and parcel of that.
It was not quite eight in the morning yet.
As he entered the lobby, Ridgeway could hear the sound of someone making a speech from the state legislative building across the way.
The Senate's chamber's individual desks had been removed and hastily refitted with bleacher-like rows of seating for members of the Constitutional Convention, which was now in session to adopt a new constitution for the Northwest Republic based on a draft document that dated all the way back to 2006.
Ridgway could hear Speaker Frank Barrow's voice as he pounded his gavel on the rostrum and tried to call the convention to order.
There seemed already to be arguments breaking out on the floor.
In fact, he could hear Barrow amazingly clearly, considering that the convention chamber was indoors and several hundred yards away.
Then Ridgeway realized that what he was hearing was the TV someone had set up in the lobby, where he could see Barrow in living color on the rostrum via CNN.
Is CNN still in the country?
Ridgeway asked the young soldier on the reception desk, who politely stood to attention.
I thought we decided to throw them out.
I guess nobody's gotten around to it yet, sir, replied the soldier.
The scene on the television shifted to a view from a helicopter which showed a stretch of Interstate 5 on the California-Oregon state line, or border as it was now.
There were no border posts set up by either side yet, except for the old Department of Agriculture shacks on the California side that used to check motorists who might be transporting diseased produce.
The weather was clear that far south, and the sun was just rising over the mountains.
The interstate was as jammed with cars and trucks and SUVs as any Los Angeles freeway at rush hour.
All those white people fleeing from the only country in the world where they and their children can be safe, commented Ridgeway bitterly.
God, what wretched cowardice and stupidity.
That's the southbound lane, sir, said the soldier, pointing to the screen.
Look at the northbound lanes.
They're jammed up as well.
As many white people are coming into the Republic as are leaving.
They're not waiting for California to be handed over to Astlan.
That's what the Beaners are howling for in Congress now.
Frente de la Raza says if us evil racists get our own country, then they should get theirs.
They'll probably get it.
I'd be surprised if there are any white people left in California in a week's time except for goddamn movie stars.
As for all those assholes who are leaving, fuck them.
We don't need them.
They were probably union collaborators and rats during the war anyway.
By the way, how are we supposed to address you now?
Mr. Minister?
Or Mr. Secretary?
Or Mr. Ridgway?
Or what?
I have no idea, admitted Ridgway.
Ray will do for now.
He took the stairs up to his offices on the second floor.
Finance had been allocated one corridor in the maze of offices and conference rooms.
They shared the insurance building with the ministries of commerce and industry, science and technology, and public health.
On the previous day, the Council of State had officially brought a dozen such bodies into existence.
That's quite a gaggle of ministries we got there, Red.
John Corbett Morgan had commented after the new ministers and their deputies had been sworn in.
Is that right?
Do cabinet ministries come in gaggles?
Right at the moment, John, I'd call them a madhouse of ministries.
Council of State Chairman Henry Red Morehouse had responded with a smile.
We've got only one man here, Foreign Minister Stanhope, who has done anything even remotely resembling this kind of job before.
Although Comrade Ridgeway has experience in the private sector that comes close to his finance portfolio, this is going to be the mother of all learning curves for all of us.
Walter Stanhope was a former American Secretary of State.
He had actually been an American signatory to the treaty negotiations held in the Lewis and Clark Hotel in Longview.
After which he promptly embarrassed the hell out of the United States by defecting to the Northwest Republic.
He had given away the bride, Emily Pasturus, at her impromptu wedding to Cody Brock in one of the hotel restaurants that night, and then left Longview in the same helicopter as the NVA delegation.
Stanhope raised his hand.
I'll be happy to offer any advice and assistance I can to any of you gentlemen, he said.
Foreign affairs is going to be mostly a sinecure for a while, since no other country on Earth recognizes us, including the one we just signed the treaty with, so I doubt I'll be too busy with my own portfolio.
As soon as possible, you will each be allocated separate digs around town for your offices, Morehouse went on.
God knows the state of Washington had enough bureaucrats who have now fled the country, or else they're hiding out, so if we want to, we can give every government janitor his own corner office.
