by James Mason
Those who are already committed to the struggle, whether win or lose - these are the ones who need propagandizing and politicking so as to hone themselves up to maximum ability. If we try that on people who are already waiting for the Leader to appear so that they may follow him, we will alienate and lose them. THEY DON'T WANT TO HEAR IT. Hell, I don't want to hear it.
If anything, the instinct is the only "soul" any of us will ever know. The only God any of us has exists in our bloodstream. Let us hope that the God within will provide our souls the answer to the dilemma we face and give us the strength to lead our people. When we begin to lead naturally then a hundred years of brainwash and distortion will be smashed in an instant.
[Vol. XII, #9- Sept., 1983]
Culture and Conditioning
Culture is a subject not very often brought up in SIEGE because, in a revolutionary context, it tends to give the ring of something irrelevant, and, in this jungle-ized milieu where some of our own best fighters enjoy nothing better than "rock" music, it might even appear as a flat-out waste of time. But it is important to know and understand what culture really is and, in so doing, come to understand better about human behavior and the effects of the stimuli around us on it.
First, true culture comes from blood. Here today we have a bastardized culture just the same as the make-up of the American people grows increasingly bastardized. Then, as the old-timers will readily attest, there is the role of the Jew in what has been called "culture distortion" for his own peculiar purposes and toward his own particular ends. In truth, the West today has no culture. These consumers hang onto the language and customs of a bygone age because they can't come up with anything so organized and intricate on their own. Some of the music aficionados will travel and sit for hours and pay huge sums of money to hear music played of a hundred or two hundred years ago. (Music isn't being written anymore and the language is degenerating into a mass of "ya know's", "f'real's" and "muthafucker's", etc.)
They might tell you that, in a democratic society, it's a matter of free choice or of personal taste. Our side will affirm there is such as the "mass taste" which will always tend toward mediocrity. But the trick, as always, about any so-called democracy is that it is one big loop hole, gaping wide like an open invitation to all the sharpies and hucksters to move in and take over. That is what already took place here generations ago. And then the question of "free choice" becomes a moot one as it is all relegated to only those "choices" the taste-makers see fit to place before you. (Control of mass taste and opinion is absolutely no different than control of so-called "democratic" elections: the manipulators present two of their favorite dummies for you to pick from. Either way, you lose.)
I'll use myself this time as a case in point. My meeting with my own culture was by complete accident. I could have been no more than ten years of age when, over the FM radio of my father's car, I caught the sounds of music such as I had never heard before. I didn't know what it was or who wrote it but I knew it was reaching out to me. And I must emphasize that it reached out not as anything prescribed socially but instead like a call of the wild. Here was culture and, as a product of blood, something in my blood was responding. After I had managed to get together a basic selection of classical and romantic music, I found out it has been one of Brahms' Hungarian Dances. Blood to blood.
The feeling was identical to learning the name of a beautiful girl one has seen on the street and fallen instantly in love with.
Then there is conditioning. I had experienced the syndrome long before Commander Rockwell explained it in his ROCKWELL REPORT. I can still go to my LP records and put on the turntable a piece of musical trash... BUT I will instantly be transported to a happy time and place and the overall effect will be a pleasant one. The Commander called it Pavlovian in principle and he was quite right. Pavlov was the Russian scientist who experimented in conditioning dogs through the use of flashing lights, ringing bells and even electrical impulses at their feeding time. Once the dogs had become accustomed to all the artificial and extraneous conditions and had come to associate them with the most pleasurable and essential matter of eating, the experiment was proven. Place the food before the dogs without the lights and bells and the dogs wouldn't go near it. Flash the lights and ring the bells and the dogs would slaver at the mouth even in the presence of no food. Humans don't like to think that they are no different in their instincts and reflexes.
How perfect is the System's brainwash and conditioning apparatus! It is total and complete! No matter who you are, where you are or what you are doing, if you have on a radio, record player or television, the System is there and you are being conditioned. The logical result has been that all this noise and claptrap has become social ritual. Without it, forget it. You're not a part. The occurrence I experienced of the Black who happened upon the playing of a symphony on a portable FM radio and inquired, "Wus dat?" is indicative but not as troubling as the young White girl who couldn't bear to be alone in the bath without loud noise blaring over her radio.
I've chosen music as my example in this as it is an art form that cannot be idly or coldly stared at in a museum or gallery, it requires participation in the same manner as a stage play, etc. Music is emotional. And we've got a country full of badly emotionally disturbed people.
Conditioning is everywhere but it is not everything. There are those few who hear and respond to that call of the wild I spoke of. For someone who can't dance or play a musical instrument, I still believe I'm one who appreciates and loves best the music of our blood. I think of the masters who wrote it - Wagner and Liszt, etc. - and I know they weren't writing for the hell of it. Without words, the music is saying something. It is blood speaking to blood. How few can hear it and how fewer still can understand it? (How few even suspect or care?) That is culture and that is what is nearly completely lost.
