Monday, July 14, 2008

At The Press Conference

[Excerpted from A MIGHTY FORTRESS by H. A. Covington, available online from Amazon.com and Barnes and Noble.]

Frank Barrow got up and addressed the American delegation down the table. "I think that in all fairness to those who have died on both sides of this war over the past five years, I need to tell you people flat out, from the beginning, that if you think we're going to walk out of here with something besides an independent, sovereign Aryan Republic in these briefcases, then not only are you completely mistaken, but it's clear that you know us so little that there is no point in continuing these discussions. We might as well close up shop right now and get back to slaughtering one another, until you guys are ready to get serious. I know that in your minds you have some idea that you will be able to buy us off with money or with shiny toys, or else you think we're so dumb that you're going to be able to run rings around us and swindle us out of the prize. Fair enough. I suppose you wouldn't be who and what you are, if you didn't try. Deception and contempt for white people is in your very blood. You think you're going to palm us off with some kind of dominion or territorial status, turn the Northwest into some kind of white Puerto Rico or some nonsense like that. That's not going to happen. If you don't understand that, then you don't know anything at all about us.

"We began this rebellion to be free of you, free of your government, free of your capitalism, free of your filth and your sexual perversions, free of your Jews, free of your soulless greed, free of everything that you are. We do not want to be you any more. We do not want to be Americans any more. Manifest destiny might have been a good idea once, when that destiny was in control of the white men who made this continent. But it's no longer valid. America was once the shining city on the hill, but you people have turned it into the world's largest experiment in landfill. Well, all that's over now. We dawdled and screwed around for three generations after the end of World War Two, and there is a price to be paid for that cowardice and foolishness on our part. The price is that we can't take all of our country back. But we're damned well going to take some of it back. If you want to put this Biblically, long ago you from us the birthright of our race, and in return all we got was a mess of pottage called democracy, and Ronald McDonald. Fine. Well, now you're going to give Esau back what you stole from him. One last thing. Just remember as we progress, that it was you who called this pow-wow and not us. We were ready to keep on fighting for the next thirty years when you contacted us in June. We're ready to do it now." Barrow sat down.

"You don't seriously imagine that you have defeated the United States of America with your vicious little terrorist campaign?" demanded Brubaker with a sneer.

"I don't care what you want to call it," said Barrow. "The fact is that when all is said and done, you are here talking to us, and you called the meeting, not us. You can rationalize it all you want, and I have no doubt that American historians will spend the next hundred years rationalizing and explaining it all away. It is pointless to try and threaten us. The greatest glory of the past five years is that we are no longer afraid of you, because we have now seen that American bureaucrats and American cops and American assholes bleed just like anybody else." He turned to O'Connell and said, "I'm sorry, I didn't intend to launch into a speech, but I really do think it will save everyone some time if I make clear what our position is."

"I don't think we need to dignify that disgraceful tirade with an answer!" spluttered Weintraub.

"Ignore it all you want, Christ-killer!" thundered McCausland. "Swagger and strut and cut a caper all you want in front of your tame jackals here! But the Lord has lifted his hand once again in the affairs of men, and He has brought us here to extract from you another payment on your eternal debt, the holy blood that was spilled on Calvary!"

"We did not kill your God!" shrieked Weintraub hysterically. "God damn Mel Gibson! You have seen that filthy movie, haven't you? I thought we'd melted down every copy!"

O'Connell stood up. "Gentlemen, please! You're not at the bloody hog market in Dingle, so yer not! Now sit down, the both of yez!" When things had subsided he said, "Now let's at least be civil shall we? Mr. Ramirez from the Los Angeles Times, please."

McCausland spoke low to Barrow "Look, I'm sorry, Frank, I know you don't want religion injected, but Christ-killer always gives them the heebie-jeebies, and it's such darned fun to watch them flip their sheeny-beanie!"

"This is going to be a dog's dinner!" moaned Barrow.

Ramirez from the L. A. Times got up and asked his question. "Mr. Stanhope, would you comment on the recent talks held between government officials, senior members of Congress, and representatives of Frente de La Raza regarding the establishment of an autonomous Hispanic territory in the southwestern United States? Is this conference here at Longview the precursor to the break-up of the North American continent into separate ethnic and racial enclaves?"

There was sudden dead silence from the American side of the bench and from the assembled media. "That's the first I've heard of any such talks," said Barrow. He called over to Stanhope, and he was heard all over the room. "What, you're giving the spics their own country in North America, but the white man can't have one, too?"

Stanhope leaned over, and quietly said, "No comment. I think this would be a good point at which to bring this press conference to a conclusion." And without another word the whole American delegation got up and walked out.

"Well, ah, I suppose that's it, then," said Ambassador O'Connell, clearly nonplussed. "Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your…"

"The Americans may be done, Mr. O'Connell," said Barrow, "But I see no reason why we should be. I'm sure these folks have a lot more questions they'd like to ask the NVA representatives."

"Yeah," boomed out Morgan. "Hell, let those sorry assholes walk out. We're not like them. We ain't afraid of questions. Ask us anything you want. Just so long as you understand that you might not like the answers you git."

