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March 8, 2018 - Radio Free Nortwest - H.A. Covington
01:06:40
20180308_rfn
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Oh, then tell me, Sean O 'Farrell, tell me why you hurry so.
Hush, awokel, 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 well known to you and me.
One word more for signal, token whistle of the marching tune.
For your bike upon your shoulder by the rising of the moon.
By the rising of the moon.
By the rising of the moon.
With your bike upon your shore by the rising of the moon Out from many a mud wall cabin eyes were watching through the night Many a manly chest was throbbing for the blessed warning light Warmers passed along the valleys like the man she's lonely croon 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 claves were crushing and rising all the wood It's March the 8th, 2018.
I'm Harold Covington, and this is Radio Free Northwest.
Okay, this week we have a real blast from the past resurfacing from the groove yard of Forgotten Hits, something which is somewhat tangentially addressed in the book Gretchen Reviews this week.
And that is the question of, are we some kind of socialists?
And are we going to give away all kinds of goodies to a lazy-bones white underclass, including a universal basic income so everybody can just lay around and swill beer and talk bad about niggers like so many skinheads?
Or, alternatively...
Are we going back to the bad old days of the 19th century when capitalists living in gilded mansions can make huge fortunes off 10-year-old children working for 16 hours a day in mines and textile mills?
I won't tell you how this question came up again, but I will tell you that it's one of our hearty perennials that we have to weed out of our ideological garden, so to speak, on a regular basis.
Now, as it happens, I just so happen to have one of my canned answers from back in the day lying around on my hard drive.
This essay is from 1997, and so it predates my Northwest Republic days, at least officially.
And it comes from my Orthodox National Socialist phase, as you'll be able to tell.
And I can hear some of you now.
Oh, Harold, Harold, you're cheating again.
You're just reading old stuff.
We want new stuff every week when we turn into Radio Free Northwest.
We want to hear your sparkling wit and all the latest alt-right gossip.
Yeah, well, suck it up.
I wrote this 21 years ago, but it still has ideas and information in it that you guys need to internalize.
This piece is called Our Socialism, and I say again, this is pre-NF, so don't be caught off guard by the NS.
This week I'm going to be talking about something which seems to cause a lot of concern and curiosity, and that's why we use the term socialism in our party's name and in the name of our worldview, National Socialism.
To tell the truth, we don't get anywhere nearly as much concern about our use of the word today as we used to get many years ago when there were more conservative elements in the movement, but it still happens.
There are still a few people to whom the very word socialism conjures up visions of the Kremlin, and they simply can't get around that idea.
Even though it's completely incorrect.
The result is that we still occasionally get people who jump up and call us communists because of that word socialism, but there is a very definite reason why we have that second word as part of our name.
The first thing I want to explain to you is that there are many different kinds of socialism.
You're probably most familiar with the kind known as communism, as originally formulated in the middle of the 19th century by the Jew Karl Marx, but there are several other kinds.
There is the mild social democratic version, what we here in America call liberalism.
The principles are the same.
Basically, liberals are really Marxists without the courage of their convictions.
You might say that liberals are decaffeinated Marxists.
There are also various weird ultra-left versions of Marxism, like those practiced in North Korea, Communist China, Peru, etc.
Most kinds of so-called socialist philosophies are in fact some variation of Marxism.
This is where National Socialism differs from all the rest, because our socialism is not based on the writings of the Jew Marx, but on the character of our Aryan race.
Marxist Socialism, or Communism, is in essence the flip side of the coin of Capitalism, which I've discussed earlier on in this series.
Like Capitalism, Marxism holds that man is essentially an economic unit of production and consumption, a cog in the wheel of a great machine which needs to be fed and lubricated and maintained and then thrown away when he can no longer perform his allotted function.
Yes, I know I've said this before and possibly some of you are getting bored with it, but I'm going to keep on repeating it because there is no more important lesson for you to learn regarding the nature of the world we live in today.
Our struggle is largely one of spirituality and idealism against materialism, and the two forces which have shaped the 20th century and which still pretty much control our destiny even today.
Communism and capitalism are both profoundly materialistic philosophies.
This is where National Socialism differs so greatly from both of them.
National Socialism is based on man, while the others are based on matter.
At any rate, to get back to the central topic, our socialism is not materialistic or economic.
It's based on the now almost obsolete concept of social duty.
The idea that no man is an island, and that along with rights and privileges we all have duties and obligations to our communities and to the culture and the people into which we were born.
This idea used to be commonly accepted to the point where no one questioned it.
Now it has virtually disappeared from our national life.
Our socialism teaches that there is something more important in life than the frantic pursuit of little green pieces of paper and the temporary security and pleasure that these little pieces of paper can bring.
Our socialism is the socialism of the man who doesn't just sit and watch while his neighbor's house is on fire.
He helps to put the fire out.
We are in this terrible situation we're in today very largely because we have decided that each of us could go our own way and to hell with everybody else.
White people have decided voluntarily to strip themselves of our racial and cultural identity because it interferes with making money.
In doing so, we become exactly what the capitalist system wants us to be, economic units of production and consumption, and nothing more.
But we are not born as faceless, raceless, cultureless beings who are only good for working and buying things at the mall.
Race and spirituality are genetic.
They are in our blood.
And these qualities are in themselves a kind of socialism because they form a bond between all peoples of the Aryan race.
Our socialism is, first of all, a kind of sense of community, which people in healthy Aryan societies have always demonstrated.