[Vol. XIV, #6- June, 1985]
Conflict and Adversity
Most people run like hell at the first hint of real trouble. But their idea of "trouble" is so ridiculously low-threshold that the word itself loses its meaning. I have two ideas pop into mind at the mention of the word trouble: one, a violent, physical confrontation, one-on-one or between very small groups, wherein death or serious injury could come at any second. And two, a bottomless pit of quicksand involving an arrest and prosecution by the System which could result in, again, death or permanent loss of liberty. That, to me, represents trouble and I've run the risk of it routinely for eighteen years. Anything less than those two merely amounts to varying degrees of a pain in the ass. For most, however, trouble in the first degree starts in earnest with spooks, ghosts and goblins breaking loose and running amok through their childlike and undisciplined imaginations, playing on their fears and dark spots representing areas that are unknown to them.
Violence, hardship, jail, ostracism and all the rest are those very same dark places of the brain and the experience that all "good citizens" are supposed never to know. We, as professional revolutionaries, know them quite well and are on daily, intimate terms with them. We, as a result, don't scare easy. Implications and threats are better names for ghosts and goblins in this modern day reality. Only physical annihilation - or the immediate prospect of - should give us any pause. The rest is garbage and it is for the teeming BILLIONS of the earth's swine to cower before the remainder, just as Haitian savages would before voodoo.
It's been said that pressure makes diamonds and no truer words were ever spoken. I've had often occasion over the past twelve months to comment that you never know a person until you have known them under extreme stress. Most, instead of becoming diamonds, are reduced to coal dust in a hurry. But without these live-ammo exercises in daily life well before revolution spills over into the street, how are we to know really who is who? How are we to know in fact who we are ourselves unless we are TESTED? Right Wing bullshit-slinging and cat fights are no test. Smears in print are no test. Power struggles among powerless contenders are no test. The old style street demon
strations WERE kinds of real tests as were the resultant entanglements with the System (not to mention the Enemy in the street) and the Pig Bureaucracy. Only when you tangle with a REAL ENEMY who can cripple or kill you if you make a single false move can you accurately gauge your prowess in any area.
When situations get hard it first of all causes one to take a true stock accounting of the people and things around him. At those times he can see the clearest of all... because he must if he is to fight well and survive. Just as the hardest tests cull out weak individuals, it also cuts out weakness in the strong individuals and this is what accounts for the phenomenon of the strong getting even stronger under fire. The hardest trials are the great leaveners of men. Performance under prolonged stress is the only way of knowing because all of the rest can be faked. Commander Rockwell called for men ready and willing to march into hell with him. He got only a handful but look at the legend they created in nine short years! What could be done with a thousand? Ten thousand?
Conflict and adversity should be viewed as no particular problem, no big deal. Just as part of the job. It comes with the territory. Once we see how we can deal with it and overcome it, and once we recognize what it does FOR US, then it should almost come to be viewed as an old and welcome friend. We must know the ways of adversity and be comfortable with them. Those who fear adversity and who spend their existences trying to keep it as a stranger, may the Devil take and sacrifice!
[Vol. XIII, #6- June, 1984]
When Struggle Ceases
Joseph Tommasi was fond of the saying, "Those not busy being born are busy dying." Indeed, he was at that time in the midst of the struggle to see to it that National Socialism didn't die because of an established, central control that refused to grow, to expand, to adapt. The result was as simple as it was predictable: those that refused to grow died; those that did change soon came to effect and influence the course of the entire Movement. This is a law of nature; it applies universally and there are no exceptions.
But this segment has to do with that which the Rightists and conservatives either can't recognize or refuse to come to grips with. That fundamental, social-historic fact of life which ruled out from the very beginning any chance of their strategies meeting with any success whatsoever. It is a question of knowing when death approaches, why and what can be done about it.
Never having gone the more or less traditional route of being a "bigot" or a "red neck" or being prejudiced on any matter, as a small kid I used to have an almost affectionate admiration for the Blacks and one might possibly see how such an attitude could exist, especially in a child. And having been born a rebel, I really liked the effect they had on - not to mention their performance in - a classroom.
I never became a liberal or, to use the vernacular of the Sixties, a "nigger-lover" because I had always sensed that these people were alien and I could always feel the element of resentment and even hostility that emanated from them. Still, at no time did I count myself as their enemy. Undoubtedly, the first among my very few bad personal brushes with the Black Race occurred when I was about eight years of age (this was well after these sentiments just outlined had already been formed). A chum and I were in the habit of hiking around the city and the area that immediately surrounds it. This day as usual we were equipped with packs and canteens, etc., and had set off towards the west. This was to take us to the southwest edge of town, the part largely inhabited by the Blacks. Some trepidation had already attached itself to this course but we figured the odds against anything untoward happening were fairly slim.
No sooner had we approached the perimeter of the colored district than we encountered the approach of two Black youths, several years older than ourselves, about a block away and closing in. It was clear to both of us that trouble seemed to be on the way but my friend decided to take evasive action that, to me, appeared worse than futile - it appeared provocative. He crossed to the other side of the street. Had there been any doubts before as to whether something was to happen, they were erased when one of the Blacks also crossed over to the other side. In those days, I was noted for my ability to run like the wind but I didn't entertain the thought that day. This was an obvious confrontation. All parties proceeded forward until contact was made.