Ironic when you think about all those years when the party could never afford a single stand-alone building and had to operate out of fleabag apartments and mobile homes, but the security situation is still a bit fluid and we want to keep everybody together here on the Capitol grounds for a while until things settle down.
Ridgeway was aware of that.
The previous night, in his hotel room, he had heard the sputter of rifle and automatic weapons fire and the boom of the occasional grenade.
Not all of Olympia's former American masters were reconciled to the treaty, and the NDF was still flushing out and putting down the last of the dark-skinned minorities as well.
Final holdouts, who for some reason defying rational analysis, still hadn't got the message yet.
The Jews had fled the city months ago.
When Ray Ridgeway reached the second floor, he saw that a large brown cardboard sign, evidently cut from a box, had been taped to one wall at the beginning of the appropriate corridor.
It displayed an acrylic, blue, white, and green Northwest tricolor flag torn from a pre-revolutionary party sticker, beneath which was inked in black Sharpie, Ministry of Finance and the Treasury.
Ridgway had commandeered a suite of offices that had once belonged to the state insurance commissioner.
He walked in and found the outer office crowded with people.
Everybody here early?
He said after his new staff wished him good morning.
That's an encouraging sign.
Actually, most of us are sleeping on cots over in the rotunda or in the governor's mansion, said former Northwest volunteer Martin Dewitt, a middle-aged man who had drawn the job of deputy finance minister because he had been a CPA under the old regime.
They were talking about moving the whole show to Fort Lewis and bunking the government down in the barracks there, but the NDF is still securing the base, and they're still booby-trapped as all have left behind.
The divisional quartermaster wants to start confiscating some buildings to accommodate government personnel, but he hasn't been given a list yet of what's up for grabs.
That's if we decide to make Olympia the capital, which is another thing they're arguing about across the way there.
Dewitt jerked his head in the direction of the legislative building.
There are factions demanding that we choose Spokane or Coeur d 'Alene or Boise.
We're still getting the old anybody who lives west of the Cascades is a sissy thing, if you can believe that.
I don't think that white people are ever happy unless they have something really dumb to fight each other about.
Oh, you haven't seen anything yet, said Regway with a sigh.
The religious knives haven't really come out so far.
Anyway, Red and Frank tell me that Olympia is it for the foreseeable future, in the sense that the state president, when we have one, will reside here, over there in the old governor's mansion.
The republic will want to decentralize as much as possible, though, so when they send the bombers, they can't wipe us all out in one fell swoop.
Same goes for industry and all other vital services.
Everything needs to be spread out as much as possible.
No idea where we'll end up, but that's one of many bridges we'll have to cross when we come to it.
As far as accommodation goes, I'd like all our ministry staff who don't have their own homes in the city to go at night to come with me over to the Red Lion.
They've got plenty of room over there and enough employees stuck around so the restaurant is still open.
That way we can keep on brainstorming and work after office hours, which is the way we're going to be rolling for a long time.
We have a whole new nation to build and somehow we're going to have to pay for it all.
That's our department.
I'll arrange with the NDF to have military transport of some kind for us to get in to work in the mornings and back to the Red Lion at night.
Hopefully a proper bus and not a truck, although these days we pretty much have to take what we can get.
Is the bar going to be open late?
Called one of the men.
We're all waiting for the witching hour tonight.
Yes, that's right, isn't it?
replied Ridgeway Riley.
General Order No. 10 for NVA personnel, or I guess ex-NVA personnel as we are now, has officially rescinded at midnight tonight, and we can break the long dry spell.
Those of you who haven't already been doing so for the past few weeks, that is, me, I will probably be asleep.
I expect every one of you to be in here tomorrow morning at 8 sharp, sitting behind whatever desks you have managed to glom onto and ready to go to work.
If you're hungover and puking in the wastebaskets, that's your lookout.
Just make sure you're working while you puke.
Now, could we move into the conference room?
The former insurance commissioners of the state of Washington had been sufficiently senior bureaucrats to rate a good deal of luxury.
The floors of the offices were plushly carpeted and the conference room had a long mahogany table.
