One can call them hypocrites-one can point out that they deliberately avoid thinking about anything which might call into question the validity of the shallow catch-phrases with which they justify themselves-but is not everyone who has tolerated the System also a hypocrite, whether he actively supported it or not? Is not everyone who mindlessly parrots the same catch-phrases, refusing to examine their implications and contradictions, whether he uses them as justifications for his deeds or not, also to be blamed?
I cannot think of any segment of White society, from the Maryland red-necks and their families whose radioactive bodies we bulldozed into a huge pit a few days ago to the university professors we strung up in Los Angeles last July, which can truly claim that it did not deserve what happened to it. It was not so many months ago that nearly all those who are wandering homeless and bemoaning their fate today were talking from the other side of their mouths.
Not a few of our people have been badly roughed up in the past-and two that I know of were killed-when they fell into the hands of red-necks - "good ol' boys" who, although not liberals or shabbos goyim in any way, had no use for "radicals" who wanted to "overthrow the gummint." In their case it was sheer ignorance.
But ignorance of that sort is no more excusable than the bleating, sheeplike liberalism of the pseudo-intellectuals who have smugly promoted Jewish ideology for so many years; or than the selfishness and cowardice of the great American middle class who went along for the ride, complaining only when their pocketbooks suffered.
No, talk of "innocents" has no meaning. We must look at our situation collectively, in a race-wide sense. We must understand that our race is like a cancer patient undergoing drastic surgery in order to save his life. There is no sense in asking whether the tissue being cut out now is "innocent" or not. That is no more reasonable than trying to distinguish the "good" Jews from the bad ones-or, as some of our thicker-skulled "good ol' boys" still insist on trying, separating the "good niggers" from the rest of their race.
The fact is that we are all responsible, as individuals, for the morals and the behavior of our race as a whole. There is no evading that responsibility, in the long run, any more for the members of our own race than for those of other races, and each of us individually must be prepared to be called to account for that responsibility at any time. In these days many are being called.
But the enemy is also paying a price. He's still got a grip on things here, more or less, but he's just about finished outside North America. Although the government is blocking most of the foreign news from the networks here, we have been receiving clandestine reports from our overseas units and also monitoring the European news broadcasts.
Within 24 hours after we hit Tel Aviv and half-a-dozen other Israeli targets last month, hundreds of thousands of Arabs were swarming across the borders of occupied Palestine. Most of them were civilians, armed only with knives or clubs, and Jewish border guards mowed down thousands of them, until their ammunition was exhausted. The Arabs' hatred, pent up for 45 years, drove them on-across mine fields, through Jewish machine-gun fire, and into the radioactive chaos of burning cities, their single thought being to slay the people who had stolen their land, killed their fathers, and humiliated them for two generations. Within a week the throat of the last Jewish survivor in the last kibbutz and in the last, smoking ruin in Tel Aviv had been cut.
News from the Soviet Union is very scanty, but the reports are that the Russian survivors have dealt with the Jews there in much the same way. In the ruins of Moscow and Leningrad during the first few days the people rounded up all the Jews they could get their hands on and hurled them into burning buildings or onto burning heaps of debris.
And anti-Jewish riots have broken out in London, Paris, Brussels, Rotterdam, Bucharest, Buenos Aires, Johannesburg, and Sydney. The governments of France and the Netherlands, both rotten to the core with Jewish corruption, have fallen, and the people are settling scores in the towns and villages throughout those countries.
It's the sort of thing which happened time after time during the Middle Ages, of course-every time the people had finally had heir fill of the Jews and their tricks. Unfortunately, they never finished the job, and they won't this time either. I'm sure the Jews are already making their plans for a comeback, as soon as the people have calmed down and forgotten. The people have such short memories.
But we won't forget! That alone is enough to insure that history will not repeat itself. No matter how long it takes us and no matter to what lengths we must go, we'll demand a final settlement of the account between our two races. If the Organization survives this contest, no Jew will-anywhere. We'll go to the uttermost ends of the earth to hunt down the last of Satan's spawn.
The organizational principles we are using in Maryland are a bit different from those used in California, because the situations are different. Here, unlike southern California, there are neither natural, geographical barriers nor a ring of government troops to separate our enclave from its surroundings.
Of course, we did what we could to make up for this lack. We chose a perimeter, in the first place, which follows natural gaps in the pattern of man-made structures-although, for nearly half a mile the gap is only the 100-yard width of a highway right-of-way, with the System's troops controlling the other side. We plugged some open areas with barbed wire and mines, and we torched buildings and brush outside the enclave which might provide concealment or cover for snipers or hostile troop concentrations.
But if the people in our enclave want to leave, there is really no way our militia can stop more than a few of them. We are depending on three things, much more than the fear of being shot, to hold them. First, we have given the people order, and we are doing a substantially better job of maintaining the order inside our enclave than the government is doing outside it. After the dose of chaos these people have swallowed, all but the most brainwashed "do your own thing" types are hungry for authority and discipline.
