Saturday, July 31, 2010

Den of Thieves

For most of our history, our leaders have been honest, sincere men that genuinely cared about this country and its people. To have one of them be a treasonous, communist enemy of the nation was unthinkable, and there were plenty of safeguards in place to prevent that sort from ever getting into power.

But through the long years, Jews and the other enemies of America have used their considerable wealth and power to slowly work their way into every facet of our government, all the way to the top.

Sure, we've had plenty of fools and idiots in the presidency, and in the House and Senate, but at least they were honest fools. The trash occupying those positions today are the worst sort of human filth imaginable. They are nothing less than career criminals, that have even less morals and ethics than the worst street gangsta serving time in one of our supermax prisons.

The only difference is that they're protected by their wealth and power, both of which come from a huge cadre of fellow monsters. I'm always amazed at the stark idiocy of the public when it comes to our leaders. They'll fight like the devil to convict and jail some murderer, but when it comes to someone who has sent tens of thousands of our fine young men to their deaths, just to defend their own personal wealth on foreign shores, they say and do nothing, but instead actually reelect the beasts. The old saying about reaping what you sow comes to mind.

But the evil infesting our leaders isn't the end of it by any means. Every single department and division of our government is also corrupt to the bone.

When the Secret Service came to my door a few months ago, in an attempt to intimidate me into silence, their agents caused a deep anger to well up inside me. I had to fight hard not to let my disgust with those clowns spill over into my conversation with them. But I have to tell you, it was extremely difficult, especially when I was forced to tolerate their arrogance and condescending behavior.

One agent in particular, a regular moose of a man who towered at least 6-foot seven, was a perfect example of the fruits of a lifetime of liberal brainwashing. I can guarantee you that this clown would shoot any of you without thinking twice about it if he was so ordered, and he wouldn't lose a minute's sleep over it either.

He had the arrogant self confidence and self-righteousness that only government agents possess. He stood there in my living room, refusing to sit and glowering at me with a look of open hostility on his face.

It was the face of a man that has busted and wrecked the lives of countless people and families, all for the sake of some abstract that he doesn't even understand. All he knows is that those are his orders, and that's enough for him. He never questions his orders, or the laws that demand it, or the bastards ordering the enforcement of those laws. This is why we call them goons in the first place. And brothers and sisters, this was indeed a goon.

I closely examined these agents as they sat beside me, attempting to squeeze information out of me, and I gathered far more information about them than they ever did about me. It took almost the entire length of the visit before this clown finally realized they were the ones being interrogated, and it infuriated him. He gathered up his female partner, and the Homeland Security officer that accompanied them to my door, and left in a huff. I just smiled at them sublimely and offered my hand as they left. The lady agent took it, but the moose just turned and stomped off.

I left them with a parting gift however, that I'm sure still burns his ass every time he thinks about it. As the door closed, and they were only a few feet from the porch, I broke into a laugh. I really couldn't help it. It wasn't deliberate, it's just the ridiculousness of the whole situation suddenly struck me. I'm sure he heard me. They should never come to a battle of wits

This man was a thief, who is working for thieves, who are working for other thieves, who are they themselves controlled by the biggest thieves on earth, the Jews. It seems like no matter where you look or what you discover in the world of corruption andpolitical evil, you find a Jew behind it.

Take the new candidate for the Supreme Court, that rabid progressive communist Kagan. She's..get this..another damned JEW. That's right. A Progressive Jew on the Supreme Court? That's like hiring a starved wetback to guard a plate full of fresh tacos. Pure, unadulterated insanity.

The enemy wants her there for the reasons you suspect; to help destroy our constitution. This fat Jewess bitch wants to allow faggots to serve in our military. This is a queer's wet in close quarters with thousands of men.

Homosexuality isn't an "alternative lifestyle", it's a sickness, an obsession and in the minds of many, and in the old days they looked upon it as a form of demon possession. They won't be serving more than a few days before all sorts of fights will start breaking out among servicemen because some faggot tried to crawl into their bunk at night. Fags have this need to have sex with as many men as possible, as often as possible. They are insatiable. They are also extremely violent and murderous, and can fly into a killing rage over nothing. In fact the most hated call of all cops is a homosexual domestic dispute. They almost always involve extreme violence. And this isn't counting all the diseases these lowlifes bring with them.
Kagan couldn't give a rat's ass about faggot's rights and everybody in her cadre knows it and feels the same way. But it is a great way to help destroy the morale of our military, and the moral fiber of our nation. One more step toward America's grave.

She wants to rob us of yet another virtue that made our nation great. It wasn't our size, or our location, or our leaders that made America the greatest, most powerful nation in history, it was the white race that built her. Their moral integrity and honesty were the strength of this nation. Patriotism, honor, morality, integrity, honesty, hard work, and a respect for the laws of this country made it what it was. These traits were the backbone of America..and our enemies knew it and despised us for our superiority. And ever since then, our enemy the Jew has spend countless sleepless nights scheming and plotting ways to destroy it..and us.

We all have a sacred duty to awaken as many other whites to the names and faces of the enemy. For centuries these maggots have done their evil behind the curtain while their cronies did all the dirty work for them. We must drag these slugs screaming and kicking out into the bright light of day, showing the world who is really behind all our woes.

Of late the Jews and their liberal boot-licks have become openly vicious, attacking us on every front for the first time in history. This is out of fear. For the first time in America's history whites are rising up, naming names and pointing fingers and demanding retribution. And this is terrifying the Jews, who are now pointing their fingers at others..anyone but an attempt to once again escape the justice they so sorely deserve.

You'd think that after so many of them we executed for their evil during WWII, they'd have learned their lesson and backed off and started minding their own business. But Jews are incapable of learning. Their evil, greed, and never ending jealousy of our race continues to urge them on to ever greater heights of depravity and evil against us. This leaves us with only one inevitable option, which is their destruction..before they destroy us.

We are now controlled by a den of thieves that have our destruction as their ultimate goal. It's time white America stopped worrying about who they offend and start offending the hell out of them and hope they don't like it. We are at war folks, whether you want to face it or not. And if we're to have any hope of survival, we must turn our plowshares back into swords.

-The Lone Haranguer

Friday, July 30, 2010

Take The Ceausescu Challenge!

[I considered running this with all kinds of caveats and disclaimers, but what the hell? The author probably intended this as comedy, but there's many a true word in jest. It's not likely to incite anyone to violence, since American White males don't fight any more, they write their Congressman or bitch to a radio talk show host or hire a lawyer to file a malicious lawsuit.

I figure that once--just once--I am going to publish what everybody in this country with any remaining sense of decency truly feels in their heart, no matter what their race or political persuasion. I'll probably get all kinds of flak---so what else is new? Enjoy! - HAC]

Take the Ceausescu Challenge!
by Mustapha Gormsby

The vermin on Capitol Hill are stealing over half of your income, eroding away your rights and taking our country on a fast track to the Third World. These miserable thrice-damned whoresons will never stop unless we stop them! It's time to:


How can we kill them all now? Any way you like. You could hang them, behead them, roast them over an open fire, strangle them with your bare hands (very satisfying), impale them, sell them to a vivisectionist (profitable), run them over with a large vehicle once or with a small vehicle several times, stab them, shoot them, burn them at the stake, string them up with piano wire, chop them up with an axe (don't use your good chef's knife or you could notch the blade), bury them up to their necks near an anthill and pour honey on them, use them for chum when you go shark fishing, or any other method that you can imagine.

The more horrible it is, the better you will feel about it.

Don't we need politicians and bureaucrats for anything?

Nope. They don't even make good firewood, so there's really no good use for them at all. Remember, these people have stolen a substantial part of your income for the last 80 years. They have spent even more than they have stolen, leaving the country with a 5 trillion dollar debt! They have stolen property from innocent people and used the law as an instrument of plunder and tyranny.

Do we need them? No, but they need us. Without us to bleed, they wouldn't be able to live because they are incapable of producing anything for themselves. The miserable bastards don't deserve to live.

Scum! Vicious, conniving, baby-eating vermin! They must die, die, DIE!


What Would We Do Without Them?

Live like free men instead of slaves, that's what. When this country was founded people knew about things like natural rights. Now thesefestering, swilling pigs at the public trough have decided that the people of this country have too much freedom and that it is up to them to curtail it!

BASTARDS!!!!! Who do they think they are? Eighty years ago the budget was small enough to be paid for on what the government collects today even if you got rid of all personal income taxes! But these horrific sons-of-bitches just keep taking and taking as if there was no limit to what we will tolerate.

Is There Any Precedent for Killing Them All Now?