Sorry about the crowding, said Ridgway.
Looks like we're short on chairs.
In keeping with our new policy in the Republic of returning to the old gentlemanly ways, I would like to ask all of our ladies to sit down while the men stand, including myself.
After they were seated, or leaning against the walls, Ridgway took a look at them down the table.
The new government department consists of thirty-two people plus himself, about evenly split between male and female.
This contrasted sharply with their opponents, the hundreds of thousands of federal employees who worked for the United States Treasury, the Federal Reserve, the comptroller of the currency, the New York Stock Exchange, the U.S. Mint, the Office of Budget and Management, and all of the other innumerable bureaucratic organs who dealt with the finances and economy of the United States.
Ridgway smiled and spoke.
Good morning, comrades, and welcome to the first day of the rest of your lives.
For those of you who don't know me, I am Raymond Ridgeway, former president of Cascade Bank, Oregon National Bank, the Portland Municipal Credit Union, and a whole bunch of other stuff that doesn't make any difference now.
I was a volunteer for the last couple of years of what I suppose may now be referred to as the War of Independence.
Reporting directly to the Army Council.
And part of my job was designing a plan of operation for this very day so that the Republic would hit the ground running and we wouldn't end up floundering in a sea of red ink and economic confusion that would stifle us before we even had a chance.
Every one of you are here because, like me, you have some experience in the old private financial sector.
All of you have spent most of your working lives handling and moving other people's money.
Now you are going to have a chance to do the same for an entire nation.
First question.
How many of you here are not in VA or were not in some other way associated with the Northwest independence movement?
Half a dozen men and women hesitantly raised their hands.
I would like to extend an especially grateful welcome to you new comrades and co-workers, Ridgway told them.
I will not ask you about your motivations for staying when so many people in the Northwest are running away, but I will tell you that you've made the right choice for yourselves and for your descendants.
The Northwest Republic is going to depend on the efforts and the services of those normal, everyday white men and women who have made the difficult and soul-searching decision to remain at their posts and to continue with their lives here in a new order of society.
Ridgeway paused and then continued.
Now let me describe for you in general terms the strategic task that lies before us in the long run.
For the first few months, hell, the first few years, we are going to be working closely in harness with the Ministry of Science and Technology and the Ministry of Commerce and Industry to make sure that just as the United States could not defeat us with weapons and murder and prison, they will not be able to defeat us with their almighty dollar.
Our three ministries will be kind of a troubled trio in the old industry.
We will build our assets and resources, and we will take on and defeat every economic and monetary obstacle and challenge.
Every attempt the United States and the rest of the world makes to try and strangle our new nation in the cradle through dearth and economic hardship.
The old regime is already threatening to impose crushing economic stations on the NAR.
As Senator Gerald Gershon put it on Fox News yesterday, they intend to send us back to the age of the horse and buggy and then starve the horse to death.
They will not succeed.
Our long-term strategic goal must be to create a completely self-contained economy here in the Northwest, completely independent of the rest of the world, almost like we were on another planet.
Anything we have to import from outside, anything that we cannot produce or grow or manufacture ourselves, will be a knife held at our throat by Zog until we find some way to remove it.
All this globalization crap that has caused so much misery in the world for so long is going to end here.
The Northwest Republic must grow everything we eat and make That is a very tall order, but we are going to fill it.
And we will do so with such skill and brilliance and panache that we will take the world's breath away.
We are going to demonstrate, for good and all, that white people are indeed better.
Late that afternoon, the cabinet met in the old governor's conference room in the Capitol building.
Eight out of the twelve ministers were present.
All of them were bearing NDF uniforms except for Ray Ridgeway, Walter Stanhope, And Fiona Bonar, a registered nurse who had been made Minister of Public Health.
As befitted a revolutionary regime, the new government was still largely military.
Three of the absentees were with the army in various places around the Northwest, and the fourth, General Frank Barrow, who now held the state security portfolio, was out in the old senator's chamber, attempting to ride herd on the squabbling delegates and factions of the Constitutional Convention.