So for the next hour, the rebels fielded the reporters' questions, and it turned into something like "Everything You Always Wanted to Know About the Northwest Volunteer Army But Were Afraid To Ask." By vacating the conference in confusion, the Americans had managed to leave their opponents a clear field, and Barrow made the most of it. Every NVA Volunteer at the conference was asked at least one question. Cody was glad that Doctor Doom and Jack Cannon weren't present, but were upstairs going about their de-bugging, lest someone get curious about what they were there for.

The journalists' questions ranged from weighty points of political and racial principle and National Socialist ideology, to trivial and nosy personal queries from the tabloids, such as when one geek from a supermarket rag asked Jane Chenault what her measurements were, to which she replied "With or without the kevlar?" and then batted him aside. Nightshade was asked again how old she was, and she simply shrugged and told them, without any wisecracks, which impressed Cody.

The same reporter asked Cody the same question. "I just recently turned eighteen," he told them. "Which makes me old enough to be drafted into the United States Army and be sent overseas to fight and kill people who have never done me any harm, by the way, so I can't really see what the issue is with our ages. America thinks we're old enough to bleed and old enough to butcher for them. The way I see it, if the state considers itself qualified to decide for me who I am to risk my life and limb for, I'm old enough to decide for myself. Comrade Pastras and I have simply decided to stay here in our own land and fight against people who have done us wrong."

"Yeah? What wrong did America ever do to you, boy?" jeered the nationally known anchorman of a network true crime show.

"Well, to begin with, America destroyed my family," replied Cody calmly. "America sent my father to prison for the so-called crime of defending himself against an anthropoid who should not have been anywhere on this continent to begin with. What kind of state unleashes hordes of wild animals on the nation, and then punishes people for protecting themselves, or for so much as daring to say out loud that these are wild animals and unfit for human society? America abducted my sister and sold her into a form of slavery. I have no idea where she is today. America sold me to a family of vicious Jewish perverts who made what was left of my childhood an endless nightmare from which I could never awake until I finally struck back, and at long last made one of those people pay for their vileness, as I will someday make all of them pay. But I like to think that even had I not personally been victimized by America, I would still have had the perception to understand its evil and the courage to take up arms against it. I hope so, anyway."

"How many white kids your age feel the way you do about racial minorities, hating people because of their religion or the color of their skin?" called out one of the liberal female reporters.

"As usual, I notice that the issue of what these colored people do has disappeared from the question," noted Cody. "We don't have a problem with the color of anyone's skin, we have a problem with their behavior. The first thing a white child notices on the playground is that the worst bullies, the stupidest and dirtiest and meanest violent kids are always black and brown. From middle school on, the drug dealers and vandals and gang bangers are all black or Hispanic, and the bad white kids are mostly stupid whiggers who are trying to act black because they see the niggers getting away with murder. White kids aren't stupid, and they have eyes. They understand that they are forbidden to speak out loud of what they see and of what they go through in the educational system thanks to forced diversity, and they know perfectly well that the bulk of what they're learning is crap. But I think you'll find that now the threat of punishment has been removed, and they can hold up their heads and speak their minds, your kids will tell you some things you don't want to hear. Leaving aside your misuse of the term hate, we don't hate anyone, as you put it, because of who or what they are. We hate them because of what they do."

"The great thing about these kids is that they're pretty typical Volunteers. We are a very youthful movement," put in Barrow. "One of the major accomplishments of the Northwest Imperative is that we have been able to motivate young white people, and give them a sense of their racial identity and some personal goal in life besides racking up the highest score on some computer game or seeing how drunk they can get. For many years, the racial right in this country was nothing more than a bunch of sad old men with big bellies who spent their time mailing each other news clippings telling one another how bad things were. For a long time the Northwest Migration consisted of nothing other than the Old Man sending out e-mails ranting and raving into the void of cyberspace."

"Then what changed?" asked one of the reporters.

"I don't know, exactly," admitted Barrow honestly. "It's something of a mystery. A few years ago, somehow we all just got it, finally. All of a sudden, for some reason that no one has ever been able to explain, one day white people decided to quit screwing around. They started actually listening to what the Old Man was saying instead of just reading his e-mails and deleting them along with the porno spams and Viagra ads. Instead of just reading his little photocopied newsletters and then throwing them in the wastebasket or putting them away to gather dust in a drawer for the next twenty years, until the wife found them and threw them out, all of a sudden white males actually began to act on what he was saying. Instead of sending him a ten-dollar tip every now and then for being entertaining like he was some kind of court jester, all of a sudden he had men coming forward offering him serious material support in money, in plant, in land, and in logistics to capitalize and structure a bona fide political and social movement.

"I've heard the Old Man was living in a homeless shelter, but he still managed to keep a post office box open in Olympia, and one day he opened an envelope and found his first five-figure contribution check. He was so stunned that he fainted right in the post office. Above all, people started Coming Home, migrating here to the Northwest, physically coming here from all over the world. The old-timers tell me that through some incomprehensible mental and spiritual process, suddenly white men got up one morning, went out to the garage and started cleaning out the junk, packing the U-Hauls, and heading out on the interstate."

