All Episodes
Previous Next
Jan. 18, 2018 - Radio Free Nortwest - H.A. Covington
01:02:53
20180118_rfn
| Copy link to current segment

Time Text
Oh, then tell me, Sean O 'Farrell, tell me why you hurry so.
Push your vocal, push and listen, and his cheeks were all aglow.
I bear orders from the captain, get you ready quick and soon, for the bikes must be together by the rising of the moon.
By the rising of the moon, by the rising of the moon.
For the bikes must be together by the rising of the moon.
Oh, then tell me, Sean O 'Farrell, where the gathering is to be?
In the old spot, by the river, rifle known to you and me.
One more roar for signal, token whistle, out 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.
Switch your bike upon your shoulder by the rising of the moon.
Out from many a mud wall cabin eyes were watching through the night.
Many a man they chest was throbbing for the blessed warning light.
For it's passed along the valleys like the man she's lonely crew.
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 blades were flashing at the rising of the moon.
Greetings from the Northwest Homeland, comrades.
It's January the 18th, 2018.
I'm Harold Covington, and this is Radio Free Northwest.
First off, this whatever-the-hell-it-is in my lungs is still with me.
So, while I can sound edit the coughing spasms out, again, I have to apologize if my voice seems a bit off this week.
That sinus-y, shouting-down-a-well sound.
I honestly thought that once this thing departed this time around, a few days after Thanksgiving, I was good to go for another 18 months, but apparently not.
Okay, it's now been one month since the Great Stalin's Birthday Purge on Twitter, which I described as imminent back in December.
At that time, I was convinced that my Twitter account was marked for the guillotine on that date, and as it turned out, certain rather well-known accounts actually were executed, such as Jared Taylor, so it wasn't a complete dog-and-pony show.
And my guess is that the whole thing was something Twitter came up with in an effort to get the European Union governments off their backs.
The Brussels crowd, as well as individual states like Britain and Germany, were threatening the tech giants like Twitter and Facebook and Google with huge multi-billion euro fines if they didn't remove so-called hate speech within 24 hours of it being posted.
Which, to be honest, would be almost impossible for Twitter to comply with and unthinkably expensive even if they hired every social justice warrior on the internet to act as a censor, which might have been one of the hidden purposes.
Or, basically, the EU governments may have decided to set Twitter and Facebook and Google tasks that they knew were impossible of achievement, specifically so that they could impose huge fines and basically use the tech giants of Silicon Valley as cash cows, most likely to pay for all those millions and millions of mud-colored immigrants who are now in the process of overrunning and destroying Europe.
Somebody's got to feed and house and give those wogs and niggers welfare checks.
Anyway, the December 18th Twitter purge was real, just not the great cyber holocaust everybody was anticipating.
Now, some apparently arbitrarily chosen people were vaporized, as I said, but not some of whom you'd think would be really obvious choices, like Richard Spencer or Mike the Kite Painovitz or Stephen Molyneux or Lauren Southern, all of whom survived without a scratch, although I suspect that thereby hangs a tale.
Now, for whatever reason...
Probably because I'm just not that big a fish with my 1,600 followers.
I myself escaped with a 12-hour Twitter jail sentence and a vermilion decree from the godlike Jewish beings who command the platform from that great Solomon's cyber temple in the sky that I change my username and get rid of the blasphemous and indecorous numerals 1488.
See, apparently there are not only forbidden words now, there are forbidden numbers.
Perhaps the Twitter godlings will ban the number 42, and yes, that was a Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy reference.
I remain on Twitter, but I have been transfigured from at HAC1488 to at HACNorthwest.
Now, what all this is leading to is that I'm still on Twitter, and a couple of days ago I blocked an idiot for asking me a question.
Because he was obviously a cultist or some kind of cognitive dissonance op operating off a non-14 words agenda of some kind.
Now, whoever this guy was, whatever he was, this individual was not legitimate.
But the question itself is.
That question being, why, after nine years, have there been no big, huge, spectacular results for the Northwest Front?
Why are long Conestoga wagon trains of RVs not pouring up every interstate into the homeland bringing millions of white settlers?
Why is there no Northwest Republic yet?
Why have I not flourished my saber aloft and...
Charge!
Charge the Black House!
Yeah, it's been a while since I played that one.
Somehow or other...
Possibly because of my Northwest novels, there seems to have arisen this weird idea or obsession that it appears almost impossible for me to disperse.
I call this the picnic table fantasy.
This vision that some of you seem to have that I, personally, am going to, at some point, jump up on a picnic table in a public park somewhere, where I will rant and rave and shout, and in between spasmodic bouts of coughing, I will wave my cane in the air.
And the magic will just happen.
Chests of $100 bills and bitcoin and golden Krugerrands will emerge from the earth and pop open, and a mighty-thewed army of tattooed Aryan warriors will float down from the sky, waving northwest tricolors.
A mighty mob of white people will gather in that park, and I, personally, coughing and toddling on my cane, will lead them with pitchforks and torches to the statehouse in Olympia.
where we will ram the state Senate Speaker's gavel right up Rachel Maddow's ass on the floor of the legislature.