The convention had rendered the old Capitol building perpetually chaotic day in and day out, with a constant ebb and flow of people and news media wandering through the rotunda in and out of the convention hall and the committee and meeting rooms.
There were dozens of individual committees of the convention gathered in various offices, conference rooms, and cubbyholes all around the building, discussing and drawing up reports on everything from the adoption of the metric system, maybe, to soybean production to legally defining homosexuality as a mental illness.
The marble-floored rotunda was littered with cots where delegates and NDF soldiers were sleeping at night, as well as all kinds of decoratists from empty styrofoam coffee cups and pizza boxes to rifles and ammunition leaning in the corners.
Above all, in every corner there were overflowing receptacles ranging from metal wastebaskets to a Waterford crystal punch bowl from the old governor's banquet service that had been commandeered as public ashtrays.
One of the first acts of the convention had been to repeal all anti-smoking laws in the Northwest that under the United States had demonized tobacco users and turned them into a viciously persecuted minority.
Smoking is a filthy and unhealthy habit, no doubt about that, Barrow had proclaimed from the rostrum.
You gotta be a real idiot to do it.
No argument, comrades.
But under Zogg, it has also become a statement of political resistance against the liberal regime.
Who knows how many men and women would never have joined the NVA if the old order had not added insult to injury, flexing their petty power over the lives of others by perpetually driving them out in the cold and the rain simply to light up.
For how many of us did that not become the final straw in our own minds?
Fuck secondhand smoke.
This brief speech had received the longest standing ovation yet from the assembled delegates and the convention was proceeding in a haze of tobacco fumes.
The traditional smoke-filled backrooms of political deal-making in the New Republic were truly smoke-filled.
There were 14 chairs arranged around the long, polished mahogany table in the conference room, and the former governor's chair sat Council of State Chairman Henry Morehouse, a spare and mild-looking middle-aged man whom one media personality who interviewed him once described as an evil Mr. Rogers.
The meeting was about to begin with him when Barrow came in.
A tall man in his forties with ash-blond hair and a weathered face.
Hey, Frank, glad you could make it, called Morehouse.
How's it going out there?
It's a three-ring circus, and I feel like a lion tamer whose cats have escaped and are running around in the audience, said Barrow, taking a seat.
Look, Red, I can't herd on that dog-and-pony show out there and handle state security at the same time.
You need to relieve me of one or the other, or at least give me some help.
I went into it with nothing but a small copy of Robert's Rules of Order I found in the old Lieutenant Governor's desk drawer.
I gave you state security because of your police and NVA background and the chairmanship of the convention because of your brilliant handling of the Longview Conference, said Morehouse.
Brilliant, my ass.
All I did was just shove a single sheet of paper under their noses every day for ten weeks and demand they sign it, said Barrow with a scowl.
Which they eventually signed, pointed out Morehouse.
Beyond that, my so-called brilliant handling consisted of saying no all the time to everything those assholes threw at us to try and divert us from a sovereign nation.
No offense, Walter.
None taken, said Stanhope.
They were assholes.
You should have seen and heard them behind closed doors.
They finished any doubts I ever had about coming over in public.
I swear to God, if I had to listen to Howard Weintraub try to talk us into arresting or killing the NVA delegation by surprise one more time, or hear that ghastly Galinsky woman weep about how we were betraying the sick million of the Holocaust by even speaking to you, I would have flipped out and started clubbing them with a chair.
Red, no kidding.
Can I at least get somebody to alternate with me on the speaker of the convention gig?
Pleaded Barrow.
There's security stuff I have to get onto.
I've got a secret police to create.
Weintraub is hollering all over the media back in the States that we're a fascist tyranny!
How can we be a fascist tyranny with no secret police while I sit here fooling around with all this democracy and constitution crap?
What kind of wicked, evil, right-wing, fascist, racist, Nazi tyrants are we?
There were general chuckles all around the table.
I would be honored to take the rostrum for tomorrow's session, Frank.
And any other time you need me to spell you, offered Stanhope.
The Russians are still being coy about recognizing the Republic officially, although they want to go in with us on some kind of worldwide paper and pulp monopoly.
Other than them, nobody is even speaking to us.