Yes! All over the world and throughout history, people who have suffered at the hands of corrupt politicians have eventually said enough is enough. The French Revolution was a fine example of what to do with politicians out of control. The people of Romania, having suffered under the Communist dictatorship of Nicolae Ceausescu for too many years, finally dragged him out into the street and shot him and his Jew bitch-dogslut of a wife through the head, an event which was videotaped and shown on national television to the thunderous cheers of the multitudes and which causes real Americans to heave a sigh of envy.


Are you tired of being told how to live? Of being told what you can and cannot eat, smoke, drink or do with your property? Are you tired of the government taking away your money and spending it on more government? Are you sick and tired of the fact that every time you turn around another thing you enjoy has been outlawed? There's only one solution:


Hurry, before the United States starts looking like Mexico, Brazil or the old Soviet Union. March on your state capitol with pitchforks and torches. Lock the bastards in and burn the place down. Then march on WashingtonD.C. and do the same.

That is where the real evil is. You cannot vote these people out of office, because the new ones you vote in will begin to look like the old ones within just weeks. They are a slime and they spread like malaria. They are a disease! Voting won't do any good. It's time to KILL!

Just The Elected Officials?

No! The number of elected Federal officials is limited to congress, the president and the vice president. That's only 537 people. The Federal bureaucracy numbers in the millions; between the military, the IRS, BATF,CIA, FBI, EPA, DEA, FDA and all of the other bureaus and departments,you've got millions of people who have power over your life and you never elected them! My god, the Post Office!!

Don't let them escape: KILL THEM ALL NOW!

Filthy, horrible, miserable, statist, liberal, feminist, pervert, politically correct, lying, thieving, baby-killing vermin scum!!!!!

If you don't kill them all now there's no telling what they might do to you next. They could use your children to feed starving peasants in India. They could sell your wife or husband to the British to pay off part of their debt. They might turn your children into prostitutes for the government to help continue to fund PBS! Do you want your children to become Barney's whores?!


For most of the 20th century, these stinking, loathsome, festering, boil-ridden, poor excuses for life forms have been bleeding the American people dry.

And not just at home! The government of the United States has screwed over plenty of people around the world. Not only that, but these shifty-eyed, mindless, drooling, horrible, vicious, evil, demonic, flea-bearing, pestilent, snivelling, whining, toadying, child-molesting power mongers are the world's number one cause of apoplexy!!!!!!! They'll steal your children and sacrifice them in bizarre Satanic rituals!

They must be stopped. Voting won't stop them, petitioning won't stop them, ballot initiatives won't stop them.

Bullets will stop them! Baseball bats will stop them! Pitchforks will stop them! Skinning them alive will stop them!

The only thing that will stop them dead is Death!

Isn't Killing Them All Now Kind of Drastic?

No! They signed up for the job. They stole from you, they lied to you, they stole from you some more, they destroyed the town you live in, they caused the increase in crime across the country, Mister Rogers has been brainwashing your children to make blind obedient followers of them! They are evil and they must be killed!

Don't let another day of their depredations go by unchallenged! Kill them all now!

Yours etc. GRE (Mrs.)
Somewhere USA
Have a nice day.

[God, that felt good! - HAC]

Thursday, July 29, 2010

Radio Free Northwest - July 29th, 2010

Racial Comrades:

Radio Free Northwest #27, dated July 29th 2010, is now available for download at

In this episode I discuss the White boys who remain adolescents almost into middle age, some of the provisions of the Northwest Constitution, and the guiding purpose behind the Northwest independence novels.

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

Who'da Thunk It?

I notice Rush Limbaugh is now finally breaking his 23-year silence on the issue of illegal immigration. Looks like the Republicans have finally woken up to the fact that if you keep millions of illegal aliens around for years, eventually the Democrats will figure out some way to amnesty them and give them votes.

My guess is, it's too late. The Jews running Obama will wait until after the November 2nd elections, and then call the lame-duck Democrat-majority Congress back into session to amnesty the beaners in some manner that will provide a "path to citizenship"
which will allow them to get the vote by November 2012.

I will now make an official prophesy: if that amnesty goes through, no Republican will ever see the inside of the Oval Office again.

Tuesday, July 27, 2010

What Will Your Year Be?

In the years to come, after a fighting revolutionary party of Northwest independence is finally organized and has sufficient resources to do so, those who have Come Home will be issued with a medal.

It may be a cross, it may be round, who knows? On the one side it will have something engraving of Mount Rainier, a Douglas fir, a bear, again, who knows? The important part will be on the reverse.

On the reverse will be your name and a date, a year. It will be the year in which you Came Home for good.

Those medals will be handed down from generation to generation of White men and women who will grow up in freedom and safety in this land. Those medals will be the most prized of all family heirlooms, securely framed and hanging over mantelpieces, kept in safety deposit boxes, bequeathed by name in last wills and testaments, in some cases donated to museums. And the most important thing on them will be that date.

Mine will say 2002. If I wanted to cheat I could claim 1994, but that wouldn't be right, because I left Home again. No cheating will be allowed. No half-measures, no half-stepping, no vacillation will be honored. The year on your medal will be the year that you made your permanent and irrevocable commitment to our people's racial destiny, in a new land of our own making.

There are already those living here in the Homeland, some of whom followed Pastor Butler here, who will be able to boast dates from the 1970s, even earlier. (The exact beginning of the Homeland idea, which by the by originated with the late Pastor Robert Miles, will be a matter of historical debate.) The earlier the date on each medal, the prouder and more honored that family will feel.

When your children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren are shown the Homecoming medals of their ancestors...what will their date be?

Monday, July 26, 2010

The Problem of Petty Power

[I re-post this one occasionally.]

Quick tip for local revolutionary activists:

One of the main symptoms of this society's disease is the proliferation of weak, arrogant, incompetent and silly people in positions of petty power over people's lives--bureaucrats, supervisors, teachers, thugs from the badly misnamed Child Protective Services agencies, attorneys, judges, "administrators" of various kinds, the 101 little commissars of Political Correctness that White males and, increasingly, White females as well have to put up with in their day-to-day existence.

Most White people probably don't bear any kind of personal grudge against, say, President Bush or Dick Cheney or Jesse Jackson, just a generalized and impersonal resentment. These are celebrity figures, far above their personal orbits, and in most minds there's a disconnect. Jug-Ears isn't really a real person, he's just someone you see on TV, if you get my meaning.

But the asshole "supervisor" at work, the stupid nigger clerk at the grocery store, Apu in the turban behind the counter at the DMV, the Mexicans who visibly take White people's jobs, the ex's vicious attorney and the judge who never listens--this puts a human face on the evil.

Use this in your grass-roots work. Let White people know that our victory means all those monkeys off their backs--and punished for what they've done. Always try to slip that in. Personal revenge is going to be a major motive in our initial recruiting. It's humanly understandable and it's a perfectly acceptable motive at first. Use personal wrongs as a hook to get people in and get them in a frame of mind so they'll listen to the ideological stuff, and educate them from there so they know why all this has happened.

Sunday, July 25, 2010

HAC Speaks To Conservatives

My short piece “HAC Speaks To Conservatives” has been placed on YouTube by one of our Irish comrades at

Oh, it also occurs to me that some of you new people may not have seen Colonel House’s “Brigade” video yet.

Saturday, July 24, 2010

Montana Primary Settlement Area Web Site

The comrades in Kalispell, Montana have produced the first local Northwest Homecoming site, located at

It's 100% Shockwave Flash, so you need the browser add-on to view it, and with Mozilla Firefox you will need the Internet Explorer plug-in and the Shockwave plug-in.

Friday, July 23, 2010

Radio Free Northwest - July 22nd, 2010

Racial Comrades:

Radio Free Northwest #26, dated July 22, 2010 is now available from the Party website at

In this episode there’s our weekly Edgar Steele update, then I reminisce about the time I tangled with Mr. Rogers. I give some advice on self-publishing, and I go over the issue of White enclaves again.

Thursday, July 22, 2010

HAC En Espanol

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

Four For The Future

by Michael O'Meara

Those who want to live, let them fight, and those do not want to fight in this world of eternal struggle do not deserve to live.

H.A. Covington's Northwest Quartet of novels - The Hill of the Ravens (2003), A Distant Thunder (2004), A Mighty Fortress (2005) and The Brigade (2008) - now represents the most worked out and authoritative treatment of White Separatism in the English language. Both as popular fiction and political tract, it is a remarkable work. But most remarkable of all is the utter silence that surrounds it. If not for a VNN respondent (the wise and judicious New America), I might never have learned of its existence.

I'm not quite certain why this is. Covington's Quartet is infinitely more readable and convincing than William Pierce's Turner Diaries (now one of our classics), but has probably sold only a fraction as many copies. Part of the problem with its reception might lie in the fact that Covington, a veteran of the NS movement, has made not a few enemies within the racially conscious community, evident in his numerous critical references to Pierce, as well as to Koehl, Klassen, Metzger, Duke, Webster, Tyndall, and others.