Secondly, there's a difference between big government as defined by the liberals and the red socialists, i.e.
what we have now in this country, and responsible governments.
While National Socialists do not believe in a cradle-to-grave welfare state, and while we support free enterprise, we do understand and believe that the state has certain moral and economic and political obligations to its citizens.
Never fall into the trap of so-called libertarianism.
Libertarianism is basically just a moral front for the worst kind of laissez-faire, 19th-century-style buccaneer monopoly capitalism.
Libertarians have this idea that the state needs to be kept as weak and as completely close to non-existent as possible.
And for that, some people call them anarchists, which they are not.
They're capitalists.
I think most libertarians know perfectly well what would happen if the state were to wither away or disappear.
We wouldn't have freedom.
What we would have would be the large multinational corporations stepping in to fill the gap.
So let's trash this libertarian idea that the state is always bad.
That depends entirely on who is controlling the state and what purpose the machinery of the state is being put to.
In an Aryan society, the state does have duties and obligations to the Aryan folk which go beyond maintaining an army and a post office.
The state has the obligation to ensure that everyone has the right to a job.
and the right to earn his living and support his family in peace and security.
Furthermore, the state has a duty to make sure that jobs exist, that the common economy is being run sufficiently well and competently to produce employment and prosperity.
The state has the obligation to ensure that no citizen is denied necessary medical care because of lack of money.
The state has the obligation to ensure that every one of its citizens has a decent and affordable place to live.
The state has the obligation to ensure that Aryan children have a clean and safe and livable environment in which to grow up.
The state has an obligation to ensure that no Aryan suffers in their old age from cold or hunger or deprivation.
There is nothing wrong with these duties or with using tax money to implement them, so long as they are done.
By and for white people.
You need to understand that like everything else on the continent of North America, the so-called welfare dependency and socialistic policies are a racial issue.
Always remember that everything in America comes down to race.
Present-day welfare dependency is a problem because recipients of all these welfare payments and scams are overwhelmingly black or else increasingly mud-colored third-world immigrants.
The abuses of the welfare state are carried out almost entirely by blacks and third-worlders.
In the social services area, like every other aspect of American life, the vast improvements which would be achieved by removing blacks and other non-whites from our society really boggle the mind when you sit down and think about them.
As to the welfare dependency mentality, which occasionally appears among white people, especially in Europe, This would disappear once these people living in council estates and whatnot were shown that they have a stake in society once again, that the state was being run by white people for white people, for the common good of the race and nation, and not just as a grab bag of goodies to be given away to anybody with a black or brown skin.
Sure, some white people have developed a bad attitude towards welfare and food stamps.
They look around and they see blacks and Mexicans and Cambodians and Filipinos and God knows what all else getting all this loot from the government, and they take the attitude, hey, why shouldn't I get some?
That's not the best attitude in the world, but it's understandable.
In National Socialist Germany, after the Revolution of 1933, not one single Aryan child went hungry.
Not a single German family went without a home.
Not a single German worker was unemployed within a year or so after the triumph of the Fuhrer and the NSDAP.
The whole nation pitched in with winter relief programs and things like one-pot meals once a week until the economy was fixed and Germany went back to work.
Marxist labor unions were abolished and a genuine labor front was established to represent all German workers, established so successfully that right up until 1945, German industry was still in full production for the war effort.
And invading Allied troops found factory lines still turning out supplies and munitions.
Efforts like that are not made by disgruntled or oppressed workers.
An entire social services structure was erected in order to support the German family and bring order and peace and tranquility to German society.
And right up until 1945, it worked.
A Reich's labor service was created which built the mighty Autobots, which are still used today, and who reclaimed millions of acres of arable agricultural land from swamps and from the sea to feed the German people.
Medical facilities and childcare in Nazi Germany was the best in the world for its time.
Social problems like divorce, alcoholism, and homosexuality virtually disappeared.
That is true socialism in action.
That's our socialism.
For those of you who follow the latest news from the social media tech giants, etc., etc., the attempt to purge any views mildly to the right of center now seems to be shifting to YouTube.
The past few weeks, a number of YouTube videos have been deleted and restricted.
One of our guys uploaded my last Radio Free Northwest.
The one that I read the chapter from Freedom Sons on, he uploaded it to YouTube, and within about an hour after I advertised the link on Twitter, the video had been quote-unquote restricted, which, as this next guy points out, basically means putting it in kind of a YouTube jail.
You can't embed it, you can't show it in certain countries, and basically, unless you provide a direct link.
Nobody can find it.
This guy is a Brit named Pat Condal.
I've never heard him before.
I have no idea what his antecedents or what his outlook is, but he seems to be pretty sharp.
This video is for all you feminists who work in social media, especially the ones at YouTube.
But first, I'd like to talk briefly, if I may, about censorship, because it's amazing to me how quickly YouTube went from broadcast yourself to stifle yourself or be terminated.
It seems there's no longer any pretense that the tolerance and diversity crowd have any tolerance for diversity of opinion, and now they're openly censoring political views they disapprove of.
It's happening so often, and to so many people, that the words YouTube and censorship now go together like Islamic and terrorism, or migrant and rape, or Marxist and dictatorship.
They just seem to roll off the tongue together, arm in arm, best pals forever.
What a great way to poison your own brand.
They even censored a video by the Polish government on the migrant crisis until they were publicly embarrassed into reinstating it.
Poland wants to put its own people first, not last, like every country in Western Europe.
And somebody at YouTube didn't approve of that.