I'm very much at a loose end.
I'm very much at a loose end.
I say there was a burning field and its earth was black and charred.
Its flowers were used for people's hopes, but now they were their scars.
After the fire, the ruins had delayed.
After the fire, come a brand new day.
Fields turned in misery and the hills passed by.
The new age world's awakened, buried history's lies.
The misty moments of day to grow, the fears had come alive.
The seas once old and now had grown, the light that would not die.
After the fire, the ruins had delayed.
After the fire, comes a brand new day.
After the fire, the ruins had delayed.
After the fire, will come a brand new day.
After the fire, the ruins had delayed.
After the fire, will come a brand new day.
After the fire, the ruins had delayed.
After the fire, will come a brand new day.
After the fire, will come a brand new day.
The new age is approaching and where the peace shall be.
The field was nine and forty-five and the seas were you and me.
After the fire, the ruins they delay.
After the fire, will come a brand new day.
After the fire, will come a brand new day.
The End
The End Tonight I'm going to be discussing The Perils of Diversity: Immigration and Human Nature by Byron M. Ross.
So this book is a very general overview on the topic of immigration.
It talks about the topic from a global perspective.
So this book starts out talking about how there's substantial sympathy for immigrants today and this is found Throughout society, but especially among elites in particular, even when you think there's a foundation,
for example, some of the foundations that you'll hear about if you watch Nature on PBS, which you think are probably fairly neutral foundations, they very much support immigration.
There's little attention to study regarding how societies self-maintain.
Now, Ross's ideology is that inhabitants create societies.
So to better understand society and human nature, Ross gives the reader a quick class on the subject of sociobiology, the science of genes, behaviors, and selection.
Now, this overview is in a way very good, but it's also very general, and interested readers would do well to study Dawkins or Wilson and other relevant writers to get a deeper view of this subject.
Now, unfortunately, people are more emotional and religious than forward-thinking and logical.
Obviously, we live in a culture that certainly supports white genocide, to state the obvious.
But the facing question to all this is really why is this so?
And of course we see this primarily in white elites.
And again, why would these elites be that way?
Because we see this even in elites who have no interest in domestic help, but who still seem to be leftists.
Now the answer given by this author is largely the secular religion of Marxism.
But even then you might ask why Marxism is so popular.
Well, today's version of Marxism, the suppressor of the third world workers, and that's when unemployed whites view the ideological left and they increasingly see no help in sight.
Now, when they look over at the conventional right, they only see a discussion of the Constitution interpreted in polite ways, which is never applied to the question of citizenship.
Or they might see a discussion of free market or even secondary social mores, which are universally applied.
No one in the mainstream, and not even Trump, for example, commits fully or is able to commit fully to identity, although Trump at least speaks of belonging and what constitutes citizenship.
However, aside from Trump, who is not really a conventional conservative or rightist, as you might say, most of the conservative movement tends to always be conceding ground to the left.
Now, this is perhaps because conventional conservatives perhaps only care for their own enrichment.
Wallace notes that after World War II, America was plunged obviously into the Cold War, and in order to be a voice against military dictatorships that had resulted from the Communist Revolution earlier in the century, the states had to appear morally superior.
This would lead to a desire to make integration a popular social cause.
By 1965 in the States, and even earlier in Europe, due to the population loss from the Second World War, foreign populations were brought in, and because, as we know, there was a pressure for family reunion, this would soon lead to chain migration.
Of course, this is covered in Arthur Kemp's March of the Titans, and certainly it is in no way new to us.
This author compares Europe to the States.
Ross views the U.S. as more responsive to popular pressure.
Ross explains the various European bureaucracies that create voter apathy and make sure to prevent the expression of incorrect thought.
In Europe, supranationalist ideology has tended to dominate, and this is a concept that lessens the sovereignty of various European nations.
Now, today with Brexit and the AFD, we may be seeing a desperately needed reversal.
In Europe, non-citizen residents are referred to as third-country nationals, Third country nationals in Finland, Sweden, and France.
Now, several other nations, at least at the time of writing this book, were opposed to this idea.
