The great majority have either been organized into labor brigades, primarily for farm work, or, in the case of most of the males of military age, put into Army uniforms and given rifles we've salvaged from one of the bombed-out National Guard armories. In the latter way we are gradually increasing the overall reliability, if not the proficiency, of the military force under our control. Many of these "instant soldiers" have had little or no military training, and we haven't had a chance yet to give them any of the ideological preparation which the new Organization members are receiving, yet they are clearly more sympathetic to our cause, on the average, than the regular GI's. We are integrating them into the regular units as rapidly as we can.
I queried the people I saw today about their present living arrangements and family situations as well as about their training and work experience. Nearly all of them have been assigned to a block of recently vacated housing in a former Black area, just south of Los Angeles proper. The Organization has set up a new unit HQ in a small apartment building there, and that's where the interviews took place.
There were very few complaints from the people I talked to, although they all mentioned the extraordinarily filthy condition of the buildings into which they have moved. Some of the apartment units are so saturated with filth they are simply not habitable. Everyone, however, has pitched in cheerfully, and the disinfecting, scrubbing, and repainting effort has made a remarkable transformation in just a couple of days.
I made a brief inspection tour, and it was heartwarming to see pretty, White children playing quietly where previously hordes of screaming, young Blacks had swarmed. A group of about two dozen parents were still working on the grounds around the apartments. They have collected a small mountain of litter: beer cans, cigarette wrappers, empty TV-dinner cartons, demolished furniture, and rusted-out appliances. Two women have marked off a sizable area of barren, thoroughly trampled lawn with stakes and string and are spading up the earth for a community vegetable garden. In windows which had previously known only torn paper shades, bright curtains-improvised from bed sheets and home-dyed, I imagine- have gone up. Fresh flowers are on sills formerly occupied only by empty liquor bottles.
Most of these people arrived here with little more than the clothes on their backs, having left everything behind and risked their lives in order to be with us. It's a shame we are unable to do more for them now, but they're the type who are pretty well able to do for themselves.
One of the first volunteers I picked this morning was a man to find a suitable truck somewhere and use it regularly for hauling refuse away from the new settlement and bringing in food each day from the nearest distribution point, which is about six miles away. He will be responsible for his own mechanical maintenance and for finding gasoline wherever he can, until we have time to set up a new fuel-distribution system. He is a 60-year-old who formerly owned his own plastics factory in Indiana, but he is happy to be a garbageman here!
By the time we get the overall civilian situation whipped into shape, the average population density in our part of California will be a little less than half what it was a month ago. There'll be the greatest plenty of housing for new people coming in, and we'll probably level about half the residential and commercial areas in Los Angeles county, plant trees, and make parkland of them. That lies in the future, though, and for now our aim is simply to settle the new people temporarily in areas well separated from those we haven't pacified and weeded yet.
But even the tiny beginning we have already made fills me with joy and pride. What a miracle it is to walk streets which only a few weeks ago were filled with non-Whites lounging at every street corner and in every doorway and to see only White faces-clean, happy, enthusiastic White faces, determined and hopeful for the future! No sacrifice is too great to successfully complete our revolution and secure that future for them-and for the girls of the 128th Los Angeles Food Brigade and for millions of others like them throughout our land!
Chapter XXIII
August 1, 1993. Today has been the Day of the Rope-a grim and bloody day, but an unavoidable one. Tonight, for the first time in weeks, it is quiet and totally peaceful throughout all of southern California. But the night is filled with silent horrors; from tens of thousands of lampposts, power poles, and trees throughout this vast metropolitan area the grisly forms hang.
In the lighted areas one sees them everywhere. Even the street signs at intersections have been pressed into service, and at practically every street corner I passed this evening on my way to HQ there was a dangling corpse, four at every intersection. Hanging from a single overpass only about a mile from here is a group of about 30, each with an identical placard around its neck bearing the printed legend, "I betrayed my race." Two or three of that group had been decked out in academic robes before they were strung up, and the whole batch are apparently faculty members from the nearby UCLA campus.
In the areas to which we have not yet restored electrical power the corpses are less visible, but the feeling of horror in the air there is even worse than in the lighted areas. I had to walk through a two-block-long, unlighted residential section between HQ and my living quarters after our unit meeting tonight. In the middle of one of the unlighted blocks I saw what appeared to be a person standing on the sidewalk directly in front of me. As I approached the silent figure, whose features were hidden in the shadow of a large tree overhanging the sidewalk, it remained motionless, blocking my way.
Feeling some apprehension, I slipped my pistol out of its holster. Then, when I was within a dozen feet of the figure, which had been facing away from me, it began turning slowly toward me. There was something indescribably eerie about the movement, and I stopped in my tracks as the figure continued to turn. A slight breeze rustled the foliage overhead, and suddenly a beam of moonlight broke through the leaves and fell directly on the silently turning shape before me.