Somebody at YouTube, who has never done anything with their life except stare at a screen, tap a keyboard and masturbate, didn't approve of the Polish government's political position, so the video was censored.
And that's how it works now.
To be fair, they don't censor absolutely everything.
Not yet, anyway.
You can still see plenty of videos on wife-beating in Islam, if that's your thing.
If you're a Muslim man and you want to know how to beat your wife in accordance with your religion of peace, you'll find detailed instructions on YouTube in videos that have been up for years and have been seen hundreds of thousands of times, because the people who work at YouTube don't have any problem with violence against women as long as it's Islamic.
It's the people drawing attention to it who are the problem.
People like me, apparently.
Although recently, when YouTube censored my video, A Word to the Criminal Migrant, they inadvertently drew attention to it and gave it more publicity than if they'd left it alone, and since then it's been seen well over a hundred thousand times on other sites.
So I suppose, in a way, I should thank whichever social justice bedwetter at YouTube decided to flip that particular switch.
However, the video remains in restricted mode, behind bars in YouTube jail, so to speak, where it's invisible on the site without a direct link, and it can't be embedded or shared anywhere.
It's no big deal to me personally.
I don't care about YouTube.
I don't make money from the videos, and they are available elsewhere on the internet.
But I am disappointed that they chose to censor a video that had been translated into 19 languages, because clearly people thought there was something in it worth hearing.
But unfortunately, it drew attention to the great taboo, the illegal third world invasion of Europe and the huge increase in rape and sexual assault which is permanently poisoning the public space in Europe for women and girls.
It also pointed the finger at the criminal scum responsible for it, the criminal rape culture they're bringing with them, and the criminal politicians who are letting them in, many of them female politicians who know very well what the consequences will be for women, yet who have no intention of stopping this invasion.
It's thanks to them that life for women in Sweden and Germany has already changed permanently for the worse.
In what used to be two of the safest, most civilised countries in Europe, many women are now afraid to go out alone at night, and with good reason.
While in the countries of Central Europe, who didn't open their borders to the fake refugees, it's a different story.
And Poland has just been named the safest country in Europe for women, while we hear about a new violent sexual atrocity in Sweden or Germany almost every day.
There have been so many gang rapes in Malmö, Sweden, that local people started patrolling the streets.
But it'll do no good.
There'll be another rape soon, maybe tomorrow or the next day, in Sweden or in Germany, of a woman or of a child.
By third world men in Europe, illegally, who won't be properly punished and who can't be deported, because unlike their victims, they've got human rights.
So I'm curious about how you women who work at YouTube feel about that, and about censoring information about it.
Maybe you're fine with it.
After all, it's not happening to you.
Why should you care?
And we shouldn't really expect you to, because we know that everyone at YouTube is a progressive feminist, not a real feminist.
Especially the men, if they know what's good for them.
Isn't that right, boys?
Don't forget those pussy hats to protect those pussy heads of yours.
You see, YouTube is owned by Google, and we know from the details of the current discrimination lawsuit that internally Google is a toxic, ultra-progressive feminist bubble of hysterical bigotry and safe space paranoia where you have to check your moral compass at the door if you want to survive.
So we shouldn't expect much from the people who work there.
If they had anything about them, they wouldn't be allowed to work there.
We know they're the kind of fragile buttercups who will instinctively turn on their own colleague like piranhas if he makes the mistake of offering a constructive opinion, crying and whining like little babies about not feeling safe and getting him fired.
We know there are people in positions of authority who keep blacklists of colleagues whose views they disagree with and whose careers they want to sabotage.
So we know how low the moral bar is at Google, and we know that we're dealing with emotional and intellectual cripples.
And despite all the bullshit diversity rhetoric, most Google employees are men.
Well, they're male anyway.
About a third are female.
And of course there's the usual fashionable sprinkling of indeterminate neurotics who think they want to be something they're not.
But although you women are a minority at Google, we know that you've got all the leverage, because we know that the men are all dickless wonders who are terrified of being fired for sexism and will do anything they're damn well told.
So if any of you women ever do have a twinge of conscience that goes beyond a hashtag or a like, you could do something genuinely feminist for once in your life.
You could take time out from persecuting co-workers to recognise this epidemic of rape that's poisoning the public space for women and make everyone at Google snap to attention, do the right thing for a change, and let the truth be known.
And that way, you can help the situation instead of hindering it as you currently are.
You women in social media have more power than most to help make women in Europe aware of the violent nightmare that's coming for them and especially for their daughters, instead of helping to keep them in ignorance until it's too late by censoring information about it from your privileged Silicon Valley safe space.
But, as I say, we don't expect much from you women because we know that you've had right and wrong educated out of you and that you now genuinely believe that the world revolves around your personal neuroses.
But there may be one or two of you who haven't quite shaken off all sense of decency, and you can help us out with something specific.
You see, German women have had enough of all the rape and the politicians' reluctance to address it, and they've started a protest movement called 120 decibel.
That's the volume of a rape alarm, a standard carry in Germany today.
And they posted a video about it on YouTube and about the grim gauntlet they have to run every day.
Let me quote a few words.
The offenders are everywhere.
While jogging in the park, when we return after work, while we're waiting for the bus, we are not secure, unquote.
It is no longer safe for women in Germany, and soon it won't be safe for them anywhere in Europe.
Women need to know that, and they need to know why.
So I'll include a link for you Google Feminists so that you can personally make sure that no scum-sucking social justice half-wit at YouTube tries to censor this video.
And, if you can find the courage, you might even want to post it on Facebook, too.