Okay, maybe that's not exactly what some of you may envision, but essentially, I am clearly expected to do a double backflip and touchdown to Earth with a homeland in my hand.
And, you know, the hell of it is that as old and in mediocre shape as I am, something like that might actually be possible still, although the window is closing pretty fast.
Okay, I've gone over this before, but this is a key question to those of our listeners who are new, and it's something that requires some spaced repetition time.
I've done this one before several times, but let's take another crack at it.
First off, in point of fact, there have been results over the past nine years in the form of a significant exponential increase in the number of NF-related migrants to the homeland.
And pretty massive increases in organic migration.
In fact, later on in this episode of Radio Free Northwest, Gretchen will be reviewing a book by some people who came home to Sandpoint, Idaho after 9-11.
Yes, Virginia, it is happening.
Way, way, way too slowly, that I'll grant, but it's happening.
The army that one day really will charge the blockhouse is slowly, slowly assembling.
When I arrived in Port Orchard in 2009, there were five of us in the Puget area, plus one family in Port Townsend, and a few white nationalists I knew who were woodchucks and already here, they were Northwest natives.
That was it.
Nine years later, I live within more or less half an hour's drive of triple that number of migrants, and there are more of us all across the homeland.
Okay, not exactly Plymouth Rock or Cape Town or Botany Bay, although there are some similarities, allowing for 21st century tech.
Although I haven't looked at this for a while, as near as I can figure we've done better here in persuading white people to get up off their lazy, pale, blobby asses than the libertarians have done with their New Hampshire migration, and better than the fundamentalist tub-thumpers with their South Carolina New Jerusalem movement.
Secondly, many of our new migrants are actual, normal people, married couples with children, and they have to concentrate on making their own lives and careers here, which they're doing.
They're doing what I asked them to do.
They have come here and sunk their roots, and they're living their lives and building their wealth and position, and most of them seem to be enjoying themselves, insofar as any white person ruled by this dictatorship can ever enjoy themselves.
Yes, there have been a few problems, although we have so far had only one outright failure.
Sometimes I get emails wanting to know whatever happened to certain people who used to appear on this show.
There are a lot of reasons people leave mostly having to do with the kind of personal crap that Americans are forced to live in up to their necks all the time and nothing at all to do with the party.
Job transfers, unrelated legal and financial problems, personal problems of every conceivable kind of the type that are just generated by this whole...
Medical problems.
One married couple we had on here very prominently many years ago is still here in the homeland, but I regret to say that the wife's cancer has come back, and so they're kind of occupied.
But mostly, these people just frankly lose interest.
One negative aspect of our lack of professionalization is that people treat us like a game, a form of entertainment, because we're unable to provide them with much of anything else due to my inability to find the right words with which to convey to you people any sense of urgency about this.
When the time comes that the party can professionalize and can offer them something to do, they'll be ready and you'll hear a lot of old voices from times past on here.
That's really what all the reasons boil down to, lack of professionalization.
I've said it before, and I'll say it again.
The party has now reached the point where we can't do any more with smoke and mirrors.
We need concrete, material assistance from serious, committed adults.
Those seem to be in short supply right now in our wee little slice of life.
Getting back to my picnic table fantasy about people wanting to see me jump up on a picnic table and rouse the rabble to storm the Bastille with their pitchforks and torches.
Well...
That actually is how it was done.
July the 12th, 1789.
I've told this story before on here, how a young man named Camille de Moulin, who was an associate of Robespierre and a revolutionary journalist and pamphleteer of the time, was sitting in a sidewalk cafe, and he saw the royal guards marching by in order to change the guard at the Bastille, which was the main prison that the king had, where all the political prisoners were kept.
And Camille just sort of got inspired.
He jumped up on the table, started haranguing the crowd, saying, look at these scum soldiers.
They're marching to their place of torture and tyranny to lord it over you.
Arise, Frenchman.
You have nothing to lose but your snails or whatever.
Anyway, he actually did successfully stir a mob in Paris to attack the primary royal fortress, presumably with pitchforks and torches or something of the kind, and they actually won.
And they managed to free the political prisoners in the Bastille, all seven of them, one of whom was the Marquis de Sade.
But anyway, okay, I've told this story before, but I've also played a little bit of that song called the Marseillais, which is the French national anthem, and that has to do with the revolutionary period in France, kind of an indirect result of the storming of the Bastille.
Basically, after the Bastille went down and the revolution kind of began, the new government was not at all stable.
They didn't have any manpower.
They didn't have any money.
And so what they did was appeal to the entire French countryside to send as many men and as much money as they could all to the capital so that basically the new revolutionary government could build something that could last.
By the way, is this starting to sound familiar to some of you people?
Anyway.
A large segment of men came marching in one summer night from Marseille.
They were the first of these local militias to arrive in Paris to support the new revolutionary government.
And a man named Jean-Claude Rouget de Lille, or de Lille I suppose it would be pronounced in French, saw these men marching under his window with their muskets and pitchforks and whatever they had.
And he was inspired to write this song, La Marseillaise, which basically means the men from Marseille.