Now, in this book, Ross discusses the various ideologies of multiculturalism versus assimilation.
And, as you might know, neither of these ideas are all that strongly supported by research.
Instead, The most common sense approach, and the author implies this, but to sum this up briefly, we see multiculturalism when race or religion is very different from the majority of the population.
And we tend to see assimilation when you're talking about two slightly different ethnic groups or two slightly different versions of the same religion.
So it really just depends on what the demographics are.
Now, Ross notes that an IQ of 110 is needed for college-level work.
And he points out that generally poor societies have a tendency to have a low aggregate IQ.
And he talks about if things continue to decline in the West because of all the third world immigration that the West will eventually likely lose out to China.
Now, Ross hopes that immigration will tend to trail off, especially if...
Poor nations can somehow improve their lot, can somehow raise their IQ status, and he talks about this in cases where malnutrition may be more to blame than heredity.
One thing that is certainly true is that the Middle East has always been quite a powder keg.
Now, the author also talks about the special case of Africa.
How really, since colonization ended, Africa has really been very much unable to self-govern.
Ross really doesn't see any particular remedy for this and thinks that it might be best if someone would come along and recolonize Africa.
Now, Ross realizes that Europeans will not be ideologically or even have the will or even the ability at this point in time to do that.
He considers whether Muslims might end up recolonizing Africa.
He also speculates rather wildly about Western versus Muslim conflicts.
And some of the speculations in this book are, I think, Rather wild.
One of the wildest being this idea that China might at some point invade Africa due to the one-child policy creating a lot of lonely Chinese males.
I would call this really off the wall because really the Chinese don't really care for Africans that much.
Roth openly wonders if the West can survive, and if it doesn't, will its culture or cultural contributions be maintained by others?
Roth also attributes the Western lack of will to contemporary nihilism, the fashionable idea that nothing can be absolutely judged.
And the author talks about what would wake people up eventually, and in his mind...
This seems like an odd point of view.
This author seems to underestimate the real instability of the Middle East, particularly this influence of Wahhabism.
He doesn't really seem to see that in the way that we would see that today.
But you have to understand that this book was evidently written in the early aughts.
And now, of course, we're in 2016, and the Middle East has changed quite a bit.
It's destabilized quite a bit.
And I suppose that's reflected in this book.
The author doesn't believe that terrorism will be an awakening force, particularly.
But he does note the global solidarity of Muslims.
Certainly, it's hard to avoid the great value for tradition and how they, unlike Westerners, are not influenced by Marx, nihilism, or even an overwhelming desire for personal freedom.
Unlike somebody like Benoist, for example, Ross has a rather conventional view of Western culture or European culture, which he equates with Western universalism.
Now, this author is conventional enough that he fails to see the value in the nationalist position, and therefore he leaves himself without any true remedy.
So again, I've been discussing Byron M. Ross' The Perils of Diversity, Immigration, and Human Nature.
So I hope you enjoyed this discussion.
Again, I think this book is a good overview for someone who's never thought about these topics.
I think for us, there are lots of things in this book that would be rather old hat.
The only thing I can say about it is that it's kind of one-stop shopping for all of the relevant topics.
So thank you very much for listening.
Have a good day and hail victory, comrades.
The End Greetings, comrades.
This is the trucker coming at you from Oklahoma this time.
And I'm actually parked for a change about six miles from where I need to deliver.
And thought I'd go on touch base on, well, this isn't the best time of year to be making your scouting trip or moving.
Although I have had a number of U-Hauls past me.
A few going westbound, some going eastbound.
The wrong direction, naturally, but...
Anyway, yeah, the mountains out here in the west can be a real bear this time of year.
If you don't time it right, you're going to be either stuck for a few days or having to go and pay money out for chains to be able to get over them because I ended up sitting there in Fernley, Nevada last week waiting for Donner Summit to clear up and it was holy hell for three days, so...
When I had to deliver last Thursday, it was one of those, okay, fine, the heck with this noise, I ended up taking an alternate route, going a little out of route, but I got around the hill and didn't have to worry about chaining up or having some idiot go and lose control and slam into me, and then I'd really have some fun trying to explain why I was up there in an accident.