You know, instead of that picture of your dinner.
Standing up for what's right isn't that hard, girls.
It's just virgin territory for you.
But everybody has to start somewhere, and who knows, maybe then we won't laugh out loud when you call yourself a feminist.
Speaking of things English, I occasionally get some comments from you guys saying, Hey Harold, what's with all the Irish folk music?
Surely the English have some as well.
So why can't you play some English folk music?
Alright, fine.
I found this on the soundtrack of a, frankly, pretty damn stupid British horror movie from 1988.
It's called The Lair of the White Worm.
And it's one of these movies which is pretty clearly nothing but an excuse for the actresses to take their clothes off.
But they did have this one good song on here.
I do not know the name of the group.
The song is called The Dampton Worm.
And there are a number of basically worm songs in English folklore and folk music.
I should explain that in Old Middle English and Anglo-Saxon, the word verum or worm actually means dragon or large serpent, kind of a reptilian monster type thing.
And this is a song which has a number of variations in English traditional music.
It's about a brave knight who slays a dragon.
One, two, three, four!
One, two, three, four!
John Dampton went a-fishing once, a-fishing in the weir.
He caught a fish up on his hook, he thought looked mighty queer.
Now what the kind of fish it was, John Dampton couldn't tell.
But he didn't like the look of it, so he threw it down a well
The worm got fat and growed and growed an awful size With great big teeth and a great big mouth and great big goggle eyes And when at night it crawled about looking for some booze If it fell dry upon the road, it milked a dozen cows This fearful worm would often feed on cows and lamb and sheep And
swallow little babes alive when they lay down to sleep.
So John stood out and cut the beast and cut it into halves.
And that soon stops it, eating babes and sheep and lantern cat.
Ha!
So, let's go.
Now you know how the folks on both sides of the way.
Lots, lots of sheep and lots of sleep and lived in mortal fear.
So drink the help of a great surgeon who kept the babes from harm.
Save cows and cows by making halves of that famous Dumpton worm.
Yee-haw!
Woo!
AVAILABLE NOW
AVAILABLE NOW Good evening, comrades.
Tonight I'd like to discuss The Year of the Basilard, and this is written under the pseudonym Stuffy Smith.
Now, this is a short novel that on the surface is very much like the Northwest novels, but it's unique because it shows a certain independence of thought from the Northwest novels, and it's very...
Once you start reading it, that despite the superficial similarities, it's definitely not a Covington novel because there are some clear stylistic and also ideological visions in this novel that would never appear in Covington.
And the heart of this is what I'll be explaining in this review.
The modern movement has a tendency to be full of individuals who wish to go back to some static and idealized past.
Sometimes this is the 50s, other times it's Edwardian England, or sometimes it might even be the 30s and 40s.
Although I would argue that wanting to go back to the 30s and 40s is somewhat different because essentially that era might easily be compared to a precocious child of 12 who ends up passing away at a very young age.
I would argue that a desire to go back to the 30s and 40s is not merely a desire to live in the 30s and 40s in perpetuity, but instead it is a desire to realize that maturity and promise that was unrealized previously.
Nevertheless, when we do fall into this kind of retrospective thinking, especially when it is retrospective thinking for a static past, We come to believe ourselves to be conservatives.
And in that vein, we start to see ourselves as moral guardians.
And at that point, we try to outdo each other with a passion for punitive measures against transgressors.
Now, this is understandable, but an argument based on traditions, emotions, and popular sentiment is easy to dismantle.
And this book is going to fall for none of these traps.
Now, at the end...
The ideological heart of this story is the Quality of Life Party, which breaks off from the Greens and the Cascadians.
The Quality of Life Party supports zero population growth in a socialist ethnostate.
Now, essentially, this zero population growth is enforced because, first of all, it seeks to be an ethnostate, but it seeks to do that in a slow and deliberate way.
And it wants to prevent any arms race between whites and other subspecies in terms of a breeding war.
And also, too, it wants to have fewer children but a higher quality of children.
Also, too, this is a state that grants a national dividend, so there would be a universal basic income because the party admits that in the future, and it's already happening currently, there are many people that are going to be unemployed, underemployed, or simply low-wage earners.
This is merely because we are in a post-industrial age.
Also, the notion that everyone ought to work in an office or a factory is outdated.
This is a state with strong ecological concerns, and to that end, it does not allow private cars.
And also, too, if you didn't have a private car, then the notion of going to work every day unless you have an excellent public transportation system, that becomes in itself a difficulty.
This is a state that also outlaws cancer-causing chemicals and nuclear power.
It also outlaws the influence of advertisers from any type of public media.
It also wishes to legalize the use of minor drugs.
So this is an agenda that might easily be called somewhat hippy-dippy in some sense.
And so it is a type of agenda that could attract leftists.
In this novel, one of the forces that ultimately brings down the United States society, or at least brings it down enough that it is not a threat to the secessionist movement in the Northwest, is a very severe debt crisis.
And this debt crisis is clearly inspired from the SNL scandal.
Of course, that was a situation where individuals were encouraged to take loans and buy properties and get into an amount of debt that they could in no way pay back.
Now, also in this novel, we have extreme weather events taking their toll on the East Coast.
And again, this points to the ecological bent of the novel.
Global warming is never directly mentioned in this book.
However, the fact that it talks about extreme weather and the fact that it also outlaws private vehicles hints at the fact that this author is open to the greenhouse effect being caused by fossil fuels.