We're arriving in Paris to support the cause of the people and make a new world order, as we will do one day.
La Marseillaise remains one of the most inspiring of all revolutionary anthems right up there with the Horst Vessel song and the International.
I played a little bit of it just now as kind of a joke, but actually it isn't really a joke.
It's a hell of a piece of music.
Allons enfants de la patrie, jour de gloire est arrivé, contre nous de la tyrannie, les tenders sangrantes élevées, les tenders sangrantes élevées.
You hear in the campagnes Mugire these feroces soldiers They come up to our arms Egorger our
sons, our companions To the citizens'arms Formez your battalion Marchands, marchands Qu'un saint pur A brave version A brave citoyen Formez vos
battalion Marchands, marchands Qu'un saint pur A brave version Marchands, marchands C'est en guérin, en guérin Quand est souverain de l'épreuve?
Et parier ses tristes victimes Arrégé sa main contre vous Arrégé sa main contre vous Mais c'est des potes sans qui nez et c'est comme un saint purier?
Tous ces tigres et sans mitfieres Les chirs de sa main contre vous Au revoir, on est des potes sans qui nez et c'est comme un saint purier?
Marchant, qu'un sol est puer, allant à l'assignation.
Allons, nous citoyens, formez vos bataillons.
Marchant, marchant, qu'un sol est puer, allant à l'assignation.
Marchant, amour sacré de la patrie, conduit, soutient nos bras vengeurs.
Liberté, liberté chérie, qu'on vise avec les défenseurs, qu'on vise avec tes défenseurs.
Sous nos drapons que la victoire accourra tellement nos accents, que tes ennemis expirant, voient ton triomphe et notre gloire.
Allons, nous citoyens, formez vos bataillons.
Marchant, marchant, qu'un sol est puer, allant à l'assignation.
Thank you.
Donner here to talk about the emotional aspects of being wrong.
One of the most important things to realize about being proven wrong is that people rarely ever appreciate it.
In fact, the need to be right, as I addressed in my TheoryCraft Part 2 talk, is quite literally the white pathology.
White people in particular attach their identities to whether or not they're right about something.
While I'm not going to expand on that today, do bear it in mind, because it makes everything I'm about to say that much worse.
Comrade Don Welke and I discuss this subject somewhat frequently, and he came across a particularly useful way of describing what happens when someone has a negative emotional reaction.
Formally, it means their values aren't being respected by whatever is going on.
Informally, it means the way someone interacts with some facet of reality is at odds with whatever aspect of their world is undergoing change.
True, that's not as simple as saying you just don't like something, but that's sufficiently vague as to be entirely unhelpful.
I'll give some examples based on my last segment where I described times I was wrong.
Hopefully, this ends up being beneficial, but I don't know for a fact that it will.
It's largely not up to me how this material is received.
If I could ask you all to indulge me for a moment, I'd like to bring up the advice I gave at the end of my last talk.
Have you all figured out what your motivations for being involved in white nationalism are?
It's alright if you haven't, but at some point you'll be forced to make difficult decisions, and it's best to know what outcome you're aiming for.
Making decisions without a standard by which to judge the likely outcome is always difficult and frequently impossible.
Do try to sort out what white nationalism means to you and what, if anything, you think should be accomplished by the movement.
The first example I gave involved my own political evolution away from the Republican Party.
To keep this short, I won't repeat the reasoning except to say that my political motivations and desires were matched by Republican rhetoric only, rather than action in office.
This wasn't at all something I wanted to do, and I didn't at all appreciate being proven wrong about the GOP generally and George W. Bush specifically.
Being proven wrong would, in a totally rational world, not threaten anyone because they could simply adjust going forward.
The problem is that emotional conflicts around these subjects almost always indicate certain things which I will briefly describe.
We invest ourselves, our time, and our other resources in our associations, both political and otherwise.
The emotional reaction on this basis prevents someone from admitting loss and moving on.
Digesting the reality that much of our past might have been in the service of a lost cause is a harrowing process, and most of us will perform astounding feats of mental gymnastics to avoid doing so.
Additionally, in this instance, I was confronted with the realization that I was actively aiding those who opposed me, and as such, I was actually propping up my enemies.
Obviously, this wasn't fun for me, and it's not fun for anyone else when they go through it either.
The second example I brought up was my own conversions, if you want to call them that, to anti-Semitism and white nationalism, which happened simultaneously.
Being raised a Zionist evangelical, this was going to cause me some friction, both on the home and church fronts, which I'm sure nearly all of you can relate to.
Both last time I was on, and today, I've made repeated mention of the moral standards that influence my decision-making.
This decision was no different.
I'm either being consistent with my beliefs and convictions, or I'm not, regardless of the emotional fallout.
But more on that later.
The last example I brought up was the time I wrongly assumed the Northwest American Republic could not be brought into existence.
Thankfully, I had enough experience under my belt by then that I knew I needed to make my own Northwest migration if it were possible to actually birth the NAR through the proposed method.
The issue was that I had just moved a year before and I wasn't looking forward to moving again.
There were other complications too, but I've decided to leave those for next time.
