Letter From Down Under

Comrades,

Assuming you guys have the time, much less the inclination, to hear about the migration efforts of a weird Australian keyboard comrade, I figured I'd give you an update. I've been working slowly but steadily on myself and my situation.

My uni classes have commenced as promised, and the political crap is already being shoved down my gullet in the form of a pinko, "essay" that comprises 15% of my mathematics mark. Mathematics!

Not even kidding. This is especially horrifying when the grading is contrasted with the actual mathematical component. Fifteen percent is equal to two large maths tests, while the minor fortnightly quizzes are worth a total of just 10%. The PC component of this “people and planet” unit is only superceded in importance by the final exam. They are taking the best and brightest of our civilisation, and poisoning their minds with filth. No exceptions are permitted. You cannot opt out or attend merely to learn and expand your mind. These are no longer options for us White boys and girls.

It makes me sick and kinda mad, too.

You were right, Harold. It's no longer enough to burn a pinch of incense at the altar of the foe. Now, all must dance, and smile, and celebrate the death of our people. This is wrong. My very soul rebels against it. But I must get through this. My folk require it of me. It is my duty.

I'm working on aceing this course, and aceing my classes next semester too. I'm a clever bugger when I get my rear in gear, only there's never been much motivation to do so. Sure I hit the honour roll for my HSC but that was back in 2008. A lot has changed for the worse.

This time is different. This time I am working to get a transfer to the PNW. This time there is something more than “get money fuck bitches” on the line, thank the Gods.

To be as brutally honest with you as I try to be with myself, the idea of living and working, or at least studying, in the Homeland seems a thousand years and a world away. On some level, I kinda doubt I can ever transmute it from fantasy to reality, anymore than the alchemists of old could transmute iron to gold. That's a self confidence thing though. I've never done anything before. Not really. This is just so enormous and outside the limits of my experience that at times it overwhelms me.

The solution is to expand the limits of my experience, rather than sit and feel baffled. Each day that gets a little easier. Progress is made. I'm guessing the practical urgency of such things will accelerate the process once I hit the ground.

I keep myself sane by volunteering with a local Christian charity. They help young people who've been driven onto the street, often by their inept or psychotic baby boomer parents, and whose minds have been destroyed by the prevailing ideology.

Basically, we shovel shit off maybe ten young people at a time, even as the system spews it out by the giga-litre, covering thousands more. It's like pushing a boulder up a giant parabolic treadmill, with the ever present threat of being thrown off and crushed if you move too slow or too fast. Fortunately we have a few not-so-small-V volunteers who do night patrols in camo pants and steel-toed boots. It's not the Party, but it's something, and we really do help. Several women have been spared the attentions of dusky rapists in the last few months. It's legal, too. The cops love us, because we don't use unreasonable amounts of force, are very professional, and ask nothing in return for our services.

Once again I've run into an erstwhile, comrade who is interested in the NF. The guy is a fatalistic National Socialist, unlike the other prospects I mentioned last year. He lives in New Zealand. He's expressed sentiments such as, “I wish I could go back in time and die in Berlin, during the final days of the fighting, just so I could know I did my duty.” Quite a cheery fellow as you can imagine, though he has his upbeat moments. He's a reasonably good Christian, and isn't bothered by my Wotanist inclinations anymore than I am bothered bothered by his perspective. That's a good sign.

In the time I've been talking to him, he's gone from a write-off to a rather interesting prospect. He claims to have recently acquired a job of sorts, all off-the-books of course. That's the way of things these days, unless you've got family connections like I apparently do. His self awareness is also on the rise. He's gone from the stereotypical White boy, “I can't get a job hurrdurr economy” to “you know, I used to think immigration and the economy were just my excuses, but now that I am actually looking, yes, it really is that bad out there, but I am not going to give up.”

He didn't. And now he has a job, shoveling rocks or stacking shelves something. Today he described the work to me as “awesome.” He wasn't joking. Positive reinforcement of this kind is a big deal for them White boys, as I'm sure you know.

He grew up in the typical nuclear family; nuked from within. His mother, a Strong Womyn, liberated herself from her responsibilities as a wife and mother after her wicked husband dared suggest she wait until her kids grew up before she went to university full time. That she had not one, not two, but three young children at home did not sway her from her quest for self discovery. She extricated herself from all that wicked White male oppression and patriarchally-enforced personal accountability, just like her self-help books and barren bitchy friends said she should, and is currently telling everyone who'll listen about the amazing career opportunity she has in Australia or whatever. The one that never seems to materialise, oddly enough. Seems like a demented liberal Power Womyn fantasy. There's a lot of that going around.

Divorce went as you'd expect it to. She flounced through court, more as a formality given how bad things are for modern White males, nabbed the kids, took the house, the money and the poor man's pride. Probably just fell short of finding her own Maori version of Martha Proudfoot and chocolate-ritualing her former husband into prison, a la Brigade. Small mercies come at a high price. This time, there was no Zack Hatfield, no Ekstrom or Washburn swilling name brand diet cola and fomenting vengeance. No White men who'd had enough of what ain't right. This guy's family was plunged into the waking nightmare of modernity, along with thousands of others, and nothing was done to stop it. He says that among his old high school friends, broken families are more common than whole ones now. Nice. 

Literally just last night, I got him reading the books after a long struggle with his apathy and despair. I started him on The Brigade. He has made quite the turnaround these last 24 hours, and is practically frothing at the mouth with excitement. It's hard to get video-game addicted White boys to read a 400 page novel but he is devouring it, one chapter per sitting, at a rate of knots. That it so closely parallels his own experiences really helps. As he clicks his way through the PDF he keeps cyber-bouncing up to me when I'm signed in on my phone, and telling me how this or that or the other passage means something to him personally. I am learning more about his dark past now than I have in the year I've known him. He'll be a die hard convert in a fortnight.

