Golden Dawn honors the 300 Spartans of Thermopylae. As Europe faces a new Middle Eastern invasion, their neo-fascist example resonates more than ever (YouTube clip: here).
31st January 1942, evening
Possibility of collaboration with France—The era of Italian Fascism— The birth of the SA.
The Jew is so stupid that he himself saws through the branch on which he’s sitting. In 1919 a Jewess wrote in the Bayrischer Kurier: “What Eisner’s doing now will recoil upon our heads.” A rare case of foresight.
France remains hostile to us. She contains, in addition to her Nordic blood, a blood that will always be foreign to us. There must be two Frances. Thus, the French who have compromised themselves with us will find it to their own interests that we should remain in Paris as long as possible.
But our best protection against France will be for us to maintain a strong friendship, lasting for centuries, with Italy. Unlike France, Italy is inspired by political notions that are close to ours. I was thinking of the Italian delegation I received yesterday. I met men who have rulers’ qualities such as are very much to my taste. What handsome individuals, and what a resolute air! Those are men who could play a part at the top level.
The Fascists paid with their blood much more than we did. The story of the conquest of power in Italy is a heroic epic. It always warms my heart to think of it. I can understand their emotion when they once more live through the time of the March on Rome.
Why should such men suddenly become worthless as soldiers? It’s quite simply because they lack a command. The Italian people are idealistic, but the cadres of the Italian Army are reactionary.
It was in 1921 that I first heard Fascism mentioned. The SA was born in 1920, without my having the least idea of what was going on in Italy. Italy developed in a manner at which I was the first to be surprised. I could see fairly clearly the orientation that it would be proper to give the Party, but I had no ideas concerning paramilitary organisations. I began by creating a service to keep order, and it was only after the bloody brawls of 1920 that I gave these troops the name of Sturmabteilung (SA), as a reward for their behaviour.
I had taught them the technique of concentrating their efforts on limited objectives, and at meetings to attack the opponent table by table. But it was confined to that. When the brassard proved no longer sufficient, I equipped them with a specially designed cap. That was after Coburg. The skier’s cap didn’t cost much. It was all done in a very empirical manner. Nothing of that sort was thought out in advance.
The SS started with formations of seven or eight men. In these we gathered the tough ‘uns. Things developed spontaneously, and subsequently acquired a speed comparable to that of developments in Italy. The Duce himself has told me that at the moment when he undertook the struggle against Bolshevism, he didn’t know exactly where he was going.
From the cultural point of view, we are more closely linked with the Italians than with any other people. The art of Northern Italy is something we have in common with them: nothing but pure Germans.
The objectionable Italian type is found only in the South, and not everywhere even there. We also have this type in our own country. When I think of them: Vienna-Ottakring, Munich-Giesing, Berlin-Pankow! If I compare the two types, that of these degenerate Italians and our type, I find it very difficult to say which of the two is the more antipathetic.
23rd April 1942, at dinner
My opinion of the Duce—The man who best understood the Bolshevik menace.
It will give me very great pleasure to see the Duce again and to discuss with him all the military and political problems of the day. I hold the Duce in the highest esteem, because I regard him as an incomparable statesman. On the ruins of a ravished Italy he has succeeded in building a new State which is a rallying point for the whole of his people. The struggles of the Fascists bear a close resemblance to our own struggles.
Did they not have, for example, six thousand six hundred dead at Verona? The Duce is one of the people who appreciated the full measure of the Bolshevik menace, and for this reason he has sent to our Eastern front divisions of real military merit. He told me himself that he had no illusions as to the fate of Europe if the motorised hordes of the Russian armies were allowed to sweep unchecked over the Continent, and he is quite convinced that, but for my intervention, the hour of decline was approaching for western Europe.
7th June 1942, at dinner
A procession at Barcelona—harassing the Falange—distrust of Serrano Suner—superior resistance of Italians to Church heresies—German emperors and the Church—Requiem mass for the protector of Bohemia and Moravia.
The Fuehrer was informed that on the occasion of the Corpus Christi procession in Barcelona, the Governor of the town forbade by edict the people taking part in the procession to wear the uniform either of the Falange, the Falangist Militia or any part of them. A solitary exception was made in favour of the regional Chief of the Falange and his suite. It appears from the report that this prohibition was obtained by the Nationalists through the medium of the Church authorities. In this connection it will be recalled that some weeks ago incidents occurred between the Nationalists and the members of the Falange, who nevertheless represent the official State Party. It is further significant that the Madrid newspaper Arriba attacks this ban and states roundly that the wearing of the blue shirt is a duty to which the Falangists are in honour bound, and that all those who oppose them are despicable creatures.
The Fuehrer’s opinion follows: What a pity it is that the blood shed in common by the Falangists, the Fascists and the National Socialists during the war has not brought better results! But in Spain, unfortunately, someone will always be found willing to serve the political interests of the Church. Serrano Suner, the present Minister for Foreign Affairs, is one of them. From my first meeting with him I was conscious of a feeling of revulsion, in spite of the fact that our Ambassador, with abysmal ignorance of the facts, introduced him to me as the most ardent Germanophile in Spain.
That the Fascists were spared a second civil war is due to the fact that the movement, initiated in Rome, succeeded in uniting the Italian nation in spite of the opposition of the Church. Further, Fascism clearly defined the position as regards what things fell within the sphere of the Church and what things fell within the sphere of the State. When the Church refused to recognise the law for the formation of the Fascist Youth Organisation, the Fascists retaliated by ruthlessly breaking up every religious procession from Rome right down to the South of Italy. The result was that within three days the Church had come to heel.