The takeaway with this particular decision of mine is that I understood that my moral and political stances required me to be certain I was right in my assumption.
I was dead wrong, though, so here I am talking to you all.
The pattern in each of these decisions, and in particular with how I managed the emotional difficulties they entailed, is my motivation.
It's true that, as with almost any other decision any other person makes, one motivation wins over the others.
But that's not quite what I'm getting at.
It's more subtle and more important.
Everyone implicitly makes decisions all the time, and in this way, decision-making is quite a bit like practicing an instrument.
Anytime you play an instrument, you're strengthening your ability to do so, provided you're doing a good job and not reinforcing bad habits.
When you make a decision, you're practicing something else as well, but precisely what skill you're developing is up to you.
You'll note today, as with the other times I've discussed emotional issues and how they impact white nationalism, I haven't said emotions are bad.
They're not.
In the most objective sense, they're actually very helpful, since they provide cues that something is out of sorts.
When making decisions with emotional components, you're either practicing affirming your motivations or practicing avoiding difficulty.
There's almost no ground in between these two, either.
Proper decision-making is a lot like a muscle in that you're strengthening whatever you practice.
Making a habit of not inconveniencing yourself at the cost of your supposed white nationalist stance is a bad habit to form.
I say that because there's more to this discussion that I'm deliberately leaving for another submission.
I'm leading up to answering a question I've been asked about emotional distress as it relates to whether or not white people are going to survive.
It's a great question but it needs a certain amount of explanation which I'm doing right now.
Further, this answer needs to be accompanied by relevant examples of bad decision-making, and this is one of those things I need to be especially careful with because I do anticipate it will hit way too close to home for much of the audience.
I've made the decision to release smaller segments so this material has time to set in before things become unpleasant.
I won't be ready to go there until I've gotten across that the emotional aspects of being wrong all stem from the consequences of being consistent.
Consistency with your own motivations and intentions frequently carries unpleasant consequences that can affect who you associate with, what actions you take, and even, in the case of the Northwest Imperative, where you live.
Hail Victory!
Hail Victory!
Good evening, comrades.
Tonight I'm going to be discussing Small Town Ho by Duke Derricks.
Now, this is a story of an ordinary family of organic migrants.
Despite the silly-sounding title, the writing contains some mature content.
Now, this is simply due to the fact that the author is frank, to the point of course.
Sparing us few details of his marital and family life.
Now, on the upside, his honesty allows us a glimpse into the community and lifestyle of the Idaho Panhandle.
Indeed, one can read this book and feel as if you've been on a scouting trip to the region.
Derrick and his wife become organic migrants after September 11. The transition from Texas to Sandpoint is eased by the presence of Derrick's in-laws.
The author describes the friendly, independent, and extremely outdoorsy Idahoans.
This love of the outdoors, along with a desire for personal freedom, can lead to engaging in outdoor activities without proper protective gear.
In architecture, this is expressed in a lack of zoning regulations, which leads to haphazard planning and disjointed architectural styles.
Now, Idaho is home to major wildlife, such as bald eagles, moose, and elk.
In October, many Idahoans enjoy the elk hunt.
Locals who have the leisure time spend several days in hunting camps, living in relatively primitive conditions.
Now, on the electoral map, the state is red, and it is very much Republican in the sense that there is an interest in less regulation and saving money.
And the author illustrates this by discussing the fact that the roads are paved in such a way that there are a lot of loose rocks that often are kicked up, and this can lead to a lot of broken windshields.
However, it is not all Tea Party republicanism.
At one point, the author made an inadvertent fashion choice that led to a political misunderstanding as he was approached as a possible candidate for mayor.
In the same vein, residents are eager to express themselves in editorials found within the local paper.
Now, this is a very small local paper, and it tolerates misspellings.
If perfection is not always possible, the imperfect is tolerated and not held against you.
In a small town such as Sandpoint, it is true that there are fewer jobs available.
However, there's also less competition for the jobs that are available.
Able-bodied individuals tend to find work and qualifications are less important than a decent work ethic.
Because the population is small, you will waste less time standing in line.
And the small-town feeling, the author does admit, can be difficult if you're trying to avoid someone.
But on the other hand, it's important to note that if your family comes upon hard times, neighbors will gladly help out.
This becomes very apparent when Derek's wife is seriously injured in a skiing accident.
Everyone has to pull together to make do.
Getting back to the work situation, an individual with a desire to work in a particular field is often welcomed rather than overanalyzed and then rejected.
The author, for example, dreamed of restauranteuring and was able to work in food service and even try his hand at his own business.
However, do be advised that businesses can fail, and this unfortunately was the case with his restaurant, and again, part of this was due to the fairly small population and the relatively short tourist season.
Many elderly retirees do flock to Sandpoint despite the weather, and many artists come to the area with a desire to live a simple and austere life.
What Derricks found was a small town with a strong sense of community.
This author's family has settled in and will not go back to their old life in Texas, or, for that matter, their life in California before that, as they did live in California prior to Texas.
Now, this book does not mention North Idaho College or the University of Idaho, although it will might have, as these can be both education and employment.
Now, one memorable, highly eccentric character was homeless by choice that we meet in this book, but did find work as a house sitter.