As a nationalist whose experiences are mainly European I have no actual knowledge of Covington's personal history or of the sectarian squabbles that have alienated him from other racial nationalists. For this reason, there may be a subtext to his Quartet that eludes me. I only know the Quartet as a work of political fiction. But on this basis, I can categorically say that Covington is a great talent and that his work speaks, as no other does, to the burning question of our age.

Political fiction has one overriding purpose: To reach those who can't be reach through rationalist discourse. In this Covington's Quartet is superb. It is full of memorable characters - classic American types (strong, daring, two-fisted white males) who remind us of our ancestors and not the ridiculous creatures we see on nightly television. It abounds with actions and adventures that evoke our earliest racial memories and reveal what we can be once freed of the Jews' lunar spirit. It conveys the ideals of our movement in a language and style accessible to those who would otherwise ignore them. It tells an exciting story that is both entertaining and didactic. But above all it imagines a course of action - perhaps the one possible course of action - that will insure our existence as a people. Whatever one might say of Covington the activist, he's made a work of art out of his separatist vision and it deserves a hearing.

It is not, though, his art that I want to address in this essay, but rather certain of his ideas, three of which I think are fundamental to the politics of white racial survival in this period. To put these ideas in their proper context, something needs first to be said of the story Covington tells.

As a separatist, he believes the present situation is such that any hope of reversing America's "de-Europeanization" or the Judeo-liberal regime in Washington responsible for it is no longer feasible. The sole option left to whites seeking to ensure their existence in North America is to break off a portion of the lands their ancestors possessed and establish a white homeland. To this end he proposes the migration of racially aware whites to the Pacific Northwest - the whitest section of the United States - to create there the critical mass that will be needed when the time comes to wage an anti-colonialwar against the Zionist regime in Washington.

Premised on this migration, his three novels revolve around events that occur sometime in the second or third decade of the 21st century, when all the tendencies presently in place have been taken to their horrific and ethnocidal extension. For reasons almost providential, whites in Coeur d'Alene (Idaho) finally rebel, when they spontaneously resist federal agents attempting to carry off the children of a politically incorrect, but well regarded family. Locally based members of the Party created by the migration then intervene. They help arm, organize, and lead several hundred Coeur d'Alene whites against the troops sent in to crush them. Their rebellion is quickly extinguished, but, like Ireland's Easter Rebellion, ignites a war for national independence.

From three different perspectives Covington tells the story of the Northwest Volunteer Army (NVA), as it leads an IRA-style terror campaign against the Anglo-Zionist forces in control of the United States. The NVA's struggle is greatly facilitated by the fact that in this future period American society and the US government have become even more incompetent than they are today. The US military is bogged down in endless Mideastern wars fought on Israel's behalf; its social system is increasingly dysfunctional, balkanized into rival racial-ethnic interest groups; an ever-growing part of the white population, unable to compete with coolie labor, is condemned to unemployment or conscription; and the material prosperity that has long served as a race-obliterating opiate has given way to the growing impoverishment and alienation of the white masses.

For five bitter years, the NVA wages the "war of the flea," blowing up key infrastructures, sabotaging databases, attacking the regime's tax-collecting and judiciary agents, intimidating employers of non-white labor - even sending Volunteers to disrupt the vulnerable lifelines that allow New York and Washington to function as the ZOG's central nervous system.

Unable to sustain the damages and disruptions of these assaults, Anglo Zionist representatives of the federal government are eventually forced to negotiate a peace settlement with the insurgents, negotiations which end up sanctioning the secession of Washington, Oregon, and Idaho (along with parts of Northern California, Wyoming, and Montana) from the United States of America and the establishment of a white homeland under the political auspices of a Northwest American Republic.

1. The Jewnited States

Unlike racial conservatives (Vdare and AR types) and not a few white nationalists, Covington sees the United States - not just the current administration, but the System itself - as the enemy. He calls it "the fount and wellspring of all that [is] evil" in our time. For at least two generations this state has carried out a systemic assault on European America, forcing it to congregate with inferior and hostile races; promoting integration, miscegenation, and the destruction of the white family; adopting policies that siphon off its wealth, pollute its culture, and corrupt its children; but above all, legitimating its self-destruction through the imposition of dysgenic behaviors and values.

With "only the most remote and tenuous historical connection with the country and system of government which was originally established and envisioned by the Founding Fathers," the United States today has become a Jew-led corporate plutocracy that denies whites their birthright.

But it's not just its state, with its race-destroying policies, that wars on them. The entire American social system - the reigning civilizational forms - have become no less noxious to their existence. Covington describes early 21st-century America (and this is a projection of current trends) as "a world of unspeakably vile sexual perversions . . . a kleptocracy, quite literally ruled by criminals, some of whom were so bad and so blatant that they were even indicted under the Americans' own laws . . . a world based on no other foundation than sheer greed, wallowing in the most gross and despicable material gluttony . . . a wasteland of spiritual emptiness, moral corruption and cultural pollution . . . an entire society based on a bizarre and grotesque moral inversion: the utterly ridiculous and thoroughly evil idea that all humanoid creatures are in some manner equal."

This world born of the Jews' materialist metaphysics - this world in which man is viewed primarily as an economic animal rather than as a spiritual being with a soul - turns everyone into either a consumer or a commodity and everything that has traditionally made life worth living - family, community, religion - into an economic calculation.

Whether rich and poor, the citizens of this Jewified enterprise live "all doped up, dumbed down, zoned out . . . confused, hostile, paranoid . . . looking out for nobody but Number One." America's traditional European life forms become not only unsustainable under such a system, they are demonized and rendered criminal.

No self-respecting white man, Covington assumes, would want to preserve, reform, or redeem such an abomination. As one of his Volunteers says: "I didn't want to be an American any more. I wanted to be a man instead, a white man."

2. A War Of White Liberation

Despite the passivity and conservatism that marks much of the racially conscious community, it is not difficult to understand why our nobler spirits would want to wash their hands of the American experiment.

With great justice, Covington argues that a century of peaceful, legal methods to reverse the racial policies of the United States have been totally ineffective. "Petitions have been ignored . . . The electoral and political process has been undermined . . . The judiciary has become an instrument of racial and social tyranny." All the while, the reigning powers continue their de-Europeanization, using all their vast powers to re-engineer the American population and eviscerate its racial heritage.

Covington's work rests on the rather unchallengeable contention that nothing so far has had the slightest effect in stemming the enveloping tide of mud. Efforts to create an alternative media, raise white consciousness, mobilize voters around racial issues, or post another illuminating exposé on the internet have had virtually no effect in halting our advance toward the abyss.

Those among us who continue to emphasize the need to educate or wake people up, he argues, usually end up doing "nothing more than hide behind an email address while playing with the computer in one's basement rec room, with a bowl of nachos and a cold brewski beside the mouse." Relatedly, most actual efforts by racialists and right-wingers to act in the real world continue to aim at influencing the Judeo-corporate system, rather than getting free from it.

Given that all the forces of indoctrination, socialization, and influence are in enemy hands and that all the principal institutions and social-economic structures are arrayed against us, the thought of using the system's established forms to bring down the ZOG, repatriate the 100 million muds occupying our lands, or reverse the present ethnocidal course of American developments is nothing short of fantastic. Given also that every effort to reverse American racial policy has failed and that this policy threatens the survival of the European race in North America, the sole remaining recourse, Covington insists, is the right to take up arms against the system threatening us.

As Covington imagines it, the struggle to establish an independent white homeland in the American Northwest will resemble an anti-colonial war, waged in ways not unlike the campaign the Provisional IRA carried out against the British government in Northern Ireland after 1969. Sustained by a migration of racially aware whites to the region (Covington mentions 50,000 migrants), the NVA that is to arise from some future effort to acquire a small piece of territory will challenge Washington's monopoly of armed force and undermine its revenue producing sources, making it impossible for the federal government to maintain its authority over the Pacific Northwest.

But how realistic is such a prospective struggle against the ZOG? To many it will seem even more fantastic than the alternatives that Covington criticizes. And to those who know something about the physical-force wing of Irish Republicanism, it will seem no less fantastic to imagine that American white nationalists (whose struggles are waged almost entirely in cyber space) could emulate the IRA gunmen, street fighters, and terrorists who fought the British Army to a standstill.

These objections, though, are not actually an argument against Covington's notion of a white liberation struggle - only an obstacle to be overcome. History, moreover, is full of improbable undertakings. Who would have thought that 10,000 lightly-armed Sunni insurgents would check the conquests of America's imperial legions?