He frequents a White internet play board where the NF is the devil incarnate as far as the regular posters are concerned. It is anonymous, so one poster can become many with ease. I assume some do. [Idiot redacted] blog is gospel, questioning it will get you accused of being Harold, we're all FBI agents, the usual. If you argue them to a standstill, they start posting pornographic images of fat gay men with beards claiming it's Harold's Friday night out, or interracial smut they've painstakingly watermarked with the NF shield logo. Proud Aryan warriors, fighting the fight.

Point is, in spite of it all, this kid still trusts Harold and the NF. Did so prior to looking at the books, too. Why?  “Because the NWF are all there is.” His words, not mine.

It's that simple as far as he's concerned. If the NF is a federal honey pot, he's happy to regret trusting us in jail. At least he'll be, absolved of inaction and cowardice. The guy is kinda scary sometimes. There's the harmless slightly awkward white boy who wants to play zombie shoot-em-ups with me while talking about Nazis, and then there's this ... other guy, I guess, just under the surface. A guy who's actually pretty badass and gets it. That guy is crazy brave and very determined. I see a lot of myself in the kid. As well as a lot of things I'd like to be.

I am planning to do a face-to-face with him some time in July. He lives in New Zealand but has a friend in Sydney, a former liberal he converted to the NS ideology. The guy made the classic Thinking Liberal mistake—he tried to attack a friend upon learning he was racial. Given the two already understood and respected one another, the truth breached the gates of the liberal's mind like the Trojan Horse of myth. The lies didn't stand a chance.

I'm about ready to put this guy into some kind of formal contact with the Party. Again. You see, he already sent a contact submission form ages ago, but it seems to have been lost under the weight of Party correspondence. I'd ask him to send a second one in lieu of his new found enthusiasm.

But I'm hesitant. Here's why.

He sorta wants to go. Just, you know, go. He wants to show up at LAX, take a connecting flight or hitch a ride somewhere, then kinda, wander off and get lost, all the way Home to his surprise. Join Hernandez and Tyrone shifting crates as a day labourer. Sleep rough on the streets. Fend off starvation and crackheads who try to kill him and take his stuff. Help the Party by being on hand in the Seattle area, ready to do anything that's asked of him. He commented that living in a small white community in the mountains or whatever would help him find peace. But that peace was something he had to earn. Hence the whole Seattle thing. He wants duty. He thinks we're the ones to give it to him. To be more precise, he figures you [Andy] are the one to who'll give it to him. You want to make demands on people’s time? This guy'd be demanding the demands.

If I can't talk him out of this, I wouldn't dream of making it my responsibility to keep him out of T-Shirt Youth territory. If I can't stop him from doing something stupid then I will definitely do nothing at all for him. I certainly won't furnish the crazy bastard with some survival gear and a hive of bees, pardon my cockney, to make sure he doesn't perish in a snow drift or worse. That would cut into my beer and my video games. And we can't have that now can we?

I have a plan to get Home properly. This kid doesn't. That's going to drive him mad in short order, especially now that he's reading the novels. He told me last night, upon picking up The Brigade, that for the first time since he was a child, he has hope. He says it's like a transformative fire is sweeping through him. I know exactly what he means. The Northwest Imperative does that to you. With the NF, we can DO something. Even if it's just something small, like building White communities. But we can actually make a bit of a difference. That matters. A lot.

Reading The Brigade is like re-living his whole life so far, only this time, there are rugged heroes, role models, who change the ending at every turn. The vision of the NAR to come will be his in time, when he finished The Brigade and A Distant Thunder, and finally moves onto the ultimate treat, Freedom's Sons. He'll get to see what the NAR will be like one day, if we do this right. That'll clinch it for him. I know how he thinks and he's going to become a zealot as soon as he finishes the series.

He's working now and he has the idea in his head. If he gives you his name and address and intentions and then attempts anything funny, the email monitoring and your intercepted snail mail will have him nailed. The guy is reckless and desperate. I think he might actually do this, and that it might make a man out of him. Much like your father kicking your lily White ass out when you graduated from high school, Harold, this might be the best thing that ever happened to my buddy here.

Once someone of the Caucasian persuasion gets their arms around this kind of idea, there's no power in the universe that can stop them, short of death itself. Certainly not little old me. He has nothing to lose in his view. He either migrates or stays where he is and eventually drinks and games himself into an early grave. There's no third option. I'm not quite sure how you'd prefer I handle this one.

I'm not asking for you to condone illegal activity or say anything naughty or whatever. I oppose his reckless behaviour because it isn't allowed, and we mustn't break any rules. Oh no no no. I just want to know how you'd have him interact with the Party, if at all, at this point in time, or later.

Figured it was worth mentioning. Given this guy is pretty enthusiastic about the NF, I was thinking of ordering a full set of the Northwest novels from the Party and maybe giving them to him when he arrives. Reckon you could rustle up some signed copies for me? I'll give you $150 bucks for them.

Regarding my scouting trip: For pragmatic reasons I'm not going to conduct a scouting trip of my own until I actually have good cause to do so. That is not the case as things stand. It'd be a neat holiday and it'd be fun to meet you guys, but that's all I'd get out of it. I am not going to spend thousands of dollars on self indulgent play. That would be morally reprehensible for a man of my political and spiritual leanings.

When I am actually looking for either work, or a uni to which I might transfer, I'll be on the next plane out. Until then, there'd be no point. That really annoys me. I want to visit the Homeland urgently. It is a primal need. But I am not in the habit of spending huge sums of money for my own personal pleasure. That's all this would amount to.

That's about all the news I have at this time. I'll be in touch.

Hail victory kinsmen,

-C.

http://www.northwestfront.org