Second, we are well on the way to establishing a subsistence economy in the enclave. We have a large water storage tank, which we should be able to keep full just by pumping groundwater from already-existing wells; there are two substantially intact food warehouses and a nearly full grain silo; and there are four working farms-including one dairy farm- with almost enough production capacity to feed half our people. We are making up our present food deficit by raiding outside the enclave, but by the time we've put everyone to work converting every arable patch of ground to vegetable gardens, that shouldn't be necessary.
Last, and perhaps not least, everyone in the enclave is indisputably White-we dealt summarily with every questionable case -while outside it is the usual godawful assortment of Whites, mostly Whites, half-Whites, Gypsies, Chicanos, Puerto Ricans, Jews, Blacks, Orientals, Arabs, Persians, and everything else under the sun: the typical, cosmopolitan racial goulash one finds in every American metropolitan area these days. Anyone who feels a need for a little "brotherhood," Jewish style, can leave our enclave. I doubt that many will feel the need.
November2. We had a long meeting this afternoon at which we were briefed on the latest national developments and given new priorities for our local action program.
There has been remarkably little change in the national situation during the past six weeks: the government has been able to do very little to restore order in the devastated areas or to compensate for the damage done to the nation's transportation network, its power generating and distribution facilities, and the other essential components of the national economy. The people are being left on their own to a very large extent, while the System grapples with its own problems, not the least of which is its renewed uncertainty over the reliability of its military forces.
That lack of change is, in itself, very encouraging, because it means that the System is not recovering the degree of control over the country which it exercised prior to September 8. The government has simply not been able to cope with the chaotic conditions which now prevail through
out wide areas.
Our units have been doing everything they can in the way of sabotage, of course, just for the purpose of keeping things destabilized. But Revolutionary Command has apparently been waiting to see what sort of intermediate-term situation would gel before deciding the next phase of the Organization's strategy.
The decision has now been made, and it is for us to begin doing in many other places the sort of thing we did in Maryland last month. We will be shifting a large part of the emphasis of our struggle from guerrilla actions to public and semi-public organizing. That is exciting news: it means a new escalation of our offensive-an escalation which is only being undertaken because of our confidence that the tide of battle is now running in our favor!
But the old phase of the fight is by no means over, and one of the most worrisome dangers we are facing is a large-scale military assault on California. Government forces are now undergoing a rapid buildup in the southern California area, and an invasion of the liberated zone seems imminent. If the System succeeds in California, then it will certainly move similarly against Baltimore and any other enclaves we may establish in the future, despite our threats of nuclear retaliation.
The problem seems to be a clique of conservative generals m the Pentagon who see us more as a threat to their own authority than to the System itself. They have no love for the Jews and are not particularly unhappy with the present state of affairs, in which they are the de facto rulers of the country. What they would like is to permanently institutionalize the present state of martial law and then gradually restore order, bringing about a new status quo based on their rather reactionary and shortsighted ideas.
We, of course, are the fly in their ointment, and they are moving to squash us. What makes them especially dangerous to us is that they are not as afraid of our nuclear-reprisal capability as their predecessors were. They know we can destroy more cities and kill a lot more civilians, but they don't think we can kill them.
I conferred privately with Major Williams of Washington Field Command for more than an hour on the problem of attacking the Pentagon. The military's other major command centers were either knocked out on September 8 or subsequently consolidated with the Pentagon, which the top brass apparently regard as impregnable.
And it damned near is. We went over every possibility we could think of, and we came up with no really convincing plan- except, perhaps, one. That is to make an air delivery of a bomb.
In the massive ring of defenses around the Pentagon there is a great deal of anti-aircraft firepower, but we decided that a small plane, flying just above the ground, might be able to get through the three-mile gauntlet with one of our 60-kiloton warheads. One factor in favor of such an attempt is that we have never before used aircraft in such a way, and we might hope to catch the anti-aircraft crews off their guard.
Although the military is guarding all civil airfields, it just happens that we have an old crop duster stashed in a barn only a few miles from here. My immediate assignment is to prepare a detailed plan for an aerial attack on the Pentagon by next Monday. We must make a final decision at that time and then act without further delay.
Chapter XXVIII
November 9, 1993. It's still three hours until first light, and all systems are "go." I'll use the time to write a few pages-my last: diary entry. Then it's a one-way trip to the Pentagon for me. The warhead is strapped into the front seat of the old Stearman and rigged to detonate either on impact or when I flip a switch in the back seat. Hopefully, I'll be able to manage a low-level air burst directly over the center of the Pentagon. Failing that, I'll at least try to fly as close as I can before I'm shot down.