This character also seemed to get by because he was very entertaining and really enjoyed pulling everyone's legs, so to speak.
Now, if you are a survivalist, you will find it easy to shop for rations.
But honestly, if something really bad happens, your prep is likely to only increase your survival by a few months at best.
I used to watch that show entitled Preppers on the Learning Channel, and...
First of all, you have to decide what the disaster is going to be, and then even when elaborate preparations are made, the experts said that the average survival rate, even for all of that, was around eight months.
So at the end of the day, that could be a tremendous waste of money, but I admit that's a digression.
Really, the best reason to move to Idaho is really that a small community of white people is likely to help you if you are in need.
However, if everyone wants to move to Sandpoint, essentially it's no longer Sandpoint.
To that end, it's really best to create a distribution of incomers, especially because locals would be unhappy to see too many incomers at once.
So I hope you enjoyed this discussion.
And again, the thing that I really value about this book is the author's frankness and very blunt honesty about what Idaho is really like, at least what the panhandle is like.
So I hope you enjoyed this discussion.
Good evening and hail victory comrades.
Good evening and hail.
Good evening and hail.
Greetings, comrades.
This is the Trucker coming at you from Southern California, just on the internet while I was waiting for another driver to show up with a trailer to trade out with them.
And I see that President Trump has signed a bill to upgrade Martin Luther King's gravesite, I guess it was, to a National Historic Landmark.
I'm sure that ought to piss a lot of you Southerners off and a bunch of other white people that, hey, the niggers and Antifa and all the rest of them little assholes can go and tear down Confederate memorial parks and statues and all that, but we get to elevate a nigger higher than what he was.
Well, if this happens to air on March and Lute and Killin' Week, well, so much the better.
But, yeah, I'm not exactly overly impressed by this bullshit.
I'm sorry.
A little language here, but, ah well, that's life.
Yeah, this is just getting ridiculous.
So, when are you people going to get off your asses and go and make your migration and scouting trips up here and get this damn show on the road so we don't have to put up with this BS anymore?
You know, it would be...
Nice if those of you that listen to this would actually go and monetarily support.
You know, Mr. Covington has gone and come out in the past saying that you should go and forego a six-pack or a 12-pack or a case of cheap domestic pisswater beer.
Well, I don't drink domestic piss water beer.
I drink actual beer that has some taste to it and stuff, local brews.
So, I basically, you can kind of figure it out, but I donate at least two growler fills for me to the cause.
And I'm not talking your regular 64-ounce growler fills.
No, mine, a little bit bigger than that.
So, anyway.
So yeah, if you're really going, should go and get with the program.
And I don't mean to have you go and take food out of yours or your kids' mouths or forego utilities or lose your house or apartment or dwelling place.
It's one of those, if you go out to movies frequently, well, go in.
There you go.
Forgo or at least match what you spend.
Like for going out to see at least one movie, including the popcorn and all that crap, that would help out the cause.
Or a trip to the local bar, or whatever it happens to be.
Whatever entertainment advice you have.
I mean, for me, it's when I get home, I go and like to be home for a nice long weekend and get a couple of growler fills and be able to...
Kick my feet up back there on the back patio and enjoy myself.
So, whatever it may be, I can give you my membership card number.
It's 98337.
That's my zip code, so you can narrow me down at least that much to where I'm at.
So anyways, alright comrades, this is the Trucker, signing off from Southern California, and hope to see you out there making your scouting trip, and hopefully your migration soon, and hopefully you'll be supporting at least more than what you had been monetarily, the cause.
Alright, this is the Trucker, signing off from SoCal.
Have a good one, comrades.
Greetings, comrades.
This is the trucker coming at you from the high desert of California, just east of Edwards Air Force Base.
Thought I'd go and touch base on why you should go and do your scouting trip.
Yeah, I know you can go and do a lot of stuff online nowadays, checking out housing prices and different stuff like that, but there's nothing like doing a...
Boots on the ground of the area that you plan on moving to.
Because way back when, in 88, when I bought my house, I mean, yeah, I lived in the area.
And the reason we went after it, because the price was right, the financing was right, the neighborhood wasn't too bad.
Come to find out after we moved into it, there was a prostitute that lived down the street that was doing business, and there was a drug house at the end of the block that is while the house is still there, but it's occupied by a family, but the druggies are all gone, and it's turned into a little bit better neighborhood other than the asshole neighborhood I've got across the street, but anyway.
Downtown Bremerton, it was an area that all the businesses were moving out of to go to Silverdale because they built the mall out there.
So Sears left, Penny's left, a bunch of other businesses left.
So downtown kind of went, took a nosedive.
You did not want to walk around down there much at night because mainly it was taken over by rowdy teenagers and drunken sailors and all that kind of stuff.
Yes, I did walk around downtown.
Of course, I was walking our two Rottweilers and a German Shepherd, and I'd pop out of an alley, and yeah, the crowd would kind of scatter.
But anyway, that's just me being a smartass on that one.
Yes, I was doing that, but I was...
anyway.
So, other things you should look for while you're doing your scouting trip?