Great historical transformations are almost always implausible until they happen. Part of this is due to the fact that it is rarely the size of one's armed divisions or the quality of one's military technology that matters, but rather certain qualities of the human spirit. As Victor Hugo put it: "Mightier than the tread of marching armies is the power of an idea whose time has come." If American whites, especially their racially conscious vanguard, should ever imbue the NW migration with the force of a Sorelian myth (that is, with the force to act), there is simply no telling what may happen. Nothing is impossible - not even the thought of white men marching to the sound of the guns.

To those who would dismiss this as wishful thinking, it might be added that not only does the survival of the white race depend upon such a mythic transformation of white consciousness, but that our age has turned such transformations into something of a Zeitgeist. With the advent of globalization and the fourth-generation war it provokes, traditional state systems have everywhere gone into crisis, as anti-national elites endeavor to impose a one-world superstate that reduces everything to the market demands of the Jew-led Yankee money men cashing in on the extermination of white race.

The idea of a white liberation struggle is not, then, entirely implausible. Nor would there be any lack of potential Volunteers. Sections of the middle class, deprived by globalization of the lifestyles which insured their traditional passivity, are already feeling embittered and by-passed.

A sharp economic downturn, the collapse of the dollar, a humiliating military retreat from Iraq and Afghanistan, an energy crisis that undermines our automotive civilization, a protracted governmental paralysis - the conditions could suddenly arise when elements among the complacent, TV-programmed white masses are forced to the conclusion that their allegiances are misplaced. In any case, conditions for whites are almost certain to continue to deteriorate.

Echoing the theorists of partisan, guerrilla, or asymmetrical warfare of the last half century, Covington contends that the bigger and more complex the ZOG becomes, the more vulnerable it is to a few brave men with weapons in their hands and the courage to use them. American society, he notes, is "so complex, everything so interactive and interlocking and dependent on everything else, that when you cut the chain at one point the whole works just grounds to a halt."

The struggle for white liberation would also benefit from the fact that the US government is already a corrupt, mismanaged institution and that American society, premised on purely economic criteria, lacks real cohesion. The whole system, in fact, rests on a foundation of sand. All the powers of corruption, incompetence, cowardice, and short-term thinking conspire against it. (Think of Katrina New Orleans).

Its declining revenues and budget constraints are even now making it difficult to fund its repressive apparatus. At the same time, the system is more and more served by inept muds and the Jews who manage the system's decision-making centers are beginning to overreach themselves, pushing their host people in ways that formerly ended in pogroms. Is it so inconceivable to think that an armed white opposition could force it out of the Northwest?

3. A Homeland

Once it is accepted that the United States constitutes the principal threat to our existence and that we will be free of its perverse, ethnocidal policies only through force of arms, then the third, most crucial facet of Covington's vision comes into focus: The imperative of creating a white homeland.

Terre et Peuple, Blut und Boden: The notion that every people needs its own land is as old as Europe itself. In the postmodern, transnational, and global order favored by our one-world elites such a notion, of course, is deemed obsolete, as if the quantitative monetary principles of the world market are a better way of organizing social life than traditional ones based on healthy families, organic communities, and ethnoracial identities.

In the last generation, this ancient notion has assumed a new urgency: For the rising tide of color has everywhere begun to sweep into the former white homelands, threatening the integrity of white life. One more generation of Third World immigration and the great race passes away forever.

A racially exclusive homeland, the antithesis of the New World Order, would in Covington's view be our ark to weather the great flood of mud. "It is absolutely essential," he argues, "that the white race acquire a Homeland of its own, some place on earth where white children can be born and raised in physical and spiritual safety, and where our numbers may be restored and the threat of racial extinction overcome."

Based on blood, not creed or economics, such a homeland would guarantee the perpetuality of our people. It would also solve most of the social, political, and cultural problems that ail us. For once free of the Jews who have pathologized white existence and who have set the colored hordes on us, we could begin dealing honestly and forthrightly with the problems besetting our civilization. Indeed, once free of the Jews and their multiracial legions, most of these problems would simply vanish.

The result would almost certainly be a renaissance of European life in North America. As one of Covington's characters observes: "When you have stability and unity in a racially homogenous society . . . you'd be amazed what a small country like ours can accomplish."

This vision of a sovereign Aryan Republic is, of course, merely a figment of Covington's imagination, but imagination, as Shakespeare reminds us, "bodies forth the things unknown."

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

Northwest Independence Web Resources

Just a timely reminder:

Our Party's main site is at

Our original web site, for those of you who prefer the classical look of last August, is now back up at

Our internet forum is located at

Our social networking site is at

The Northwest independence novels and many other excellent White Nationalist books may be downloaded for free at

Our Free Edgar Steele site is at

Monday, July 19, 2010


I've never liked niggers. Never.

Long before I'd heard anything about them from anyone, I didn't like them. Heck, the first time I ever smacked one was when I was 7 years old.

It wasn't just their looks, it was the way they behaved. I found it extremely offensive and wrong. If there was something lowlife going on, or something bad had happened, you could bet your bottom dollar there was a black behind it.

Because of Dad's profession we moved a lot, and were all over the map. But we always ended up back in California, which was and is a coon capitol of this country. Because of this, I was exposed to them far more than the average white American, and came to understand how the mind of the monkoid works, and just how alien it is to the way whites think.

To a monkoid, everything around them is a potential scam..something to either use, steal or destroy. Ownership means nothing to them. For like the Hispanic, they believe that something is yours only if you can defend it. To these lowlifes there is no such thing as intrinsic right to ownership. Just because you worked and paid for something or built it, doesn't mean you get to keep it. If a nigger wants it, he's got a right to take it from you if he can get away with it.

This is chimp logic. Exactly the way chimp society functions in the bush. This mind set is the main reason why all third world countries have failed and will always fail to prosper and advance. Without the rewards of hard work being secure, no one wants to work...especially if you can steal what you want and need without working.

This mindset is evil. There's no other term for it. Evil. And the one nigger in this entire country that epitomizes the black mindset is Barack Hussein Obama.

He is without doubt the most evil primate I've ever seen. I despise that buck with a purple passion. Just the sight of him makes my blood boil. I don't like hating anyone. Hate is like a cancer of the soul. It feeds on the hater. It's bad news. Every person should take great care not to get consumed by hatred in this dire time, because in the end, hate will destroy you. But there are some things in this country today that no sane man of morals can fail to hate, and Barack Hussein Obama is near the top of the list.

He is a shining example of just how low niggers can sink if given the power. Obama has that same hate-filled mind set that all American blacks have toward whites. He despises America, despises whites, and despises freedom.

Also like all blacks, he cannot handle power. To Obama, power is a vehicle for his personal agendas and not a tool for helping the nation. Since he took office, he has run roughshod over the wishes and rights of the American people repeatedly. And he's getting worse.

A person would have to be a complete idiot not to see what he's planning for us in the very near future. I still can't wrap my head around the fact that this ape is actually president of the United States. This is an outrage beyond my mind's ability to accept.

When he first appeared out of nowhere to run for president, I laughed at first, thinking there was no way in hell that the American people were so stupid that they'd elect a monkoid for president, especially after suffering at the hands of blacks now for so many decades. But I forgot the power of long-range propaganda. The minds of America's youth have been poisoned by liberal slogans and lies for most of their lives now, thanks to our communized schools, and this brainwashing was reflected at the polls. While whites over 30 voted against him, all whites below thirty were rabid supporters.

I almost died of shock and horror when that bubble-lip got elected, and that very day I sent out a ton of emails to every liberal I knew, telling them that they'd rue the day they elected it. And they have.

When I first sent out those emails, I got several replies telling me that I didn't know what I was talking about, and that I was just a racist. Recently however, I've received a couple of emails from these same people, apologizing to me and admitting that I was dead right about that burrhead, and how they wished they had never heard the name Obama.

People need to remember that Obama isn't his real name anyway. It's Barry Soetero. He's an 80's radical nigger who spent his early years studying Marxism and the revolutionary tactics and methods of Che Guivera and Alinsky, dreaming of a day when he could destroy white America.
I really don't comprehend how he was allowed to run for office using that phoney name to begin with. It's one of those "African names" that blacks so love to use when they supposedly convert to Islam. Of course 99 percent of all these so-called black converts have never even read the Koran, and in fact can't read to begin with. They joined just to be a pain in the ass and show other blacks that they reject the white man's God and his lifestyle.

Never mind that we support these beasts with that lifestyle, they still hate us for it. In fact one black activist was recently quoted as saying that all white babies should be strangled with their own umbilical cords. The unreasoning hatred that all niggers have for us is bone deep, and Obama is no different. And because of this, he is the most dangerous monkoid alive.

History teaches the wise among us that there has never been a black man that could handle any amount of power, and that there has never been a black that willingly stepped down when his term was over. They've all had to be shot out of the chair. The problem with Obama is that those that run things behind the scenes have been quickly consolidating his power for him, until he is now the most powerful president we ever had..and the most ruthless. And once he declares martial law..and he will..he will start on a campaign of white genocide that will terrify the whole world.