The first thing I saw in the moonlight was the placard with its legend in large, block letters: "I defiled my race." Above the placard leered the horribly bloated, purplish face of a young woman, her eyes wide open and bulging, her mouth agape. Finally I could make out the thin, vertical line of rope disappearing into the branches above. Apparently the rope had slipped a bit or the branch to which it was tied had sagged, until the woman's feet were resting on the pavement, giving the uncanny appearance of a corpse standing upright of its own volition.
I shuddered and quickly went on my way. There are many thousands of hanging female corpses like that in this city tonight, all wearing identical placards around their necks. They are the White women who were married to or living with Blacks, with Jews, or with other non-White males.
There are also a number of men wearing the l-defiled-my-race placard, but the women easily outnumber them seven or eight to one. On the other hand, about ninety per cent of the corpses with the I-betrayed-my-race placards are men, and overall the sexes seem to be roughly balanced.
Those wearing the latter placards are the politicians, the lawyers, the businessmen, the TV newscasters, the newspaper reporters and editors, the judges, the teachers, the school officials, the "civic leaders," the bureaucrats, the preachers, and all the others who, for reasons of career or status or votes or whatever, helped promote or implement the System's racial program. The System had already paid them their 30 pieces of silver. Today we paid them.:
It started at three o'clock this morning. Yesterday was an especially bad day of rioting, with the Jews using transistorized megaphones to whip up the crowds and egg them into throwing stones and bottles at our troops. They were chanting "racism must go" and "equality forever" and other slogans the Jews had taught them. It reminded me of the mass demonstrations of the Vietnam era. The Jews have a knack for things like that.
But by three o'clock this morning the crowds had long since finished their orgy of violence and chanting and were in bed-all except a few groups of diehards who had rigged up loudspeakers and were blaring System radio broadcasts out over the surrounding neighb
orhoods, broadcasts which alternated between screaming rock "music" and appeals for "brotherhood."
Squads of our troops with synchronized watches suddenly appeared in a thousand blocks at once, in fifty different residential neighborhoods, and every squad leader had a long list of names and addresses. The blaring music suddenly stopped and was replaced by the sound of thousands of doors splintering, as booted feet kicked them open.
It was like the Gun Raids of four years ago, only in reverse- and the outcome was both more drastic and more permanent for those raided. One of two things happened to those the troops dragged out onto the streets. If they were non-Whites-and that included all the Jews and everyone who even looked like he had a bit of non-White ancestry - they were shoved into hastily formed columns and started on their no-return march to the canyon in the foothills north of the city. The slightest resistance, any attempt at back talk, or any lagging brought a swift bullet.
The Whites, on the other hand, were, in nearly all cases, hanged on the spot. One of the two types of pre-printed placards was hung on the victim's chest, his hands were quickly taped behind his back, a rope was thrown over a convenient limb or signpost with the other end knotted around his neck, and he was then hauled clear of the ground with no further ado and left dancing on air while the soldiers went to the next name on their list.
The hangings and the formation of the death columns went on for about 10 hours without interruption. When the troops finished their grim work early this afternoon and began returning to their barracks, the Los Angeles area was utterly and completely pacified. The residents of neighborhoods in which we could venture safely only in a tank yesterday were trembling behind closed doors today, afraid even to be seen peering through the crack in drawn drapes. Throughout the morning there was no organized or large-scale opposition to our troops, and by this afternoon even the desire for opposition had evaporated.
I and my men were in the thick of things all day, mostly handling logistics. When the execution squads began running out of rope, we stripped several miles of wire from power poles to use in its place. We also rounded up hundreds of ladders.
And we were the ones who pasted up the proclamations from Revolutionary Command in each block, warning all citizens that henceforth any act of looting, rioting, or sabotage, or any failure to obey the command of a soldier, will result in the summary execution of the offender. The proclamations also carry a similar warning for anyone who knowingly harbors a Jew or other non-White or who willfully provides false information to or withholds information from our police units. Finally, they list the reporting point in each neighborhood to which every person, at a time and date depending upon the position of his name in the alphabet, is to report for registration and assignment to a work unit.
I nearly got into a shooting fight with a company commander near City Hall this morning about nine o'clock. That's where we were taking all the big shots to be hanged: the well-known politicians, a number of prominent Hollywood actors and actresses, and several TV personalities. If we had strung them up in front of their homes like everyone else, only a few people would have seen them, and we wanted their example to be instructive to a much wider audience. For the same reason many of the priests on our lists were taken to one of three large churches where we had TV crews set up to broadcast their executions.
The trouble was that many of the big shots were arriving at City Hall already more dead than alive. The troops on the transport trucks were really giving them a working over.
One famous actress, a notorious race-mixer who had starred in several large-budget, interracial "love" epics, had lost most of her hair, an eye, and several teeth-not to mention all her clothes-before the rope was put around her neck. She was a bruised and bloody mess. I wouldn't have known who she was if I hadn't asked. What, I wondered, was the point in publicly hanging her if the public couldn't recognize her and draw the a proper inferences between her former behavior and her punishment?