How does the community that you plan on moving to get its water?
Do they pump it out of an aquifer?
Do they get it from a reservoir?
Or what?
Way back when, when they were setting up Bremerton, they purchased a whole bunch of property out west of Gorst, which is technically, I guess, part of Bremerton, even though it's not in the city limits, but that's their watershed that they purchased out there, so they have a big area that has, I guess, a big lake and all that up there, so they can go on.
That's Bremerton's water supply.
Another thing you need to look for is traffic patterns and stuff like that.
Which I'm sure you already know about that kind of stuff.
But yeah, we don't have much.
We have an interstate, or not an interstate.
We have the divided highway like an interstate.
Interstate, the closest one to us is down there in Tacoma that we can drive to.
And we're more of a rural community with incorporated cities.
So, anyway, another thing you need to look for on your boots on the ground is graffiti and homeless camps, because the more homeless camps, the more crime you're going to have in the area, because, you know, they normally don't have jobs, and they've got to go and figure out how to sustain themselves somehow, so they're either out there with their cardboard signs, mooching, trying to go and get money from people at the corners, busy corners and stuff that they end up stopping at, or...
Stuff like that.
Yeah, we've got them up here.
See them a lot of down here in California.
They're out there with their signs.
Please help.
Anything helps.
Type thing.
Hungry, need food.
Whatever.
But, okay.
Well, just...
A few thoughts for you to ponder on.
So, alright.
Well, this is the Trucker, signing off from the high desert of California.
Hope to see you out here on the road, doing your scouting trip and your migration soon.
Alright, comrades, have a good one.
This is the Trucker signing off from California.
We're going to do what they say can't do now.
We've got a long way to go.
Any short time you get there I'm whisked down just watch a bandit run I'm whisked down just watch a bandit run Thank you.
Right, it's Monday morning, and I'm still sounding like Lurch from the Addams Family.
Anyway, I got an email from one of these superfans of mine who has taken the trouble to download and listen to all of the over 400 episodes of Radio Free Northwest since the show started eight years ago this month.
This comrade asked me why I don't do movement history sketches anymore.
Well, like a lot of things, I guess they just kind of went on the back burner for the past few years, but I agree it might not be a bad idea to revive them.
And let these people who know the movement only as Twitter and Tiki Torches understand that, yes, Virginia, we do have a past, a long and an honorable one.
We didn't just kind of leap out of the internet.
So, we're off on a trip back in time to the thrilling days of yesteryear.
I'd like to introduce a major figure from our movement's past here in America whom virtually nobody remembers anymore.
Father Charles Coughlin was a Roman Catholic priest who served at Royal Oak, Michigan.
Along with Dr. Goebbels in Germany, he was one of the first political leaders of the 1930s to use radio to reach a mass audience.
He started out doing short sermons, and then he moved more and more into political and economic topics.
At his height, Father Coughlin had more than 30 million listeners tuning into his weekly broadcasts of his program, which was called Social Justice.
You might say he was the first social justice warrior.
Coughlin was a genuine champion of the poor, and that meant that early on he was a supporter of Franklin Delano Roosevelt and his early New Deal proposals.
But, like a lot of sincere but deluded people at the time, Coughlin very quickly figured out that New Dealism was, in essence, a form of communism light, and he turned against Roosevelt in a big way.
Now, along with Huey Long, Coughlin was the first major populist leader in the United States to take on the power of the banks and big money.
And a lot of his radio sermons were on financial and economic matters, which during the Depression were at the forefront of everybody's concerns.
He was the first public figure of any stature who dared to take on the Federal Reserve.
Although as a priest he was forbidden to run for office himself, in 1934 Kaufman formed a new political organization called the Nation's Union of Social Justice.
And he backed a candidate named William Lemke to run against Roosevelt in 1936, the year it should have been Huey Long taking on FDR if the Jews hadn't killed him.
Coughlin wrote a platform calling for monetary reforms, the nationalization of major industries and railroads, and the protection of the rights of working people.
He very quickly ran up a membership into the millions, just like we could do here at the Northwest Front if we could somehow let millions of white people out there who are looking for leadership know that we're here.
Coughlin was also a rare bird for his time in America in that in his weekly radio broadcasts, he openly attacked and opposed the Jews, and he supported the policies of Adolf Hitler and Benito Mussolini.
He blamed the Depression on an international conspiracy of Jewish bankers, his words, and also claimed that Jewish bankers were behind the Russian Revolution, which to some degree is correct.
On November 27, 1938, he said, There can be no doubt that the Russian Revolution was launched and fomented by distinctively Jewish influence.
The Jews immediately retaliated by calling him a fascist, which I suppose he was, kinda.
Eventually, Roosevelt got worried, and in 1939, as part of his preparation for war, the United States government retaliated by trying to silence Coughlin.
The first thing they did was to forbid the dissemination of Father Coughlin's newspaper, Social Justice, through the United States Postal System.
Which, by the way, the federal government still has the legal right to do whenever they feel like it.
The government and organized jury in the form of the Anti-Defamation League also pressured a lot of radio stations into canceling Coughlin's weekly show.