I admit that McCain was almost as bad as Obama, and that the American people were set up by those that choose our candidates. They were forced to either pick unknown, or that fat weasel McCain who is on record as pro-wetback and pro-NAFTA highway. As a person, McCain is a son of a bitch. He is just another arrogant elitist who is far more concerned about his own personal wealth and power than the welfare of this nation. A career politician.

Well, in a perfect world America would have rejected both candidates and wrote in a better man. But being the lazy, apathetic pricks they are, Americans voted for that turd Obama instead. Just as the enemies of this nation predicted they would. Obama is a tyrant in the making, and mark my words, he'll go down in history alongside Lenin, Stalin, and Mao as one of the most evil, murderous men that ever lived. Remember, every one of those men were also Marxists, and murdered countless millions when they took over, through the mass executions of all dissenters. We're next.

I get my insights from history. It will teach a person a great deal if he'll only listen. And so far my predictions about leaders, movements and events over the twenty five years have been dead-on. My long time readers can attest to this. I'm not psychic, I'm simply using common sense and walking into this mess with my eyes wide open, trying to warn as many people as I can that all hell is about to break loose in this country. The tyrant will begin his reign of terror very soon now. God help us all.

-The Lone Haranguer

Sunday, July 18, 2010

Why Am I Involved? #4

[Pulled this out of the archives while I'm waiting to get my main computer back up and running. - HAC]

Not so long ago I went through a depressive spurt thinking over just this question.

At times I feel I would have been better off to have chosen the life of consumerism, bought all of my nice little toys, TV's and a sports car, married someone, settled down and paid my dues like a good little white man. Ultimately, I didn't do that, nor would I want to change what I did do with my early years, not that I am that old now. I am pleased with my lot really.

Well, the question "Why am I involved?" is actually three questions in one: "Am I involved?", "Why did I get involved?" and "How am I involved?”

Am I involved? Well, I am the typical "involved" individual. I drink beer, complain a lot, occasionally put out leaflets, join a party, go to right-wing music gigs, and all of that aside, try out of it to rescue some sort of "normal" life.

I am involved to the extent that it's about all I think over. I hate the lot other people have, and that effects me, albeit not very much, but there is nothing worse than having to spectate while some Afro-clad black moron gropes at a physically beautiful young white girl as they sit in my local park (Wardown park....a green speck in the concrete landscape that is Luton) trying to have a romantic evening.

The initial effect is that I get annoyed at the idea of a black groping a white. The secondary effect is seething anger at the white girl who lets him. And the final, and worst effect, is the idea that this is not a one-off occasion. This then has effects on my life as it spurs me on to go and either preach to the choir, commit acts of mindless violence, or do something constructive (put out leaflets, empty my bank account on donations to the National Front or whatever organization manages to be at the right place and the right time and hit the right chord on why I am pissed off).

These instances aside, my involvement stretches to social life; my friends are all of the right-wing "nasty Nazi" category. So, together, we will preach among the choir, commit acts of mindless violence, or do something constructive.

Bear in mind this is gauged by money; to preach you need lots of alcohol to numb the senses and make you speak up in a voice of truth, same is needed for violence, then when no money and no beer is the situation, you resort to putting leaflets through a door praying that either a small niglet will come out and have a go at you, subsequently getting kicked several times at various points on his body, or that no one will come out at all.

I have to say that there are plus sides; occasionally someone says "thanks mate, nice to know I'm not the only one who is fed up!" but they are few and far between [about 1 in 40 houses.] And as for the rest of my involvement, it merely amounts to thinking and displaying some nasty patches that cause offense and get oneself arrested if spotted by the Thought Police.

I think before I move on to the next question I ought to justify some of my life. The violence is useful, or that is what we tell ourselves when we are kicking someone in the ribs. It is supposed to make them think that the Socialists can't ensure everything goes their way. In a few cases (and I can’t give particulars) little immigrants will run home for a month or so, and then return for their next beating. Though this is normally because they are illegals and can't go to a hospital in my land in case those nice immigrant workers their ask them "iff dey got der ID" which in itself shows ignorance in their community; the hospitals will be more interested in getting the police to find the despicable perpetrators of an abominable act of......racial violence! *gasp*

To justify the preaching to the choir thing; it's my sanity check. Without talking to like minded individuals over a cool pint with one of those cancer-releasing death sticks in my mouth I don't think I'd have the will left in me to resist. I'd probably be making a noose, talking with others ensures me that I am not alone, there are others doing the exact same things and thinking the exact same things, so things can change. And leafleting/campaigning/marches/protests...well, what can I say? It is not always effective, but it's about the only thing that has some effect and is still legal, and I praise anyone completely who has the nerve and balls to leave their safety-nest and hand out literature that spreads malcontent among the masses, or goes on a march that lets our far left enemies know who to hate and scream "scum" at in ridiculously loud voices...we may be scum but we can hear without shouting.

Oh, and if you go campaigning, then good on you. This year we scored rather well in elections with the national front (26.1% in Yarmouth I do, to think that over 1 in 4 people voted for that hatemongering Nazi scum party...things can look up from time to time!).

Okay, second question: why did I get involved? Well. A long story, so I will take it in steps.

Step 1. Starts at five years old (or 0 years old if you consider I was born with white skin...that should be reason enough, but we'll just say 5 to make this interesting). At five began my obsession in a childhood way of soldiers and everything military, and particularly anything World War Two. I remember that when I spoke about AH I said that he was a genius for getting as far as he did with wars, but just a little insane as he picked on so many countries.That's right; I said Hitler was a little insane when I was 5 years old. Please, 1933 perfectionists! Forgive me!!

My dad was ready to agree with me at this point in my life, he also pointed out that we too had our hero, Churchill (spit, cough, scum!), and that we too suffered in the war. I thought nothing of it, I was only five.

Some years later I moved up into Junior School; Bushmead, a concrete maze somewhere in the pit known as Luton (I know, second mention of my hometown. Believe me; it's that bad!) There I met niggers. Oh what fun!

I told my dad about the first black kid who tried to be my friend by talking in some unknown language and was replied with "eh?!” I was told by my father, who has years of wisdom regarding the subject of our African friends, and he said to me "All blacks are bastards who don’t belong here, and half-castes are freaks." He was rather worked up at the time, and didn't mean it like that; I’m sure he meant to add not to repeat that to my teachers, which would have been helpful.

Well, you guessed where it goes next, and this little episode ends with a teacher calling parents up and saying their child has been put into his first ever detention.

Step 2. After my wonderful time in detention, I realized that teachers had weapons I could never hope to wield myself. So, I picked on the little black kids instead. I was a smart enough young boy, well, smart enough to get them when no one was looking and thus avoid detention. I had a happy few years, going to school, pinching, punching and kicking little blacks, then going home to draw pictures of tanks and German soldiers (a skill I was quite good at, and still rather good at to this day, only now I paint small figures whenever my father is kind enough to buy me some....which is only when he wants me to keep off the streets for a weekend. It's a good hobby, clears the mind and makes some nice ornaments that impress fellow right-wingers....okay, not impress, occupies their eyes for a short while).

All of this happy life was soon to change, and it changed with the dawn of a new chapter in my life: high school. My first day at high school was an interesting one; I saw the strange creatures that the little nigglets I pinched, punched and kicked would grow into. Swinging arms and Neanderthal faces, smoking dope in school and grabbing as much "whitey aaasss" as they could, trying not to get too many slaps in the process (which they normally did well at, given the quality of the white female moral fabric in this town...).

As well as these there were these hordes of curious brown creatures...busy huddling into groups and grinning like hyenas at some unknown joke which people such as me could never even hope to understand, given that it was spoken in an exotic, arrogant tongue. Their "females" (if they can be called that, I don’t know what they are really....given their dress sense it makes it hard to figure out) crowded around clutching folders and books to their chests with a strange piece of apparatus I assume was designed to keep their hair dry drawn around their heads, some even had them to ensure their faces remained dry too.

These hordes I now call "Pakis", a phenomenon the American readers of this will not fully understand given the racial "make up" (here read "mix up") of their country. The closest America comes to the hordes of sub-continent scum we have here is a couple of pesky little traitor cunts flying planes around without licenses (forgive me here if I offend some, take into account that 7/11 also has an effect on my many Brits dead in Iraq? Fucking Jews...). And so began my life of struggle.

Step 3. The finalization of my racist ways came about by pure co-incidence. My step brother also had racist ideas and even got hold of one of those rare things known as DVD's, a DVD of magical visions, depicting violence against gooks and all sorts of delightful things. I saw in that film (Romper Stomper) some foolish Skins pratting around with their celestially-portrayed neighbors.