I was drawn to a commotion near one of the trucks which had just arrived. A grossly fat old man, whom I immediately recognized as the Federal judge who had handed down some of the System's most outrageous rulings in recent years-including the one confirming the power of arrest granted by the Human Relations Councils to their Black deputies-was resisting the efforts of the troops to pull off his pajamas and dress him in his judicial robe.
One of the soldiers knocked him down, and then four others began kicking him and repeatedly slamming him in the face, stomach, and groin with their rifle butts. He was unconscious, and perhaps already dead, when the rope was knotted around his neck and his limp figure was hauled about halfway up a lamppost. A TV cameraman was recording the whole scene and broadcasting it live.
I was thoroughly disgusted by this latter incident and by several others of a similar nature, and I sought out the officer in charge of the troops there to lodge my complaint. I asked him why he wasn't maintaining proper discipline among his men, and I told him in strong terms that the beatings of the prisoners were counterproductive.
We must maintain a public image of strength and uncompromising ruthlessness in dealing with the enemies of our race, but to behave like a gang of Ugandans or Puerto Ricans hardly accomplishes that. (Note to the reader: Uganda was a political subdivision of the continent of Africa during the Old Era, when that continent was inhabited by the Negro race. Puerto Rico was the Old Era name of the island of New Carolina. It is occupied now by the descendants of White refugees from radioactive areas of the southeastern United States, but before the race purges in the final days of the Great Revolution it was inhabited by a mongrel race of especially unsavory character.) Above all else we must show ourselves as disciplined, since we will be demanding strict discipline on the part of the civilian population. We must never give vent to our feelings of frustration or our personal hatreds but must show by our behavior at all times that what we are doing is serving a higher purpose.
The captain exploded. He shouted at me to mind my own business. When I insisted that I was minding my business, he became red with anger and said that he, not 1, was the one who had the responsibility and that he was doing the best he could under very difficult circumstances.
He pointed out correctly that the Organization had replaced nearly half the men in his company with untrained newcomers in the last month, and so it shouldn't be surprising to me that discipline wasn't all it might be. He also told me that he knew enough about the psychology of his men to understand the value of letting them beat the prisoners as a way of justifying to themselves that the prisoners were their enemies and deserved to be hanged.
I really couldn't counter either of the captain's arguments, but I did note with some satisfaction that when he turned away from me he strode angrily over to a group of soldiers who were brutally pistol-whipping a long-haired, effeminate-looking youth in an outlandishly "mod" getup-a popular "rock" performer- and ordered them to stop.
Upon thinking about it, I have come to see things more from the captain's viewpoint. Of course, we must tighten up discipline a great deal as soon as we can, but for the moment it is better for us to have more political reliability and less discipline among the troops. We delayed our crackdown on the civilian population as long as we did just so we could weed out and disarm the questionable GI's and replace them with the new people who've been coming through the enemy lines to us.
Also, we wanted time to accustom the troops to the new order of things here and to give them at least a little ideological preparation for today's work. And we purposely let the civilians get more out of control than we might have, just so we would have a manifest excuse for taking thoroughly radical measures instead of half-measures, which could not have solved the civilian problem in the long run.
One other reason for the delay I learned today was that we needed time to finish compiling our arrest lists. For several years Organization members here, just as in other parts of the country, have been building their dossiers of System toadies, Jew-fawners, equali
tarian theorists, and other White racecriminals, along with their street directories of all non-Whites residing in predominantly White areas.
We were able to use the latter, which were kept quite up to date even during the last month, without modification. But the dossiers required a huge amount of evaluation and weeding. In the first place there were far too many of them.
For example, a White family might have a dossier as racecriminals because a neighbor had once observed a Black attending a cocktail party at their home or because they displayed one of the "Equality Now" bumper stickers, which have been distributed so widely by the Human Relations Councils. In general, unless there was also other evidence in a particular dossier, these people were not put on the arrest list. Otherwise, we'd have had to hang better than 10 per cent of the White population-an entirely impractical task.
And even if we could hang that many people, there would be no good reason for it; most of that 10 per cent are really no worse than most of the other 90 per cent. They have been brainwashed; they are weak and selfish; they have no sense of racial loyalty-but the same things are true of most people these days. People are what they have become, and we have to accept that-as a starting point.
Actually, it has been true all through history that only small portions of a population are either good or evil. The great bulk are morally neutral-incapable of distinguishing absolute right from absolute wrong-and they take their cue from whoever is on top at the moment.
When good men are the rulers and the program-makers for a society, the population as a whole will reflect this, and people with no originality or moral sense of direction of their own will nevertheless fervently support the highest aims of their society. But when evil men rule, as has been the case in America for many years now, most of the population will wallow happily in degeneracy of the worst kind and will self-righteously parrot every filthy and destructive idea that they have been taught.
The Turner Diaries: A Novel Page 22