Other than I needed to get over the hill.
That's just not a good enough excuse for me.
So, I ended up waiting it out and took an alternate route.
Finally cleared up the next day, but, oh well, that's life.
Now, some of you are, like me, enjoy your cold one, and you're trying to figure out what you're going to do out here in Homeland for employment.
There's a South Sound Community College is offering, or is going to start offering, how they put it, craft brewing, distilling, and cider making.
So if you guys are, or gals, whichever, are interested, there is a whole bunch of brew houses popping up out here in this area.
And microbreweries, tap rooms, tasting rooms, whatever you want to classify them as.
But if that trips your trigger or floats your boat, that might be something to look into.
And Amazon, I'm seeing a lot more Amazon Prime trailers out on the road.
Transporting.
Goods back and forth that people are buying online.
So, I'm fairly certain Amazon, last I knew, was hiring Blitz to go uncover all these, to fill all the jobs slots, to be able to fill all their orders in their fulfillment centers.
So, that should be something else you might like to look into, possibly.
As a way to have employment out here.
I haven't been home much.
I was home over Christmas, that was about it, and took off a couple days later.
Been out on the road ever since.
Like I say, the roads have been halfway decent where I've been, with the exception of trying to get over the hills.
Hit three mandatory chain-up areas.
Managed to sneak past those without having to put chains on, but hey, what the hell.
It just happened to be that there was nobody around and the roads weren't bad enough to need chains yet, so I continued on.
But anyway, I wouldn't recommend that for anybody moving or making a scouting trip.
Now, if you're going to make a scouting trip and you're going to go by land instead of flying, try the train.
You get to see some sights you don't get to see from the road, but...
Other than that, I don't know.
Not much other than that at this point in time.
I just thought I'd go and shoot out a quick one to help fill up some of the time slots on whatever podcast episode that Mr. Covington decides to throw this into.
So anyway.
Alright comrades, talk to you later.
This is the Trucker signing off from Oklahoma.
Just got done with a shower.
We'll go and take care of some laundry and then kick back.
Alright.
Talk to you later.
Hope to see you out on the road making your scouting trip or moving.
Have a safe one, comrades.
I'm going to close this episode with another little talk on the struggle that dare not speak its name, which I mentioned last week.
I think the Trump presidency has now created a breach in the wall of forbidden things to the point where we can at least discuss it openly, if circumspectly.
Talk about the law of unintended consequences.
I think we can now talk about change in at least a theoretical, hypothetical, just for the sake of argument way, because frankly I think the secret police and the U.S. attorneys are going to be very busy in the next few years putting out real fires caused by the bloody war at the top between Trump and those who are trying to tear Trump down, and all the many manifestations and consequences of that war in the heavens which will trickle down to earth here into the world of us mere mortals.
And by way of the usual disclaimer, let me state that I am not necessarily talking about the overthrow of the present dictatorship by armed force, although that is, of course, one proactive way of bringing about genuine systemic change.
But remember, when the Soviet Union came apart in the 1990s, which is the closest parallel to what will happen here in this country, A lot of those former Soviet socialist republics and puppet states like Poland and Czechoslovakia and the Baltic states actually succeeded in splitting off from Moscow and becoming independent sovereign nations with a bare minimum of street fighting and guns going off.
Depending on how the globalist attack on Trump goes in real life, it's possible that the breakup of the United States might be more or less peaceful, or at least somewhat orderly.
There is a chance that we might be able to get hold of our Northwest homeland with a minimum of NVA-style horseplay.
But let's assume, for the sake of argument, that in the coming years, through some incredible miracle, which we can't as yet foresee, the white man does indeed revolt, and white people decide to take proactive steps to achieve genuine change and deprive the people who now rule us of their wealth and power.
All of a sudden, we've got William Wallace and not Ammon Bundy.
Let's think about this.
How will it finally occur?
Now, here's some pure guesswork on my part, but it's educated guesswork based on 50 years of reading books.
You know, those rectangular things that you sometimes see on shelves in old people's homes?
Look kind of like cigar boxes.