However, I also saw a swastika flag over a big bloke's bed. Suddenly it was all clear. Hitler never was "a little insane" as I had thought. The two things I enjoyed in life came together immediately; World War Two and racism, married in a thorough reading of Mein Kampf. Not long after that, my brother, a few of his friends, a few of my friends, and I, formed a Luton-based skinhead gang. Violence was in store for every nigger, Jew or paki in Luton.

How am I involved? Now, I deal with the question. The emphasis of this last section is on "involved". What the hell is "involved?" To be honest, I don't have a clue, though I imagine it has something to do with what you think.

You see, after looking back over all of this, I have come to the conclusion that the only difference between me and your average white lemming is what I thought, think and will think; I am naturally logical (my girlfriend is ready to testify to that, I bore her with long drawn out logical answers to her problems with my racism, though she herself is racist.)

I am also naturally a thinker. I think a lot each day, every bit of literature I get, be it email, poster, newspaper or leaflet is read thoroughly and thought about. This has put me in the position to say that I know exactly what I believe in, what I hope to achieve, and why it needs to be done. Your average white lemming I feel does not have this luxury; he does not know what he believes in at all.

And what made me think? Well, I guess the thing that made me think was being unpopular, you see, all the way up to the point of watching romper and consolidating my ideas, I had had very, very few friends, and the ones I did have from time to time I didn’t think very highly of at all. Once you are alone, you are left with only your blood, your thoughts and your dreams. And that results in realization and truth.

And so, finally, the answer to the question "Why am I involved?" is simple; because I should be.

-Luton Lad

Saturday, July 17, 2010

Re-Appearing Act

The official story is now that Ed Steele never left the Spokane County jail, and that his incommunicado period of some weeks in June and early July is now a non-event.

All those deputies telling people on the phone that Ed had been removed by the U.S. Marshalls, all the visitors turned away, all the official denials and claims of ignorance as to Edgar Steele's whereabouts, the lack of phone calls to friends and supporters, the general air of stonewalling and obfuscation that went on for weeks as to just where the hell Steele was--never happened. Rite-wing paranoia. You're all crazy.

Of course we are.

According to another web site, Steele has been successfully visited by an unnamed individual. The write-up of this visit was sparse, my guess being because there were guards hovering in earshot and nothing of importance could be said.

According to Kelsey Steele, her father may be contacted at the following address:

Edgar J. Steele #361857
1100 West Mallon
Spokane, WA 99260-0320
Jail phone 509-477-2278

Friday, July 16, 2010

Oops! My Bad

I just checked about a dozen moronic blogspams and instead of clicking "reject" I accidentally hit "publish," hence the Russian and Chinese gibberish that will show up on the last few posts. Sorry, my bad. I'll try to track them all down and delete them.

Thursday, July 15, 2010

Free Edgar Steele Web Site

There is now an Edgar Steele website at

UPDATE: It now appears that the famous Mel Gibson Nigger tapes, allegedly recorded when he was on the phone with his Russian girl friend, have been examined by professional forensic audio experts who have stated that in their opinion the recordings were tampered with and are fraudulent.

The implications for the Edgar Steele case are obvious.

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

Radio Free Northwest - July 15th 2010

Racial Comrades:

The latest episode of Radio Free Northwest is now available for download from the Party website at

In this Civil War music special, I go over the latest Edgar Steele news, talk about the coming elections in November, and regale my listeners with the romance of Jewish names.


Tuesday, July 13, 2010

More on Edgar Steele Case

Hi, guys:

There is an interview with Ingri Cassell excerpted from Radio Free Mississippi at

Also, a thought occurs to me: in view of Edgar Steele’s perilous medical condition, being in recovery from open heart surgery six months’ previously, if he had some kind of relapse he may have been taken to the federal prison medical complex at Springfield, Missouri, which is where the feds send all their sick and elderly inmates today. When you are sentenced to die in prison, Springfield is probably the last cell you’ll see, although to be sure they shipped David Lane to Terre Haute to die.

Steele may even be dead already, and the régime simply hasn’t condescended to let anyone know.


Monday, July 12, 2010

The Recruit

[Excerpted from THE BRIGADE by H. A. Covington. A young woman, an unwilling police informant, is having her initial "job interview" with the Northwest Volunteer Army.]

Ten days after the death of Lenny Gillis, Kicky had almost decided that nothing was going to happen, and she turned her mind toward finding some way to convince Martinez and Jarvis to give up and fold the operation and let her go. She was cogitating on this subject one night at about eight o’clock, as she dropped a fare off in front of the Vintage Plaza hotel on Broadway SW. She marked off the trip on her sheet, pocketed the ten dollar tip, and was about to pull over into the cab rank and wait for a possible pickup when the door opened behind her and someone got in. “Where to?” she asked her new passenger, her eyes still on her clipboard.

“To freedom, comrade, in a new nation under a new flag,” said a familiar voice. Kicky whirled around and saw the man she had been introduced to as Thumper sitting in the rear seat. He looked less biker-ish tonight, wearing a long-sleeved canvas jacket and slacks. “Shit!” she exclaimed. “Oh, uh, Comrade Thumper. I guess you’ve been following me around, huh? Sorry, sorry, I know, no questions. Uh, where do you want to go? I’ll need to call something in to my dispatcher.” She sounded flustered, but presumably the man would accept that as natural with him popping up in her cab like a jack-in-the-box.

Jimmy Wingo gave her an address in rural Clackamas County. “Call that in. It’s a restaurant and roadhouse, but we’re not actually going there. Tell your dispatcher I’ll want you to wait for a while. It will be a long trip, so the mileage will more or less match. This ought to cover it.” He leaned forward and gave her a hundred dollars in twenties. “That way your sheet will balance out, plus tip.”

Kicky called the bogus trip in and pulled out into Broadway. “Okay, where are we really going?” she asked.

“Just head toward Gresham,” he said. Kicky felt the phone at her side vibrate. She knew that the cops back in the operations center had heard and understood what was happening, and were recording. “Uh, okay, what happens now?” she asked.

“You’re going to meet someone and have a talk with them,” said Wingo genially. “And with me.”

“Get to tell my life story, huh?” remarked Kicky, navigating through the traffic. It was still light out, so she had no need for headlights.

“We already pretty much know that,” said Wingo. “We actually think you can be of some use to us. This cab, for instance. Cabbies are people we like to recruit. Taxis can go anywhere, be seen on the streets at any time of day or night, and no one thinks they’re out of place or questions their presence. For the time being, a lot of your work for the NVA will be doing just what you’re doing now, driving people and sometimes packages here, there, and everywhere. Of course you’ll have to get creative about your trip sheet. We’ve wanted to get someone with access to an Excelsior Cab for quite some time now. Most of the more upmarket fleets have GPIs installed in their cars to keep track of where their vehicles are going, make sure the driver’s not cooking his sheet or running off the meter or fucking off, that kind of thing. But Excelsior is owned by a couple of Bangladeshis who are too cheap to spring for the system. You might say you’re uniquely positioned. How bad was it down in Coffee Creek?” he asked, abruptly changing the subject.

“It wasn’t one of my more edifying experiences in life, thank you,” said Kicky sourly.

“I’ve been there myself. Angola, in Louisiana,” he told her.

Kicky was tempted to ask him if that’s where he was from, and what he had gone to prison for, but the old convict code immediately kicked in. You never asked. “That’s worse,” she admitted. “Even out here we’ve heard of Angola.”

“Any society that permits a place like that to be, has to be destroyed,” said Wingo, not angry or bitter, simply stating a self-evident fact.

“Is that possible?” asked Kicky, genuinely interested. “I mean, I meant what I said, I want in, but it seems to me we’re either going to have to have some kind of secret weapon to bring these bastards down with, or else just get really lucky.”

“There’s an old Norse saying: ‘Luck often enough will save a man, if his courage hold,’” Wingo replied. “McGee. That’s Irish, right?”

“Yeah, way back,” she said. “Both sides. My mom was a Harrigan. I remember my dad used to get drunker than usual every St. Patrick’s Day, before he split. I guess that’s about all of Ireland we kept with us. Some of my tats are Irish. The Book of Kells thing, and also I have a Celtic Cross on my ankle.”

“Well, the Irish never gave up for eight hundred years,” said Wingo.

“I hope we can win a bit sooner than that,” said Kicky with a small laugh.

“The Army Council is basing all its strategic thinking on an assumed thirty-year conflict,” said Wingo seriously.

Back in the operations center Lainie Martinez had her headphones on. She was listening intently and taking notes. “Ex con check record Louisiana DOC Angola”, “Use of taxis by t’sts”, and “30 year terror campaign (???!!!!)” Jamal Jarvis was off tonight, no doubt out doing the rounds collecting his graft and raping white prostitutes, for which Lainie was thankful. Now she could concentrate on what she was hearing.

