Some Classic Covington

[from my 50th birthday article, MY FIRST HALF CENTURY, September 2003. Copies available on request from nwnet@earthlink.net ]

There are people reading these lines right now who believe, apparently with entire sincerity, that somehow we are going to solve this tremendous crisis of civilization and remove the threat to our racial existence without spilling a single drop of our enemies’ blood. Or more to the point, without sacrificing a single drop of our own.

How? How can anyone think such a thing? How can we, the most intelligent and historically knowledgeable people on earth, the people who have made most of this planet’s history, not understand something that any group of South American students plotting in a café understands quite clearly? Something that Colonel Bangalla of Bungi-Bungi grasps without hesitation as he considers his coup against General Muntu? Something that every revolutionary theorist from Lenin to Hitler to Arafat simply took as a given? The Führer organized his Stormtroops before he organized the NSDAP itself. How can anyone possibly believe that somehow or other, the greatest tyranny the world has ever known will voluntarily hand state power back to the people who originally created America and humbly depart the world stage, submitting to their just punishment for the unspeakable crimes they have committed against humanity?

[Sigh…] Well, I will tell you how we can imagine such a thing. It’s the "C" word, the one even I am inclined to use sparingly, because even I can understand it’s not helpful. Cowardice.

It is the spirit-breaking cry of Winston Smith for the torturer of Room 101 to hurt his beloved Julia, not him, that reduced him to a fawning human wreck who licked Big Brother’s feet, as do we. Our own unspoken but well understood cry to ZOG: "Take them! Take my friends, take my wife and children, take anyone but me! Life is just too sweet! My house, my car, my soft cushioned sofa, my air conditioner, my cold beer and tasty salty nachos, I cannot lose them! Take him, take her, take my neighbor, O Beast! I crawl before thee, I thump my tail between my legs and piss on the floor like the whipped dog I am, take anyone but me!" That almost never-spoken C word. C as in contemptible.

We are weak, timid, deathly afraid, and yet we cannot bring ourselves to confront even in our own minds the depth of our degradation. We refuse to admit to ourselves that we are cowards who scream in fear to The Beast when it comes, begging it to take anyone else but ourselves.

So we develop a dozen complex, tortuous rationalizations to relieve ourselves of the moral demand that we act, while still salving our consciences and convincing ourselves with soothing psychobabble that we really are true blue and we really are part of a great struggle...which for the time being must, of course, always be conducted with nice, safe words, and never ever with deeds that might anger The Beast and make it hurt us.

This is why we so fear Northwest Migration, because it offers a safe, legal way to do rather than to say, one which is even in our own personal self-interest in the long run. But once that red line of action is crossed, even if it is safe and legal action, a boundary has been breached and a precedent has been set. And that terrifies us. Harold Covington has called our bluff…and he has found that it really is nothing but a bluff, and that humiliates us.