"It's called a miracle, General," asserted McCausland confidently. "At the very last moment, God finally awoke His sleeping children and bade them to leave the fleshpots of Egypt and Come Home to the Promised Land."

"That may well be, Pastor," conceded Barrow. "God, the gods, the Force, the Great Pumpkin, some kind of cosmic alignment, some kind of historically inevitable mass time bomb going off in thousands of white minds-I don't pretend to understand it. But it happened. Suddenly we all just got it. The few people who had taken the gap before and were already living here in the Northwest looked up, and they saw those moving vans and those out-of-state license plates coming over the hill. The cavalry had arrived. Almost too late, but they arrived. With the influx of new racial residents, we were able to create the Party on a just barely adequate foundation of money and manpower, and begin the process of converting native-born Northwesters like myself to the cause of independence. It couldn't have been done without those first incoming white migrants. I think it's fair to say that the bulk of the NVA were actually born here in the Northwest, but on our own, without those racial settlers from the rest of the country and the rest of the world, the whole thing would never have got off the ground. I mean, who locally would have joined one middle-aged man sitting alone in a boarding house with nothing but a computer? What the hell did he have to recruit with? Was he supposed to stand on a street corner waving a sign all on his own, like some fruitcake? But the influx of White racial migration gave the Old Man the resources both human and material that he needed to bring the Party into existence, and the rest is history, as they say."

The high point came when James Keller, a senior editor for Time magazine finally asked the question, "General Barrow, this may be a bit esoteric, but you have said that you are a National Socialist, a Nazi. What, exactly, does that mean? I don't mean Hitler and the Third Reich and World War Two and all that. What I'm asking is, what does it mean to be you? Do you understand what I'm asking?"

"I think so," said Barrow with a nod. He took a deep breath. "A National Socialist is someone who accepts the burden of history. Look, cutting through all the sound and fury, I think everyone in this room knows that the Party's analysis of the present world situation is accurate. The issue boils down to this: a hundred years from now, are there going to be any more people on this continent who look like most of us do here in this room? The question is brutal in its simplicity. The white man: yea or nay? Will we as a race continue to exist? The Western world has reached a turning point, by the steep stages of a crisis mounting for generations, a crisis brought on us through our own weakness and cowardice and sloth. We as a people must acquire the will to survive the crisis of civilization, where that will is elsewhere divided, wavering, or absent. At issue is whether our sick and weakened society, which we call Western civilization and which is the sole product of the Aryan race, can in its extremity still call up men and women whose faith in it is so great that they will voluntarily abandon those things which men hold good, including life, in order to defend it.

"A National Socialist accepts this challenge, this burden, this destiny. Above all things, National Socialism means duty. Duty to one's self, to be true to one's racial destiny. In this soft and supine era, most White men run away from duty, will do anything to avoid it, for it is difficult and demanding and interferes with their television. We are the ones who don't run away. We are the ones who take upon ourselves the burden of deciding in what form human destiny will be shaped. To be a National Socialist means taking on not only responsibility but moral authority, the right to determine the fate of others, and that is a terrible duty to assume, one which frightens and horrifies most modern men. To be a National Socialist entails the courage to determine that this society is sick beyond saving, and that mercy itself requires its swift extinction. To be a National Socialist requires cultivating the character, the intelligence and the moral strength to recognize the true issues at stake for our race and our civilization in the face of overwhelming opposition. There are some things in life that just plain have to be done. You don't argue about them, you don't debate over them, you don't try to justify them. You simply do them and you don't talk about it afterwards. We are the men and women who do what has to be done to secure the existence of our people and a future for white children. That is who we are, and that is why we are here."

5 comments:

Nicholas said...

HAC,

This book is utterly my favorite of the trilogy, with only the BRIGADE taking precedence over it by sheer size and interest. The manner in which you displayed the Republic's diplomats and teh conference was exceptional.

Realistsic enough not to dream, to hope.

Anonymous said...

What white man's chest doesn't swell up in vicarious pride while reading things like this?

But you know what? It wasn't until I read the words:

"At the very last moment, God finally awoke His sleeping children and bade them to leave the fleshpots of Egypt and Come Home to the Promised Land"

that actual tears came to my eyes, and a spirit much deeper than pride arose within me.

It is those moments which serve the Northwest Initiative and the possibility of its future.

Please consider the importance of that latter emotion... one far more important than mere pride...

Consider it especially in re its being triggered by those specific kind of words...

And God bless you, Harold Covington.

Keith Frost said...

This passage has a lot of the old NSWPP manual in there! This is the one book of yours, Harold, that I brag about the most with the possible exception of "Fire and Rain," considering that one has the best shoot out scene I have ever read. I don't mind bragging that I own this in hardback format and autographed January 25th, 2006!

The Old Man of the Mountain said...

Aha! Somebody finally spotted that! Is it plagiarism to copy from yourself?

Anonymous said...

This can be our future, if we have the courage to grasp it.