Okay, first off, who among us will actually do it?
Who will finally lay aside the computer keyboard and the smartphone, stand up, open the door, and walk outside?
And begin doing things for the fourteen words that are done in a standing position, out of doors, and interacting with other human beings, not machines.
Now, by and large, it will not be us, the existing movement, the alt-right.
Some of us, like myself, are simply too old, given the high ages when most white men get fully red-pilled, usually in their early 40s after having been stripped of everything they have in one or more divorces and being reduced to bare survival poverty which lasts the rest of their lives.
That's one thing about America.
Once you fall below a certain bar, you never get back up.
Now, there is a saying that youth is wasted on the young, which is certainly true.
But there's a flip side to that little aphorism.
Wisdom is wasted on the old.
Revolution is a young man's game.
Men like me who still remember the time of abundance, the final years of the white time, we are the last of the summer wine, and I advise you all to make use of us while we're still around, but we're not going to be storming any barricades with our canes and walkers.
Others among us won't do it because we have acquired baggage of various kinds, which prevents us from ever being completely effective.
And thereby lies a whole fertile field for description and sermonizing.
As I mentioned to Andy in a response to a website comment he made, I once spent almost 20 years ripping into this weak, soft, and nutty little movement of ours like a biblical prophet, and it got me nowhere.
One of the hardest and most cynical things that we have to accept about ourselves is that most of us are incapable of change.
And every person we have among us must be assessed purely on the grounds of how much mileage can we get out of them for the 14 words.
Yeah, that sounds horrible.
It is horrible.
It's reality.
And this does not mean that the existing movement doesn't have a role to play, far from it.
Those of us who are now involved can be of immense help to those who will eventually step forward and actually do the real stuff outdoors, and I'll get into that in the coming months.
There will be a few exceptions among us who can make that transition from sitting indoors and tapping on a keyboard to standing up outdoors and talking or otherwise dealing with human beings, but not the majority of us.
I'm not going to go over this at length.
I think in our hearts we all know it's true, and we know why, and I see less and less point in constant breast beating and wringing our hands and crying for the moon.
We are what we are.
Some of us will be able to make the transfiguration from low beta male to high beta or even low alpha male.
I will do my best to help anyone who wants to try.
But who will finally step forward and do the actual real-world stuff, the stuff that must be done outdoors and not involving electronics?
I think I know enough history to give us a general picture.
They will be mostly men, although there will be a few extraordinary women as well.
They will be mostly in their 30s and 40s, although there will be a few kids like Cody and Nightshade and a few old codgers of my generation.
They will be white men who have demonstrated at least some personal success in life, at least to the extent that they will have a skill or a trade with which they earn a genuine living through lifelong gainful employment.
Most of them will have some college, although admittedly that doesn't mean much anymore.
Any stops in mom's basement or on a friend's couch will have been very young and very brief until they got a job and got their own place or else they went into the military.
These men will not have escaped the plague of feminism, divorce, and family breakup which has devastated white America.
But a surprising number of these men will still be married to the same woman in their forties, and they will have produced multiple children, which in this society is the ultimate mark of personal success for a white male, to have something approaching what our ancestors for many generations before him had.
They may have a few beers after work, but they will not be alcoholics or drug users.
Any tattoos will be minimal.
They will be physically fit, either through their work or else because they are regular habituates of a gym.
They will most of them be military veterans.
A surprising number of them will be active duty military or police officers.
They will be small business owners, or independent artisans and contractors, or if employed by corporations, they will at least be middle management.
Now my guess is that very few of these men will be government employees, although a higher percentage of the women will be, since basically that's where American society now employs women.
And damn, I am running way long.
Don't worry, we'll be talking a lot more about this once-forbidden topic as the entire world around screams, curses, and abuse at Donald Trump.
It's going to be a zoo.
But our time is up for this week's edition of Radio Free Northwest.
This program is brought to you by the Northwest Front, Post Office Box 2188, Bremerton, Washington, 98310, or you can go to the party's website at www.northwestfront.org.
This is Harold Covington, and I'll see you next week.
Until then, Sasha Underban.
Freedom.
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