Back in the cab, Kicky glanced into her side mirror. “Cops coming up in the left lane,” she said. “Two cars. They always move in pairs now.”

“I see them,” said Wingo. He shifted slightly and Kicky was sure he’d pulled out a pistol. “Just watch your speed and wave at them if they look at you when they go by. Don’t look away.”

“That would be One Charlie Nine and Ten,” said Andy McCafferty, quickly checking a computer monitor to identify the units. “You want me to get on the horn and warn them to back off?” he asked Lainie.

“No,” she said. “Let’s see how they both handle this.” The two police cars slowly pulled up alongside the cab in the left lane; the cops in the passenger side looked into the cab. Kicky waved casually; Wingo looked them right in the face but did nothing. The two units pulled on ahead, and after a few minutes made a left turn onto a freeway entrance ramp.

“No problem,” Wingo remarked.

“How did you know they wouldn’t try to pull us over?” asked Kicky.

“That was just a regular patrol,” said Wingo. “They might have tried to pull you if you’d been speeding, or they had a warrant on you, or something else routine, but they’re under orders not to tangle with any Volunteers they detect. They’re supposed to hang back, keep us in sight, then get on the horn and yell for an RRT, a Rapid Response Team. Those are the ones you have to watch out for, small convoys with multiple squad cars and one or two armored trucks or vans with them. The armored personnel carriers have a squad of muscle men in body armor and all kinds of heavy weapons inside. Some of them have concealed .50-caliber machine guns in a kind of retractable turret. Remember, ordinary police will never engage any suspect or enemy whom they even suspect might have equal or greater firepower. They always maintain distance and call for backup. Preserving their own lives is a very serious priority with them, and they are trained to operate in those parameters.”

“How the hell do those bastards know about the fifties?” demanded McCafferty in a stunned voice back in the ops center. “Not to mention our terror contact SOP?”

“How do you think?” snorted Lainie. “The whole PB has been compromised from day one. If we hadn’t had our heads up our asses we would have phased out and banned all white male police officers and about half the white females, years ago. No offense, Andy, of course, but the only way we’re ever going to excise the virus of racism and sexism from this society is by a complete removal of power from the hands of those who carry it.” McCafferty either didn’t hear her response, or else chose the politic route of pretending not to hear it. He hunkered down over the receiver and diddled with the dials.

“GPI shows they’re entering Gresham,” he said.

In the cab Wingo said, “Hang a right here.”

“They’re turning onto Arbor Lane,” said McCafferty, checking his GPI.

The taxi was now driving down a residential street of ranch-type houses that would have been called middle class, back in the days when America still had a middle class. Dusk was falling now, and the street seemed desolate and deserted; there were no lights shining from about half the houses on the street. At the far end of the street Wingo told her to pull into the driveway of one of the apparently darkened homes. He got out, and she followed suit. “Some day you may have to pick yourself a location for a meet like this,” he said conversationally. “Let’s see how sharp you are. Why do you think we chose this house?”

“Uh, I see a front and side door, and I assume there’s a back, so a lot of exits,” said Kicky. “That looks like a big open field in the rear, vacant lots or something like that, and this street is a straight shot down to the end here, so you can pretty much see who’s coming a good ways off. It would be hard for anyone to sneak up on us. All kinds of side streets around here you could slide around in and most of them feed onto main arteries, so once you got loose either in a car or on foot, you’d have a pretty good chance to get away, especially in the dark.

“Very good!” he said approvingly. The lights flashed on a car parked down the street; it started and moved slowly toward them, then into the driveway. The door opened and a small, birdlike woman with gray hair got out. She was wearing a simple dress and carrying a large battered handbag.

“Hey!” she called cheerily as she walked up to them and the car pulled away. “Y’all eaten supper yet?” Her accent was more distinctly Southern than the man’s.

“We’re fine, Ma,” he said. “She’ll cook at the drop of a hat,” he said in an aside to Kicky. “Ma, this is Kicky McGee. Kicky, this is Ma. She kind of does the hiring for female Volunteers. She’s the one who decides tonight whether we bring you into the NVA, or whether we kill you and bury you in the basement.”

“Now you just hush!” scolded Ma. “Who are you tonight, anyway?”

“Thumper,” Wingo told her.

“Don’t mind Thumper, dear,” said the old woman. “He’s got a bug up his ass about women in general. He’s just trying to see if you scare easy.”

“Of course I’m scared!” snapped Kicky. “But I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Come on inside,” she said. She took the house keys out of her handbag and opened the door. She took them right into the kitchen and turned on the lights. Kicky didn’t see too much else of the home other than a darkened living room. Then she put the kettle on the stove and rooted around in the cupboard for cups. “Have a seat, both of you, and I’ll make us some tea. Tell me, dear, are you a Christian?” she asked Kicky suddenly, taking her by surprise.

“Uh…I don’t know how I’m supposed to answer that, ma’am,” Kicky said. “I think you already know what I am.”

“Yes, dear, I know,” said the old lady kindly, “But the two have never been as mutually exclusive as people tend to think.”

“Judge not lest ye be judged in turn and all that?” asked Kicky.

“Oh, poppycock!” said Ma. “This idea that no human being is supposed to ever make a moral judgment on anyone else is horse hockey. The Bible is full of people who did nothing but that. They were called prophets. There are all kinds of people running around today who are in urgent need of being judged. People make moral judgments all the time. The hog-jawed doo-doo birds who run this country have judged our entire race and condemned us all to death, and by God we need to start returning the favor!”

“Hog-jawed doo-doo birds?” laughed Wingo in amusement. “I never heard that one before. I’ll have to remember that.”

“You do that, young man. No, honey, the reason I asked was that I need to know what your moral universe is like. Everybody has one.”

“Uh, I don’t think I do,” said Kicky carefully. “I mean, where would I get a moral universe and what good would it do me if I had one? I just want in with the NVA to try and make some kind of better life for me and my baby, and well, I told myself I’d be honest with you, so I’ll say it. I want revenge! Revenge against some specific people who have hurt me, yes, but mostly just revenge on this whole damned filthy world that has never done anything except shit on me! I am just so tired of bad people winning all the time, so sick of nothing ever being right or good anymore. Why should it always be the bad people who win, and me who hurts? Goddamned niggers and Mexicans taking everything, goddamned cops beating me and shaking me down and locking me in a cage with animals, fucking Jews and rich bastards looking down their noses at me and treating me like dirt, I just want to hear them scream, and watch everything they have burn …” She put her hand to her mouth, and realized with sudden astonishment that she had begun to cry. “Jesus, where did all that come from?” she asked in a shaky voice.

“I’d say from the heart,” commented Wingo. “And ma’am, there ain’t a damned thing wrong with anything you just said.”

Ma took her hand. “Honey, if you’d given me some long speech that sounded like you’d been reading our books, and I thought you were telling me what you think I want to hear or something you’d been coached to say, I would have been suspicious, but you would be plain astonished to learn how many of us come into this thing running on nothing but pure rage. It is a righteous rage, the true Wrath of God, and it is a thing to be gloried in, not ashamed of. You have been done a terrible wrong, from the very moment of your birth, as has every man and woman with a white skin born in the past century. You have been denied your birthright, which is this world and everything in it, and you have every right to desire revenge and to seek it though our Army. Later on we’ll educate you, give you things to read and teach you how and why this terrible wrong has been done to you and to all of us, and by whom, and why, but pure righteous rage in your heart is a good starting point.”

“It’s just that—damn it all, things shouldn’t be like this!” Kicky sniffled, tears streaming down her face.

“And that tells me that you do indeed have a moral universe in you somewhere, in spite of the bad things you’ve done and in spite of the way you’ve lived your life,” said Ma. “That’s one of the things that make us different from these dark-skinned animals around us, Kristin. They glory in the filth of this world. They wallow in it like hogs in a trough. They love it, because like animals they don’t know it’s wrong. The muds have no knowledge of good or evil. They have only appetites to be sated.

"We know, and the Jews know as well, only the Jews worship that evil as their god. I think that was the secret of the forbidden fruit that Eve partook of in the Garden so long ago, that knowledge of right and wrong and the instinctive choice of right. For better or for worse, we ended up with that knowledge in our souls, and a hundred years of Jew lies and political correctness can’t eradicate it. In spite of everything, it’s still there in you, girl. You’re still good inside. The rest we can work on. The rest you can change.”

For the next hour, they simply sat around the kitchen table and talked. Kicky calmly went over her whole life, such as it was, from her childhood to the present, and with the exception of the events of the past couple of weeks, every bit of it was true. However deeply they had investigated her background, she knew it would all check out.