Of course, what's going to happen, and it's already happening, and it's going to probably increase, is the use of electric cars.
And so in that sense, the debate about fossil fuels and driving becomes a moot point.
But at any rate, this is clearly an ecologically motivated state.
Also, too, this book...
Takes a certain disinterest in something that is often very much a key point in the movement, and that is the JQ.
The author even writes that the founder of this quality-of-life party has a certain admixture in her ancestry that would certainly be disqualifying to most of us.
But having said that, this is clearly a book that would appeal to many segments within the alt-right or also those in American Renaissance.
So this is a book that can essentially appeal to a more mainstream audience.
And as a result of that appeal, it could certainly be a gateway.
Also, too, this book indulges those who are concerned with comfort.
And whether we like it or not, a concern with comfort is a very common issue for the vast majority of individuals.
So, this book goes to the heart of a certain pragmatic debate.
We certainly want to attract as many people to our movement as possible, but we also want to attract the right sort of people.
So, clearly a question of quantity versus quality.
So the compromises that this book makes will certainly cause it to be an item of debate.
And indeed some would say that the compromises in this book are deeply concerning and even would be a cause of sanction.
But I do have to have some praise for this book because of the independence of thought that it shows.
And the fact that this book is willing to very much break with notions of ideological conservatism.
So, at any rate, I understand the controversy here.
At any rate, I hope you found this review interesting.
So have a good evening.
Inhale victory, comrades.
We're about to die.
Eighteen wheels are roving.
We gonna do what they say can't be done We've got a long way to go And it's short time to get there I'm best found just like a band that runs If you put hard on the belt Some belt will bind them brakes Let it all hang out, cause we gotta run the base Greetings, comrades.
This is the Trucker coming at you from Prim, Nevada.
Later this year, I will be celebrating my last move 30 years ago this fall.
Yep, I bounced up and down the West Coast, different Navy bases, and the military moved most of my stuff, but the last one was on me.
Of course, it was only about a 20-mile, basically a few pickup truck loads from Navy housing to the house.
You know, we had a group of people, so it was a short move.
It wasn't a cross-country move, but still, it's been really nice not having to go and have moved.
I would hate to try to move nowadays, later in life.
My kids were...
Still in the single-digit range.
They're in their mid-30s now, so you do the math.
But yeah, I'd advise for your migration sooner than later, because you could be in the same boat as the fictional Orokova family, if I pronounce that right, from the latest podcast with the reading of the chapter from Freedom Sons in it.
I would hate to go and do a move under those circumstances.
Last minute and all that.
And basically having nothing but the shirt on your back.
Now, you should go and get your ducks in a row and whittle your stuff down to a reasonable amount.
Get rid of what you don't need.
You haven't used in a while.
You won't be using in a while.
If you've got play toys, either figure out whether you're actually going to be keeping them, or really need them, or get rid of them, sell them off, and use the money for your move, and then after you get settled in up here, get your ducks in a row, you can go and replace what toys you got rid of if you really feel the need to have them.
You know, that's just a few thoughts from here in the driver's seat.
Out here on the road.
I know most of you are just going to go and blow it off and say, oh, it's just a trucker going, puking out more.
We'll move to the homeland.
Well, if the riots go and start up and Monkoids come through your front door and try to go and pull the caveman routine and drag your wife or daughter off to go and have a right party with them and enjoy themselves, you'll probably wish you would have gone and done it.
Or sooner than later.
So, okay, well, this is the Trucker coming at you from Nevada, hoping to see you out there on the road doing your scouting trip and your migration to the homeland soon.
Alright, this is the Trucker signing off from another little segment from the road.
Greetings, comrades.
This is the Trucker coming at you from just south of Sin City.
Prim, Nevada.
And no, I didn't throw any money away at the tables or the slot machines or anything like that.
Nope.
No, I got better use for my funds, as should you.
Yeah, I'm throwing another money pitch at you.
It's one of those, if you've got money enough to gamble, play the lottery, whatever, then you should have enough to be making donations to the cause.
So, anyway, enough of that.
I did enjoy the first podcast of March, the chapter out of Freedom Sons with the Horicovas, if that's pronounced correctly.
Yeah, I've gone across that route before, exactly the way they went.
Well, not the woods part, but I've gone across US 12, Highway 12 there.
Got to chase a moose once, going across that way, and it's very scenic.
See a lot of farmland, a lot of wildlife up there.
If you guys are hunters up there west of 15 going across there, there's a big forest and mountain area.
You can go skiing, hunting, all that kind of stuff.
The next route farther north, Montana 200.
I've seen a crap load of elk up there.
I had a whole herd of them run across in front of me just east of Lincoln.
Lincoln, Montana, where they captured Ted Kaczynski at.
Been through there quite a number of times.
They've got a jerky factory up there just outside Lincoln on the west side of town that makes not only beef jerky, but they make venison and elk and buffalo and pretty much you name it, they've got it.
So, those of you that are going to be making scouting trips, hey, get off the beaten path, go with some of the...
Less traveled roads and you get to see a lot more stuff.
East of I-15, that's mainly farm country there.
Let's see a lot of cattle out there.
Missoula, it's a pretty good-sized town.
I'm pretty sure they got a Walmart there.
I know they got a Cabela's there for those of you that like the outdoor hunting sports type thing.
It's over there west of there.
You got big play area and stuff up around Hoggan where the $50,000 saloon is.
Silver dollar saloon, excuse me.
When I first started driving a number of years ago, it was the $10,000, but people keep donating silver dollars to this silver dollar saloon.