But unlike today, this actually produced serious protests in the streets.
On one occasion, 2,000 demonstrators marched on the headquarters of CBS in New York City demanding that they bring Coughlin back.
And they carried signs directed at the network's Jewish owners saying, Wait until Hitler gets over here.
Now, the way the liberals finally silenced Coughlin was simple.
Roosevelt eventually brought pressure to bear on the Vatican, and the Pope told Coughlin to shut up.
Father Coughlin was first and foremost a good Catholic, and when the Pope tells a good Catholic to shut up, he shuts up.
So, Father Coughlin shut up.
He went back to being a parish priest in Michigan, and he died there in 1979.
Completely forgotten.
Copies of Father Coughlin's radio broadcasts themselves are almost impossible to find, and what I was able to locate was mostly either too long or of too poor quality to play on this show.
Plus, I lost most of the clips that I had in assorted computer crashes and hard drive upgrades down through the years.
This is something I did find.
I didn't add the musical background.
one of Coughlin's admirers on YouTube did.
The End The depression still waxed strong as the powers of deflation reached out to confiscate homes.
To capture farms and to keep that ever marching army of jobless upon our streets, wondering when God in his mercy would lift his hand.
I dared you and challenged you to organize so that the people, if not the president, would drive the money changers from the temple, and you did it!
Thank you.
They believe that the Federal Reserve Bank has the right to coin and regulate the value of money.
They're not even Americans, these so-called Democrats and Republicans.
You appreciate the fact, my dear friends, that among other things in the National Union for Social Justice...
We are Christian insofar as we believe in Christ's principle of love your neighbor as yourself, and with that principle, I challenge every Jew in this nation to tell me that he does not believe in it.
*applaudissements*
There is no need!
Of communizing all the factories and the fields and the forests and the mines under a new kind of God made of flesh and blood and clay and hatred.
it
When men become so prideful that they believe their destiny is to rewrite the eternal law of God, it's time for their fellow citizens to rise up in their wrath and through the agency of ballots and not bullets to relegate them to the pages of the past.
*crowd cheers* *crowd cheers* you
Thank you.
Speaking of Aryan history, this is Schooner Fair.
Days of old, so the story's told to boys who went to sea.
All of seven, eight and nine years old they say.
To serve upon the warring ships their captains and their kings To serve the purpose they still serve today To serve the purpose they still serve today To carry out the powder from the magazine below.
From a hole too dark and crowded for a man.
They call them powder monkeys.
Every school child ought to know.
The price we pay to keep a promised land.
The price we pay to keep a promised land.
Send for the powder monkey, send him down into the well.
Send for the powder monkey, he'll fetch us a pail of hell.
To keep our cannon burning, he'll fall behind the gun.
We'll just send for a powder monkey Cause there's more where he came from guitar solo
They come from the city sidewalks And they come from the family farms To trust their fragile futures to the wind They come from a land of plenty Through the evergreens and corn With more to lose than all the angry men With more to lose than all the angry men Was it the hunger of
a family?
Was it the anger of the street?
That drove a lonely child to Satan's door?
Where death was all but certain and damnation near complete?
Save all for the holy innocent ashore.
Save all the holy innocent ashore.
Send for the powder monkey, send him down into the well.
Send for the powder monkey, he'll fetch us a pail of hell.
To keep our cannon burning, he'll fall behind the gun.
Could you send for a powder monkey?
This is more where he came from.
High above the gun deck ring the orders of the realm To roll out a battle cadence on the drum As forward into darkness sail the cowards at the helm And they shoot the stars to see how far they've come Look at their suns to see how far they've come To
serve upon the warring ships, their captains and their kings.
To serve the purpose they still serve today.
To serve the purpose they still serve today Send for the powder monkey, send him down into the well Send for the powder monkey, he'll fetch us a pail of hell To keep our cannon burning, he'll fall behind the gun
Send for the powder monkey, send him down into the well Send for the powder monkey, he'll fetch us a pail of hell To keep our cannon burning, he'll fall behind the gun To keep our cannon burning, he'll fall behind the gun There's more where he can go.
This is where he came from This is where he came from This is where he came from This is where he
came from Okay, time to get serious and depressing again.
Look, I don't have to tell you guys what's going on in the world around you.
We are losing at every turn.
We are losing because we are in an existential war where only one side is actually fighting, and that side ain't us.
It's true that on November the 8th, 2016, we won a tremendous psychological victory, and we kept a genuine monster out of the White House, and that was quite a badly needed rush.
But, like all Russias, it has now dissipated, and we have to get back to the real world.
Now, even if he really was, quote-unquote, one of us, which he isn't, Trump isn't going to last.
He's going to either be overthrown in some quasi-legal coup d 'etat through impeachment of the 25th Amendment, or else he's going to be murdered, most likely poisoned by someone close to him.
One way or the other, the Democrats and the George Soros deep state are going to claw back the near-ultimate power they had under Obama.
So, what are we going to do about it?
We have taken our traditional white nationalist culture of perpetual whining complaint onto the internet, and there it will remain.