“I was going back to the life to try and make money so I could get out of Oregon, and take Ellie,” she admitted. “But I knew it was only a temporary fix. It Takes A Village is everywhere, and whatever file they have on me and Ellie would catch up with us, eventually. Then I recognized your guy Lockhart in Jupiter’s Den that day. I thought about it all day, and that night I was going to ask Lenny to introduce me, but he ended up dead. The rest you know. I don’t know what else to tell you guys,” she concluded. “If I’m going in that hole in the basement tonight, you’d better go get the shovel.”

“I didn’t think to bring one,” said Wingo.

“So what happens now? What do you want me to do?” asked Kicky.

“The next step is that we will arrange for you to receive a copy of the old Party Handbook and the new NVA General Orders,” said Ma. “The General Orders you need to memorize, and I do mean memorize, and then destroy the sheet of paper that they’re printed on, because if you’re caught with them in your possession it’s a federal felony carrying a death sentence. No kidding. These tyrants are killing people now simply for having a single sheet of paper. You need to have the General Orders committed to memory not just for your own security, but because you will be expected to obey them. Always. Without fail.”

“And not obeying the sheet of paper carries a death penalty from our side,” concluded Kicky, careful to use the word our. “Okay, I get it.”

“I hope you do, honey,” said Ma with a sigh. “The Handbook you need to read because it explains a lot of other things you need to know, deeper and more complicated things. It explains the nature of the corrupt and satanic society in which we live, why it must be brought to an end, and how we will accomplish that. The big picture, so to speak. Copies of the Handbook are too large to be destroyed except at necessity, although if you think you or your premises are about to be searched, for God’s sake hide it or destroy it. The Handbook is just as deadly dangerous to be caught with as the General Orders. Once we get a copy to you, you need to read it right away, because we can only let you have it for a few days and then we’ll need to get it back from you to pass on to the next person.”

“So when do I get to be a Northwest Volunteer?” asked Kicky.

“You don’t, not at first. We need to take a good long look at you and see how you perform, like any job,” said Wingo. “To begin with, you’ll be what some crews call an asset, what others call a candidate member. If we were niggers we’d use the term wannabe, if we were the Mob we’d call you connected but not yet made.

"That taxicab of yours still intrigues us,” he continued. “We have people and materials that need to do a lot of moving around. We start you out simple. We arrange a lot of business for you, posing as street hails because calling your dispatcher and asking for you specifically would raise suspicion. You drive people and stuff from point A to point B, you dummy up your records to make sure it all looks copacetic on paper, and we’ll pay you the meter and a good tip so you can actually make a nice legal income. If everything works out and you’re looking good to us in a few months, we start giving you some more stuff to do.”

“Okay, there is one thing I need to tell you guys right up front,” said Kicky hesitantly. “I know this may make you suspicious of me, but I can’t lie about it.” She took up a deep breath. “I don’t know if I can kill anybody. I know what I said about wanting revenge and all, and it’s true, but I just don’t know if I could point a gun at anybody and pull the trigger myself. I’m not saying I couldn’t, you understand. Hell, maybe I can. But I just don’t know, and if that’s the kind of test you want to give me to become a member, I’m not sure I can pass it.”

“You won’t be asked to make your bones for a good while,” said Wingo, “And even then, it will be voluntary on your part. This is not a regular war. Our people have to carry an immensely personal and crushing burden on their shoulders, and that goes far more so for the shooters and the bombers. Only a small number of people have the right combination of steady hand and nerves of steel, along with—oh, hell, I suppose you’d call it a lack of introspection, the ability to just do the job and then not worry about it afterwards. If they’re not right for it, their conscience gets to eating at them, they start losing their nerve and going to pieces and muttering about finding Jesus and getting forgiveness. No offense, Ma.”

“None taken,” said Ma. “It does happen, and then there are problems all across the board. White people are the greatest killers the world has ever known, but we have in fact been subjected to that century of social engineering and behavior modification through propaganda that I mentioned earlier, and in a lot of our people, that predator gene does seem to have been bred out.

"The NVA understands that as badly as we need combat soldiers, it’s just not a good idea to force somebody into that position. Kicky, we have got some women in this outfit that will shoot a man just as soon as look at him, if he is an enemy of our race. I know because I’m one of ’em. Maybe you’ll be one of ’em one day, maybe you won’t. You will never be asked to do anything that is beyond your strength. But you will find that as time goes on, and you come to understand who you are, that your strength is greater than you think. Now I reckon you and Thumper better be getting’ on back into town so you can finish your shift.”

Kicky went back out to the cab. Wingo hung back. “What’s the verdict?” he asked Ma.

She sighed. “That girl’s got something eating at her, but from what we know of her, it could be any one of a dozen things. If we excluded everybody with secret sorrows and secret sins in their hearts, there wouldn’t be too many Northwest Volunteers. I can’t down-check her.”

“Hardly a ringing endorsement,” commented Wingo.

“We can’t get so paranoid that we can’t function,” said Ma. “I’ll tell Oscar I think you should try her out, just keep her at arm’s length, which is what we do with new recruits anyway.”

“Got it. Say hello to Carter and Rooney and Shane for me when you get back to Dundee,” said Wingo as he headed out the door.

On the cab ride back, Wingo ran down for Kicky the procedures that would be used for providing her with her “special” fares, simple pickup codes via text message and cell phone for her rendezvous points with Volunteers needing transport, etc. As they neared the center of town, Kicky asked him, “What did Ma mean when she said you had a bug up your ass about women?”

Wingo sighed. “Same thing you probably feel about men. I’ve just been betrayed once too often. Nothing personal. I think that’s the worst thing that the Jews have done to us, in a way. Made white men and women hate and fear and mistrust one another. I know it’s wrong. I know all white women aren’t like the one who sent me to prison, and I figure you’re smart enough to know that all white men aren’t like Lenny Gillis.”

“Yeah, I know it in my mind,” said Kicky. “It’s just common sense that there have to be some good men left out there somewhere. But why the hell don’t I ever meet any?”

“The mutual consensus seems to be that white women are all neurotic and treacherous bitches teetering on the edge of outright insanity, who view men as enemies to be overcome and humiliated and scored off, while white men are all overgrown adolescents who are still playing with toys at age forty, and who don’t ever intend to grow up and take on any responsibility in life,” said Wingo. “And you know, there is a hell of a lot of truth in both those assessments. That’s what the Jews have done to us, may God damn them all to hell.”

“Does the NVA have a lot of women members?” asked Kicky.

“Mmm, some. Look, I’m afraid I still presume most white women are write-offs, but I will say this: the few remaining exceptions have more range than men do. The good ones are better, the smart ones are smarter, the brave ones are braver, and the vile ones are viler. Okay, tell you what, let’s just leave that subject. I know it’s rude, and there’s no call to be rude.”

“Well, I will say, you have yet to make any snide cracks about my lurid past,” admitted Kicky. “That’s encouraging.”

“You’ve already said that you know where you’ve been,” said Wingo with a shrug. “No call for me to remind you. Here, pull over on this corner. You’ll probably start getting some of our special trips tomorrow night. One of the people you drive will give you a copy of the Handbook and the General Orders.

"I’ll repeat what Ma told you, because this is important. Memorize the General Orders and then live by them. There’s only ten of them, just like the Commandments, and like the Commandments they’re just what they say they are: orders, not suggestions. You’ll have a couple of days to read the Handbook, and then you need to give it back to the next comrade who will ask for its return. Do not show it to anybody else or allow yourself to be caught with it, Kicky. Possession of a copy of the Party Handbook or the Army General Orders is considered by the ZOG court system to be prima facie evidence of NVA membership or association, and gets you a short ride strapped to a gurney into a little room with a needle in it. We’re not joking about that.”

“I know you’re not,” She pulled over and he opened the door. She did not look back at him. “Hey, Thumper, do I get some way to contact you if I need to?”

“Not yet,” he said. “No offense.”

“None taken,” she replied. “One more thing: if Ma had given you a thumbs down tonight, would you really have killed me?”

“Yes,” he said. “Does that bother you?”

“It would have bothered me more if you’d lied about it,” she said, looking back at him.

“Have a good one.”

“You too.” Then he was gone. The car door hadn’t been closed for twenty seconds before her phone vibrated. Kicky picked up another fare and didn’t call in until twenty minutes and several vibrations later.

“Why the fuck didn’t you call when I vibed?” yelled Lainie Martinez.

“They were obviously following me for some time without my knowing,” said Kicky calmly. “Suppose they still are, and someone saw me open my cell phone as soon as the guy got out of my cab?”

Lainie sighed, but got a grip. “Yeah, okay, I can buy that. As soon as you get off work and check your cab in, we’re picking you up at the bus stop and bringing you in here for a full debriefing. I want to know all about this Thumper character.”

I hope you meet him some day, bitch, thought Kicky. I hope he kills you before he kills me, so at least I get to watch you die.