Now they've got, what, at least $50,000 silver dollars under lacquer on the bar, the walls, all over the place.
Damn, if people can go and donate to that silver dollar, which is about $20, I'm sure you guys can cough up some money for the cause.
Hopefully on a monthly basis.
So, okay, well, anyway, just thought I'd throw that out there.
This is The Trucker coming at you from just south of Sin City, and we'll be catching you out there, making your scouting trips and your migration sometime soon.
Preferably, the sooner the better.
All right, this is the Trucker, signing off from Nevada.
We're bound to die, but 18 we're a romance.
We're going to do what they say can't do, no.
We've got a long way to go.
Any short time to get there, I'm whisked down, just watch a bandit run.
I'm whisked down, just watch a bandit run.
Last week, I took a time out, and instead of doing a show, I actually read out an entire chapter from one of my novels, Freedom Sons, chapter 5, which, as I've said, I think is one of the most important chapters I've ever written.
I got a very good response from this, and as I've mentioned in previous podcasts, there have been a lot of requests and demands or whatever for audiobooks of my novels.
Don't worry, I'm not going to turn these shows into just long readings by me of my fiction.
However, there does seem to be a genuine demand for this, and we may work out something whereby I can occasionally read segments, so forth and so on, if that does seem to be what you want.
And like I said, this is getting a very positive response.
But, while I was digging around this week, I found this one thing on my hard drive.
I, honest to God, do not remember who this is.
It's either Jason Goyhammer or Steven Lancer 1. I'm sorry, guys.
I just, I can't remember, and I'm not sure my memory is such that I can actually tell your voices apart.
I know I've been on a podcast with both of you, and I should be able to tell, but, you know, what can I tell you?
I'm not.
Anyway, I found this on my hard drive.
It's something one of these guys did, and I figure I'll just go ahead and drop this in here.
Now, this is the epilogue to Freedom's Sons.
I also did a prologue to Freedom's Sons some years ago, which is available with a soundtrack that was added in by a later supporter.
Anyway, you can, if you want, snip this part out of the podcast and put this on a CD or something.
you can play in your car, whatever.
*music*
Slava Comrades, this is your Lordship.
The date is October 22nd and in the very realistic but for now fictional world of Harold Covington's Northwest Independence novels, today marks the day when white men finally fought back and fired on their enemies and killed them.
The day when the federal government, via It Takes a Village, came to a man's home by the name of Gustav Singer to take his children away because his wife was reading them inappropriate Norse legends.
Because of this, on October 22nd, in Cora de Lane, Idaho, in response to the eventual murder of the Singer family in the end, the Northwest Volunteer Army was formed.
Today I want to read an excerpt from Freedom's Sons, the fifth and last book written about the Northwest War for Independence.
Although, if you were to read these books in chronological order, it technically would be the fourth book in the series.
The epilogues of all Covington's Northwest novels are very powerful and emotional.
For this one, keep in mind the feeling is amplified if you have already read the first three Northwest novels.
Throughout Freedom's Sons, he refers to the first three books multiple times each.
This would give the reader and listener the full effect of the epilogue.
If you can hear the voices of our ancestors' comrades in your blood, you will understand that Covington's gift One last thing before I start, I want to personally thank the old man himself for his selfless, priceless inspiration and guidance to do what is right.
When you truly grasp the concept that we are here right now to fight and to die and to continue the flow, just like Bob Matthews said, See you on the front lines and in the first wave, comrades.
Remember, remember the 1st of November.
50 years and 10 days after Longview.
And the band plays Waltzing Matilda.
And the old men still answer the call.
But year after year, their numbers grow fewer.
Someday, no one will march there at all.
Australian song commemorating the Battle of Gallipoli, 1915.
At 7.30 sharp on the morning of November 1st, the whistles blew again, as they had done at the same time on the same day 50 years before.
The NDF's first wave that rose to cross the Interstate 5 bridge in that dawn half a century ago had numbered over 22,000 men, with as many more behind them in the second wave.
On this morning, fortunately without rain, not quite 3,000 people began to move across the bridge from the Washington side into Portland, Oregon.
The bridge was no longer used for traffic.
In order to make it passable for levitational vehicles, the engineers would have had to tear down the iron superstructure over the asphalt and essentially rebuild the archaic structure from the ground up and so it was decided to build a new bridge down where the old 205 crossed the Columbia and preserve this one as a historic monument.
On both sides of the old I-5, large crowds stood in the chill morning air, some sitting on bleachers, which had been set up for spectators.
As the line consistently mostly of elderly men began to move, applause and cheers rang out.
Television cameras from news outlets all over the world focused on the marchers from various vantage points, including cherry pickers and some mounted on the bridge's superstructure.
The old men were mostly dressed warmly in civilian clothes, but a few retired old soldiers and sailors and airmen wore uniforms from a lifetime of military service to the Republic.
Their chests were decked with medals from the War of Independence, the Seven Weeks War, and numerous Aslan border campaign ribbons.
Iron crosses were as common as summer dandelions.
They moved slowly, almost at a shuffling pace, unlike the steady and relentless march across the same bridge under fire 50 years ago.
Some even carried the same weapon slung on their shoulder that they had borne on the morning of combat.
Not all the marches were elderly veterans of the NVA and NDF.
Some were wives accompanying husbands, as well as children and grandchildren.
Walking slowly besides their relatives should they need support, in some cases pushing them in wheelchairs.