The tall, lanky mulatto who was now confronting me demanded a drink from my canteen. A similar scene was taking place directly across the street. What I was feeling at that moment I would only years later come to know and identify: the exhilaration of the natural adrenaline coursing through my body in anticipation of the primal conflict which appeared imminent. The "moderns" then and now referred to it as "fear". My refusal was as curt as it was unequivocal. There followed more demands, more physical menace and more refusals while, as though to illustrate the apparent despair of the situation, from my side vision came the scene of the other Black hoisting my partner's canteen for his drink. Finally, my Black grudgingly gave up and moved on. This one had been a bluff but other, later ones were not to be. I can only imagine the Black conversation afterward but my companion, after rejoining me, could only say, "You looked nervous as hell." Yes, but that's not where the difference was decided.
And therein was perhaps a microcosm of the world conflict. We had something and they figured to take it away. They even thought they had us sized-up properly and they were half right. A question of wills perhaps.
The great advantage that the Third World elements have in the world and in our midst is that they still struggle. It is NOT the aid and comfort lavished upon them by the Jews and bleeding-heart liberals, though this is most assuredly considerable. Their greatest impetus today comes from those among their leaders who are claiming that they, as a group, have made no significant progress since the 1960's. This spurs them onto continued struggle. Idiotic Rightists and conservatives take hollow consolation at the same words addressed to Blacks and fall back to sleep. Struggle is the force of life itself. Where there is ample struggle, there is not only life but also strength and all that attends.
Struggle brings with it awareness and touch with reality.
Whites perceive - even if unconsciously - that their struggle has been over for longer than they or any of their predecessors really can tell. When, during the mid-Sixties, as a youth in junior high school, a classroom of mixed Blacks and Whites was collectively chanting "Black Power, Black Power", the explanation one White offered me later was that there was already "White Power" and that "Black Power" was only the fair thing. By instinct alone, that didn't wash at all with me even though, at twelve or thirteen, I was unable to articulate in my mind exactly why. In fact there was no "power" at all. Only a pie of which everyone wanted a piece. And, just as nature decrees everywhere, the most and biggest pieces go to the most aggressive. Struggle.
Commander Rockwell did a superb, unsurpassable job in outlining and explaining why the workings of this society and the behavior of Whites in general were going haywire and I won't attempt to recover that ground. I will propose to determine what was at the bottom of it all: that Whites had no goal left to them as a people while all other races did, to wit, to gain for themselves all the material riches and technological wonders in the hands of Whites. Hitler and his National Socialists were blessed with a very sudden and real sense of struggle which made possible their miracle.
Americans particularly have been bombarded from birth with the idea that they have it all, that they have it made and that they now must share it, give it all away. The instinctive search for struggle cannot be denied, only perverted. We see today limitless individual struggle. As meaningless as it is empty. Not the mark of a great society but that of a helpless one. One that is LOST. No longer a great people but just a mass of mean, mediocre, little nothings. Ripe for any downfall but incapable of any greatness. Without struggle, identity is lost. Lack of uphill push results in increasingly downhill momentum. Without the unifying bond, a people becomes estranged from itself, from its past, its present and its future.
That is the reason for the
otherwise "inexplicable" decay. And there is why no "quick fix" or "shot in the arm" remedy can be entertained as real. There is also the answer to why all the so-called "pro-White" efforts fail without exception. What we must find are more and better ways to distance ourselves from the knee-jerk reactionaries, the mere anti-Semites, the mere racists. If this society were not ripe for death, would it so willingly harken to the Jewish and liberal song of death? Would it cooperate so readily? No, my comrades, the struggle and the cry must be for that which is pro-revolutionary, exclusively. A political army sharing a common struggle! Do not be deceived any longer.
[Vol. XV, #2- Feb., 1986]
Dedicated To My Enemies
This segment was conceived and notes for it put down during a moment of depression. When running on an even keel, not to mention while feeling elated, one finds that it isn't easy to discuss a last-ditch frame of mind. Needless to say, one can find good and bad moments under practically any and all circumstances but when things get miserable and tend to remain that way over extended periods, the difference is usually made between people who can or cannot find a way, some means of tying a knot and hanging on when they have reached the end of their rope. I know. I've been there - often - and sometimes for years at a stretch. And I promise you that I would not be here now had I not quickly learned where and upon what to focus my attention during those dangerously low times.
In this saddest period of Man's history when all do indeed either fall silent or become untrue, when all meaning and purpose seem to fade and vanish and it is either difficult or impossible to believe even in one's self, to whom can you turn for the strength to carry on? What can provide the jolt to the senses to snap you out of it and put you back on the fighting track? Who else but one's own circle of enemies? When you wouldn't carry on for so-called "friends", after you've already given yourself up for dead, when even the Cause itself appears lost, as long as there are those personal adversaries out there who might just gain some tiny degree of vindication at one's fall, there has always been given the one, single reason to go on to the end.