For years, we bitched and moaned and whined and wept and wrung our hands in tabloid newspapers and little mimeographed newsletters we ran off in our garages or photocopied at the local kinkos, using the self-serve machines because we didn't dare risk the negroes or the little girl behind the counter getting a look at what we were writing.
Then the internet came along and now we're bitching and moaning and whining and weeping and wailing and wringing our hands on websites and blogs and social media and YouTube.
And it's all having the same effect it did back in the print and postage stamp days.
Nothing.
We need to understand very clearly that our racial extinction is getting closer every day and we are still accomplishing nothing.
We think we are because now we can see ourselves on TV.
Sort of.
Or on YouTube anyway.
We've been conditioned to accept that whatever's on TV is real, but that's not the way life works.
It never did.
I get to hear myself on here every week like I was Rush Limbaugh or something, but I know I'm not.
After 70 years, we are still accomplishing nothing in the real world.
We have not halted one single line item in the liberal agenda, and it's only getting worse.
White people are still on the track for effective extinction in about 35 years or so, when this last generation of white girls becomes too old to bear children, and our worldwide numbers fall below any possible replacement level.
So, what the fuck are we doing about it?
Well, I'll tell you what we're doing about it.
The truth.
You all know it's the truth, and we had damned well better stop it and change our behavior.
Right now, what we're practicing, to some degree, is what the left loons call stochastic terrorism.
To be fair, I think some of us don't even realize it's what we're doing, but we are.
We are hoping to use words and images and electronic propaganda here on the internet to incite others to do what we ourselves lack the physical courage to do.
We've worked our way into believing that our computer skills somehow make us generals of the revolution and that we have the right to order and manipulate others to their deaths.
We're hoping that at least a few of the countless millions of angry, hopeless, despairing white men out there will get so stirred up that they will pick up a gun and actually kill some of these monkey-faced savages who are invading our country in the lands of Europe.
Club some of these vile, liberal, progressive, elitist types to death with baseball bats and upload the video to YouTube so we can see.
Blow up some politicians and government bureaucrats with explosives.
Gun down some of these arrogant media bitches on screen.
And before we go any further, no, not me.
I can say all this because I'm one of the few among us who is consciously not doing that.
I've told you before, I do not incite to violence.
I incite to change.
I want Michael Collins, not Dylan Roof.
I don't want to watch the enemy die as edifying as that would be.
I want to watch us win.
Look, it's humanly understandable.
Life is actually a beautiful thing, and the world is a wonderful place.
It's bad people who poison and destroy and sicken everything.
Now, we want to look at our electronic screens and see these vile, wicked people who are hurting us so bad and making our lives such misery punished so that we can know that there is a God and He loves us and wants us to be happy.
We want to see them suffer as we have so often been made to suffer without mercy or recourse.
And we want all of this to happen while we ourselves incur no personal risk or inconvenience.
While we ourselves remain safe and can go home and crack a cold beer tonight, while the poor, dumbass kid or middle-aged man who provided the evening's entertainment lies in a jail cell or the morgue.
Like I said, we may not realize that fact.
In fact, I suspect most of you don't fully understand that's what you're doing.
But basically, that's it.
You want the Northwest Volunteer Army or something similar simply to materialize out of the mist so that you won't have to do any heavy lifting or undergo any personal risk or inconvenience.
You want a revolution that you can watch on your electronic screens and cheer for because that's the way you've been socially engineered from birth to behave as a passive spectator.
That is what has to change and the only way for that to happen is for you to make a conscious Effort of will to become someone you're not.
We all know perfectly well what we're doing wrong and we need to sit down and make a decision.
I'm not going to do that anymore.
We all know what we should be doing and we know that we're not doing it because we are so afraid that the bad men in the black body armor will come and hurt us as they well might.
That is the reaction of a small boy hiding under a table from a big, huge, roaring drunk with a belt.
The little boy needs to stop hiding.
He needs to force himself to jump out from under the table and start smashing the roaring drunk's feet and kneecaps with a hammer.
And if you have to take a few blows from the belt, then so be it.
Actually, you know, that's not a bad image for you guys to use for psychological recovery and reconditioning, I think.
Next time you see the face of one of these people who's trying to kill us all, imagine that asshole or bitch tied up in a chair while you smash their face to a bloody pulp with a hand sledge or one of those big hard rubber mallets.
Try it.
It's very therapeutic.
Look, all this is natural and humanly understandable given the totality of our circumstances.
Just so long as you realize that's what you're doing, you can take that as your starting point for that fearless and searching moral inventory of yourselves Andy and I keep talking about.
We have a problem, people, and the problem is us.
Somehow or other, we need to find Michael Collins, not Dylan Roof.
Don't worry.
I don't expect you to run before you can crawl.
Now, there is a way in which we can begin this transformation of our character without anybody going to prison.
It is through party professionalization, devoting our efforts to creating an actual legal organization which will function as a movement for Northwest independence.
A professionalized party is where reality can replace electronic revenge fantasies.
How about we make one?
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, Sarsha Underban.
Freedom.
Thank God it still is beating hearts in manhood's morning noon Who could follow in their footsteps at the rising of the moon?
▲
Export Selection