12 New Words To Memorize

[From 2007]

Our brand of nationalism has problems. Many, many problems. In the top five of that list is the virtual cessation of any meaningful physical activity involving real human beings over the past ten years. 

The fact is that the badly misnamed “Movement” exists 95 per cent on the internet; even the news media are starting to refer to us as an “online community.” Every org and every personality maintains a vast army of silent lurkers, often hiding behind brave, edgey and aggressive e-mail addresses like BlondBerserker@poseur.com that sound like characters out of an online fantasy video game, which is what the Movement is for most people. 

There are a small number of responding but non-paying correspondents, mostly by e-mail, essentially Monday-morning quarterbacks who tell Fearless Leader all about how he should do it and do give him occasional attaboys, and finally a tiny number of members who actually commit a few dollars.

Once in a blue moon one can actually persuade a self-proclaimed White nationalist to get in his car and do a little long-distance driving to meet someone, but that is rare. I’ve noticed down through the years that most of my own visits occur when someone is on their way to someplace else, and happens to be passing within a couple of hours’ drive of wherever I have rolled to a stop that year. They make a detour and take me out to eat so they can say they met me. After all, why do all that driving when Instant Message chats can satisfy one’s urge for “action” safely and cheaply, and soothe our conscience with the false illusion that by tapping on a keyboard we are “doing something?”

The vast majority of WN groups are one-man shows, and if a group actually has a secretary and an office for the group leader, it is deemed a major force on the landscape.  The biggest and best financed of our orgs hold meetings and “rallies” and “world congresses” that attract possibly the same number of people who attend an average wedding reception, although a massive turnout of such racial stalwarts takes at least a year to prepare. 

Our meetings are almost all held in rented motel banquet rooms; no one owns any buildings any more. When I came in thirty-five years ago, there were at least a dozen open headquarters of various kinds around the country; in this Year of Our Lord 2007, if memory serves, the Redneck Shop in South Carolina is the last actual, physical building in our hands. It’s not that we don’t have any wealthy people on our lists who couldn’t buy us some property if they felt like it. They just don’t feel like it, because fifty years of failure and corruption and incompetence on the part of our self-proclaimed leaders has convinced them that their money would simply be wasted, or the property would be legally seized by Morris Dees because Fearless Leader is either unable or unwilling to control the behavior of his members.

Our internet addiction is more than mere apathy. It is suggestive of deep structural problems of a fundamental nature. We must ask ourselves a question. If things are in fact bad, and are expected to get worse, why doesn’t anyone wish to do anything about it? The answer is that they want to see something done about it, which is not the same thing.

To begin with, the fact is that despite the slow deterioration of every aspect of American existence, life isn’t all that bad for the vast majority of White people. For whatever reason, gasoline prices are currently dropping at the pumps. Unless someone has an immediate relative in the military, the Iraq war is simply something one sees on television, until they bring back the draft. True, we have the usual American cocktail of crime, affirmative action, schools that warehouse instead of teach, and all the other issues that are discussed from time to time. 

But when it comes to real discomfort, such as our parents and grandparents endured during the 1929 depression, we as a people don’t face it. We haven’t had a war on our own soil since 1865. Most of us have a roof over our heads, a car to drive, a tube to watch, and a computer to sit at. The number one health problem is not hunger, but obesity. Unemployment is presently at 4 percent, and even allowing for some creative juggling in the statistics by the régime, this means that just about anyone who wants a job can get one. A low-paid service job, to be sure, since all our manufacturing has been outsourced to Asia and Latin America, but a job.

Bottom line? People say they want change, but in fact they want to turn on their television sets and see someone else doing the necessary to bring about that change. They are willing to pay a small admission price to watch the show, but they are terrified of getting dragged into the arena and becoming part of the performance. They don’t want to rock the boat in any way that might endanger what they have. Life is still too sweet, and Americans have been raised in a risk-averse culture which has taught them from birth that life is a game and whoever dies with the most toys wins—and anyone who deliberately puts his small collection of earthly toys at risk is a “loser” and probably insane.

The second problem is that White people are born inventors. We solve problems creatively. We created cars to take us from one place to another quickly and easily. Likewise airplanes. The telephone, and electric lights, and all the rest made life easier. White people solve problems so they can eliminate risk and labor and discomfort, not deliberately incur it—and that’s the unfortunate key.

We’ve all heard of virtual reality. Some of us may have heard the term “virtual community” and that is precisely what we have. We can exchange e-mails with exactly those people we want to communicate with. We can go only to web sites that tell us what we want to hear, and show us what we want to see. We can often order the things we need without ever dealing with anyone else. After work we can enter online chat and game rooms and immerse ourselves in a complete fantasy world, until it is time to trudge into our crushing and mind-numbing shitjob again the next morning. In short, we can live amongst our chosen neighbors most of the time and never venture out of our little community.

We speak of people migrating to the suburbs, and then to the Northwest—but another migration, to virtual communities, is also taking place. This migration is important in that it relieves discomfort.  The cyber-world is political and spiritual junk food, empty calories, but it does satisfy. And since the discomfort is eliminated, no further action will be taken. No personal meetings. No rallies. No marches.

The  ability to create a virtual reality is the ultimate opiate, which lets us tailor our environment perfectly to our preferences. You don’t like blacks, you say?  No problem, you can avoid them in virtual reality. You wish to avoid the muds altogether? Easily accomplished! Just choose your e-mail filters wisely. 

Of course, this world is false. At some point, probably after we have wasted our youth and middle age and productive years, when we become old and easy targets, one day reality in the form of muds or cops or whoever will in fact come crashing through our doors, and drag us kicking and screaming away from our computers and out the door into the real, hard world of death and torture and humiliation, but White people have become very good at thinking maybe ten minutes ahead, on a good day. In essence, we as a race are frittering away our last precious few years of time tapping on keyboard and playing childish games on computer screens.

How to change this complacency? How are people to be brought from their comfortable electronic cocoons into a cold, harsh, hostile world?   

Perhaps the economy will fail so spectacularly that many will be forced back into reality—but that may only happen after our chains are so firmly affixed that we can never shake them off. Perhaps crime and other situations will get so awful that people will be forced to face the real world. 

But it is also possible that we as a race have created the means of our own demise, and that we will not awaken until it is too late. There is a very real chance that it is already too late to save our existence; across the globe, there is not a single White racialist group that is strong, vital and growing. Not one.

There are two ways that a situation or a people may be changed: from the outside—what rite-wingers refer to as “the Balloon Going Up”—or from the inside. We can no longer sit around and wait for some kind of deus ex machina resolution to our racial problems to descend from the clouds in a flying saucer, though.

I propose that in addition to David Lane’s Fourteen words, we begin to discuss what I might call the Additional Twelve, or possibly the Postscript. We must change the White man’s thinking and recover our ancient courage.  

We must initiate a clear and ruthless, Movement-wide dialogue on the issue of character which we have for so long avoided. We must put some stiffening in our spines. We must become the kind of men and women our ancestors were up until about a century ago, and we have to do it now. 

The worst thing, for me, of all I have seen over the past few year’s is Harold Covington’s inability to convey any sense of urgency about this. It seems like sometimes he is standing on a bleak and empty seashore, shouting at the waves and the gulls. HAC’s message needs to be heard, and it needs to be heard now.