In the lead was a small handful of a dozen or so German men, the last survivors of Conrad Baumgarten's stormtroopers who had broken the American barricade on that morning.
Baumgarten himself had died a year previously, and they were led by retired Sergeant Major Gunther Thiesen, who had served 25 years with the Colors and recently retired from running a government guesthouse in Montana.
Jason Stockdale was among the marchers.
The retired chancellor of the University of Montana was now 78, but straight as a ramrod, and the cane he flourished as he strolled along the right-hand traffic lane of the historic bridge was merely for show.
He was jaunty today in a fawn fedora, ascot, Jenny Stockdale hadn't gotten older, but better.
She was living proof that a woman of 69 could be beautiful.
Carter Winfield's order that NDF women not take part in the opening attack on the battle morning had always rankled a bit with Jenny, and she'd let her husband know in no uncertain terms that this time she was coming across the bridge at his side.
Jason chatted for a while with another elderly couple walking at their left.
He introduced himself and Jenny.
Shane Ryan returned the other man, also wearing the old party fedora and the NVA rondo.
This is my wife, Chyna.
We're from up in Dundee.
I know you.
You're Carter Winfield's daughter, exclaimed Jenny.
Didn't I meet you and your husband once during the war when Red Morehouse came out to Montana?
You two were his escort and drive him.
Only it seemed to me you were a little taller.
That was probably my sister Rooney, said China.
She and Shane did a lot of work for Red.
I was with the South Sound Brigade right up until just before Longview.
Then my dad more or less abducted me for his staff.
I kind of put a word in for you myself, commented Shane.
I know, dear, replied Mrs. Ryan with a smile.
Stockdale spotted another couple moving up beside him.
A little old man with a bit of a stoop and a tall, thin, white-haired woman with a beaky nose and a bit of a scowl, wrapped in a shepherd's coat and a warm toboggan on her head, who was being pushed by him in a wheelchair.
Both wore the old NBA pipe rounder.
Hey, another boy-girl team, Stockdale said.
You know, comrade, seems to me I actually remember you from back on the day itself.
Name escapes me, though.
Getting senile.
I'm Cody Brock, said the little old man.
Foxtrot Company, 1st Battalion, 4th Infantry.
I remember you too, I think.
You were the G Company's CO.
Name of Stockton, right?
Jason Stockdale, replied Jason.
This is my wife Jenny.
Jenny, this is Comrade Brock, or Lieutenant Brock, as he was back then.
We walked together for a while, the first time we took this little stroll when there weren't so much by way of sharing crowds.
Nice to meet you, Conrad.
This is my wife Emily.
Yeah, it's coming back to me.
You said you just got married to some third section of James Bond chick, said Jason.
This the same lady?
That would be me, alright, said Emily.
Cody spoke over to Jenny.
I was an 18-year-old lieutenant at the time and some idiot gave me a company to command.
That idiot was General Frank Barrow, snapped the woman in the wheelchair in front of him.
He seemed to think a lot of you, God knows why.
I wasn't actually on the bridge crossing that morning.
Because of General Wingfield's no-girls-allowed order, explained Jenny modestly.
I was back at the headquarters monitoring computers.
Screw the stupid order, said the thin woman in the wheelchair.
I was here anyway.
I was here before you guys.
Oh, where?
asked Jason skeptically.
Right up over your head, she said, pointing upward at the iron arches.
I was sitting up there spotting for the artillery and listening to indecent proposals from some Okie Lufwa pilot.
Your nightshade gasped Jenny in astonishment.
We actually spoke on the radio when you got up on top there and started calling the shots.
I remember you back-talked General Winfield.
Why am I not surprised at this?
said Cody.
It is an honor to meet a national heroine, comrade, said Jason with a serious bow.
I've heard about your exploits during both wars.
No, you watched that stupid movie where Kelly Shipman played me as the blonde bimble, and you've probably seen that.
Telephoto lens shot of Cody and me making out behind the vending machines at the Longview Conference, said Emily in irritation.
Ignore her, said Cody.
She's just crabby because she broke her hip in the bathtub a week ago and me having to push her across.
She wanted to climb up on the girders again.
Up ahead, the SS band struck up.
The Panzer line.
Serenading the small group of Germans who had just crossed the line on the Oregon side of the bridge, where the American barricades had been set up, and where they had swarmed over the Bremer walls and left bodies of dead comrades lying on the asphalt for a hundred yards until the last of the Portland gangbangers were dead or had turntailed and run.
The marchers walked slowly along after them, mostly in silence now.
As the memories swelled of the men who had begun the long march with them and were gone now.
Not just the march crossed the bridge, but the march that begun five years before that, when America's carrying crows had come for white children in Corda Lane and been shot to pieces by ordinary people who suddenly, through some miracle, remembered that they came from the greatest warrior race in all of history.
Ordinary people who at long last at the 11th hour and the 59th minute and at the last second had finally had enough.
A few minutes later, Jason and Jenny Stockdale, Shane and China Ryan, and Cody and Emily Brock crossed the old barricade line together.
With the roar of the cheering crowd in the bleachers and along the riverbank below, roaring like Niagara Falls in their ears.
Well, we made it, said Jason.
Yeah, we made it, said Shane.
We did, said Cody.
They all understood what they meant.
You are a light of the world.
A city that is set on a hill cannot be hidden.
Matthew 5.14 The state president of the Northwest American Republic sat in his oak-paneled private office in his official residence in Olympia.