It's been more than four years since I've flown, but I've thoroughly familiarized myself with the Stearman cockpit and been briefed on the plane's peculiarities: I don't anticipate any piloting problems. The barn-hangar here is only eight miles from the Pentagon. We'll thoroughly warm up the engine in the barn, and when the door is opened I'll go like a bat out of hell, straight for the Pentagon, at an altitude of about 50 feet.
By the time I hit the defensive perimeter I should be making about 150 miles an hour, and it'll take me just under another 70 seconds to reach the target. Two-thirds of the troops around the Pentagon are niggers, which should greatly boost my chances of getting through.
The sky should still be heavily overcast, and there'll be just enough light for me to make out my landmarks. We've painted the plane to be as nearly invisible as possible under the anticipated flying conditions, and I'll be too low for radar-controlled fire. Considering everything, I believe my chances are excellent.
I regret that I won't be around to participate in the final success of our revolution, but I am happy that I have been allowed to do as much as I have. It is a comforting thought in these last hours of my physical existence that, of all the billions of men and women of my race who have ever lived, I will have been able to play a more vital role than all but a handful of them in determining the ultimate destiny of mankind. What I will do today will be of more weight in the annals of the race than all the conquests of Caesar and Napoleon-if I succeed
And succeed I must, or the entire revolution will be in the gravest danger. Revolutionary Command estimates that the System will launch its invasion against California within the next 48 hours. Once the order is issued from the Pentagon, we will be unable to halt the invasion. And if my mission today fails, there'll not be enough time for us to try something else.
Monday night, after we had made the final decision on this mission, I underwent the rite of Union. Actually, I have been undergoing the rite for the past 30 hours, and it will not be complete for another three; only in the moment of my death will I achieve full membership in the Order.
To many that may seem a gloomy prospect, I suppose, but not to me. I have known what was ahead of me since my trial last March, and I am grateful that my probationary period has been cut short by five months, partly because of the present crisis and partly because my performance since March has been considered exemplary.
The ceremony Monday was more moving and beautiful than I could have imagined it would be. More than 200 of us assembled in the cellar of the Georgetown gift shop, from which the partitions and stacked crates had been removed to make room for us. Thirty new probationary members were sworn into the Order, and 18 others, including me, participated in the rite of Union. I alone, however, was singled out, because of my unique status.
When Major Williams summoned me, I stepped forward and then turned to face the silent sea of robed figures. What a contrast with the tiny gathering only two years earlier, when seven of us met upstairs for my initiation! The Order, even with its extraordinary standards, is growing with astonishing rapidity.
Knowing fully what was demanded in character and commitment of each man who stood before me, my chest swelled with pride. These were no soft-bellied, conservative businessmen assembled for some Masonic mumbodumbo; no loudmouthed, beery red-necks letting off a little ritualized steam about "the goddam niggers"; no pious, frightened churchgoers whining for the guidance or protection of an anthropomorphic deity. These were real men, White men, men who were now one with me in spirit and consciousness as well as in blood.
As the torchlight flickered over the coarse, gray robes of the motionless throng, I thought to myself: These men are the best my race has produced in this generation-and they are as good as have been produced in any generation. In them are combined fiery passion and icy discipline, deep intelligence and instant readiness for action, a strong sense of self-worth and a total commitment to our common cause. On them hang the hopes of everything that will ever be. They are the vanguard of the coming New Era, the pioneers who will lead our race out of its present depths and toward the unexplored heights above. And I am one with them!
Then I made my brief declaration: "Brothers! Two years ago, when I entered your ranks for the first time, I consecrated my life to our Order and to the purpose for which it exists. But then I faltered in the ful
fillment of my obligation to you. Now I am ready to meet my obligation fully. I offer you my life. Do you accept it?"
In a rumbling unison their reply came back: "Brother! We accept your life. In return we offer you everlasting life in us. Your deed shall not be in vain, nor shall it be forgotten, until the end of time. To this commitment we pledge our lives."
I know, as certainly as it is possible for a man to know anything, that the Order will not fail me if I do not fail it. The Order has a life which is more than the sum of the lives of its members. When it speaks collectively, as it did Monday, something deeper and older and wiser than any of us speaks- something which cannot die. Of that deeper life I am now about to partake.
Of course, I would have liked to have children by Katherine, so that I could also have immortality of another sort, but that is not to be. I am satisfied.
They've been warming up the engine for about 10 minutes now, and Bill is signalling to me that it's time to go. The rest of the crew has already taken cover in the blast shelter we dug under the barn floor. I will now entrust my diary to Bill, and he will later put it in the hiding place with the other volumes.
Epilog
Thus end Earl Turner's diaries, as unpretentiously as they began.
His final mission was successful, of course, as we all are reminded each year on November 9-our traditional Day of the Martyrs.
The Turner Diaries: A Novel Page 27