He was a fit but elderly man with a white mustache wearing a neat charcoal gray suit that was patterned after one President Calvin Coolidge had worn at his inauguration with the pin decorations over his left pocket and his iron cross and knight's cross around his neck.
He was studying a report in a folder on his desk before him.
He looked up and saw a small golden head looking at him with solemn green eyes over the edge of the desk in front of him.
It was one of his great-grandchildren.
Hello, he said.
Hello, said the little girl.
Which one are you?
There are so many of you that I forgot.
I'm Annie.
I'm going to be four.
Oh, yes.
Your father's my grandson, Michael.
Daddy's on the moon, said the little girl.
Yes.
That's why you and your mother are staying here at Longview House for a while.
What you doing?
asked Annie.
I'm reading a report on steel production in our country, he told her.
Why?
Because I'm the president and I have to do presidential things, which includes reading a lot of long, boring documents.
What's them?
she asked, pointing at his decorations.
Those are medals.
I got them in the war.
Several wars, actually.
I am wearing them all today because in a little while I am flying down to Portland to make a speech.
Where did you get them?
she asked.
The state and the army gave them to me because they thought I was very brave, although in fact I just acted like a damn fool where others could see me.
Why were you brave?
asked the little girl.
Because someone had to be.
Why?
she asked.
So that you could be here today, asking me questions.
How did you get in here anyway, he asked.
There's supposed to be an SS man on duty outside the reception room.
You didn't take him out, did you?
I snucked in.
So I see.
Why are you making a speech, asked Annie.
Because that's one of the presidential things I have to do all the time, so they will let me live in this nice big house, the old man told her.
Sometimes when I make speeches, people want to hear me clatter around with all this junk on my chest.
Normally I don't wear these, except for this one.
He pointed his thumb at the pipe blue, white, and green old NVA roundel on his lapel.
He wore it even though he was also wearing the actual decoration itself, which was technically incorrect, but he didn't care.
Why?
asked Annie.
Because that is the one I am most truly proud of, said the President.
That is the badge of the Northwest Volunteer Army.
There are not many people left who wear it, and I am the last man who will ever sit in this office to do so, which is the natural way of things.
My generation has had our day, and now it's the turn of others, including you.
She pointed to a picture.
Who's that man?
His name is Edward Langenheimer.
He died very young and he is the reason I am sitting here today wearing medals that should have gone to him and would have if that was the way it has played out.
I am here because of what he did and you are here because of what I and many others did.
I don't understand, said the girl.
You will when you get bigger, promised the old man.
Annie.
Came a voice from the door.
A pretty young woman and an SS officer in dress black stood in the doorway.
The girl looked flustered and the SS man looked embarrassed.
Stop bothering the president.
I'm sorry.
I don't know how she got away from me.
That's quite alright, Mary.
Sorry, sir.
She slipped by me, said the guard.
She's just so little I must not have noticed her.
You need to be a bit more on the ball, Lieutenant.
The ONR might be employing hit leprechauns.
President McTeer, your limo's on the air pad.
You'll have the usual escort down to Portland, the officer told him.
The president glanced at his watch.
I'm not due on the rostrum for another hour, plenty of time.
Can I go?
asked Annie.
Mmm.
I don't think so, said McTeer.
You'll only be grown-ups.
There are going to be a lot of speeches besides mine which will bore you to tears which will probably in fact bore me to tears and I will be staying up way too late to get you home in time for your bedtime.
I'll tell you what you can do for me though.
I will make you Minister of Heavy Industry and you can sit here and read this report for me and tell me what to do about our energy to output ratios which are not what they should be.
The little girl frowned.
Or you can go down in the kitchen and ask Eleanor to give you some ice cream.
Ice cream, said the little girl immediately.
Good choice.
Now go with mommy.
Instead, she ran out of the door like a streak of lightning.
She's headed for the kitchen, said his granddaughter-in-law.
I need to get moving, but before I go, any word from Mike, asked the president, picking up his briefcase and his overcoat.
Annie and I talked to him at Tycho Station by a satellite link last night.
He looks well and he did some moon gravity gymnastics in front of the camera for Annie, held himself up on one finger, talked to her while he was standing on his head, that kind of thing.
Hmm, said McTeer, shaking his head.
You know, when I first joined the party, nobody had walked on the moon for almost 50 years.
The Americans made it there a few times, and then they just gave up.
They decided they'd rather pay niggers and Mexicans to have babies.
Now a century later, we're back again.
Guess it was all worth it after all.
The girl reached out and touched the old NBA badge on his lapel.
Mr. President, yes, it was worth it.
All of it.
There's not much I can say except thank you, sir.
From me, from Annie, from all of us, thank you.
You're welcome, said the old man.
At Easter time,
1960, when flowers bloomed and leaves were green, there dawned a day when when freedom's cry called out brave men to fight and die.
They were the men with the vision, the men with the cause, the men who defied their oppressors'laws, the men who traded their chains for blunts, born into slavery they were freedom's sons.
In Dublin town they fought and died with Pierce, Mike Dermott and Mike Bright.
Ourselves alone, their battle cry, and freedom sang to the Easter sky.
They were the men with the vision, the men with the cause, The men who traded their chains for guns.
Born into slavery they were freedom sons.
A poet's dream had sparked a flame, a raging fire it soon became.
And from that fire of destiny, there rose a nation proud and free.
They were the men with a vision, the men with a cause, the men who defied their oppressors'laws.
The men who traded their chains for guns, born into slavery they were free.
They were freedom's sons.
Born into slavery, they were freedom sons.
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.
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