Speaking generally, the history of Italy shows that the Italian people adopt a very much more realistic attitude towards the Church than do the Spaniards or, alas, not a few Germans! Is it not a sad thought that each time the Italians flung out some Pope or other, there was always a German Kaiser ready and willing to restore order in the Vatican? I must be honest and confess that I myself have not been guiltless in this respect.
By creating a Bishop of the Reich I tried to bring a little clarity into the equivocal situation in the Evangelical Church. When I see what is happening to-day in Spain, I congratulate myself on the failure of my efforts. Once more Providence prevented me from committing a mistake I was on the point of making. Who, indeed, is prepared to give me a guarantee that one fine day the Protestant Bishop of the Reich will not make common cause against me with the Pope!
The established religions, and particularly the Catholic Church, are adepts at presenting an innocent mien and in flattering the man in power. I myself experienced this when, shortly after assuming power, I received a visit from the Bishop Bertram. He brought me the good wishes and the homage of the Catholic clergy with such unction that, had I not known differently from bitter personal experience, I would not have believed it possible that a single National Socialist could have been excluded from the Church on account of his convictions, or could have been persecuted, and even execrated after death.
It is with such semblance of humility that the Church has always wormed its way into power and succeeded in winning its way by flattery into the good graces of the German Emperors, from Charlemagne onwards. It is the same technique as that employed by sophisticated women, who at first exude charm in order to gain a man’s confidence, and then gradually tighten the strings, until they hold them so firmly that the man dances like a puppet to their whims. With a little diplomatic savoir faire such women manage even to persuade their husbands—exactly as in the case of the Church and the German Emperors—that it is they who rule the roost, and this in spite of the nose-ring on which they are so obviously being led!
Quite recently the Church tried to pull off a new one of this kind. The Bishop of Bohemia and Moravia begged permission to be allowed to hold a Requiem Mass with chimes for SS Obergruppen-fuehrer Heydrich. I told the gentleman bluntly that he would have been much better employed if he had previously offered prayers for the safety and welfare of the Reich Protector!
A passage from White Power
by George Lincoln Rockwell
The guy at the door of Nazi Headquarters was the living embodiment of the national suicide I have set forth in chapter 1. He seemed young. But you couldn’t be sure, because he was wearing a matted red beard. He wasn’t wearing clothes just a raggedy blanket and sandals. “Shades” (sun glasses) covered his eyes. Unkempt hair covered much of the rest of his face. Our duty officer, sharply uniformed in well-pressed khakis, jump boots and side arm just stood there looking, bug-eyed in amazement. The apparition, his head sort of bobbing and rolling to some rhythm while he snapped his fingers, looked the Duty Officer up and down.
“What’s with you Nazi cats?” he said. The Duty Officer stared.
“Say, man, will that thing shoot?” the man-in-the-blanket tried again, pointing a finger with inch-long dirty nails at the Duty Officer’s .45.
“Certainly” replied the Duty Officer, finally getting over his first shock. “What can we do for you?”
“I want to join, man. Like I wanna be a Nazi! Wanna gas me a Jew! I wanna sign up! Where’s this Rockwell cat?”
I was in a back room, printing. (I had to do much of it myself back then.) I heard all this going on. Although I didn’t like to let visitors see me covered with printers ink, I couldn’t resist coming out to see what was at the door.
“He wants to join, sir!” the Duty Officer said to me, still flabbergasted. I couldn’t resist talking to this thing from outer space.
I have often found that I learn most, not from books and literature, but from people and events themselves. And this guy looked like a whole encyclopedia of everything degenerate. I invited him in. We talked. He couldn’t stay still, but kept moving around the room, seeming to float a few inches above the floor. (I later learned that he was on pills and narcotics.) After an hour or so of talking, he began to change a bit. He appeared unsure of himself in the presence of something he’d never experienced before—men who were sure of themselves and had a purpose.
A look of unbelieving wonder came over his blue eyes, even through the “shades” as I talked to him of what we really were and why we had given up everything of fun in life to fight for our nation and White Race. Little by little, I began to get the story out of him. He was only seventeen years old, and had lived an entire lifetime.
He’d done everything, tried all kicks, and was already bored to death with an empty life. He’d made a mistress out of his art teacher, he’d run a den of degeneracy and debauchery called “Mule’s Pad” where the local beats and wild crowds did anything, including enjoy dope. He’d shot a man, gotten off, and lived as fast and hard as he could until finally, he contemplated suicide in utter despair of finding anything worth doing any more all this at seventeen! Before he committed suicide, he told me, he decided to come to see the Nazi “cats,” figuring it might be one last kick.
What he found, unexpectedly, was what every human being needs to survive this life a purpose—something which gives life more meaning than a constant search for more pleasure and kicks. He actually convinced me he wanted to try to be a Storm trooper! As a matter of policy, whenever I hear that (as I do every day), I do all I can to discourage the applicant. We want no dabblers, but dedicated, fanatical fighters who will stick through hell itself. With this crazy character, I went even further. I made fun of him. I told him he’d never make it, that we’d run him off the first day. He rose to the challenge.
“You name it, and I’ll make it!” he said.
Strangely, I could sense a fiercely burning will behind the words. I told him he couldn’t come up to try life as a Nazi Storm-trooper until he was eighteen. He left, vowing to return in a few months. He did return—without the beatnik get-up. He turned out to be a blonde, young Viking, built for combat.
We poured it to him. There was no place left inside for him to sleep. So he was assigned to a wrecked car out back. It was still winter and cold. But the kid moved into the wrecked car with a couple of blankets. We put him to work cleaning the toilets, and yard. He worked. Spring came, and then a broiling summer. He was still in the wrecked car, eaten alive by mosquitoes.
I tried him on the printing press, and never saw such a bear for work. He was all dried out of booze, off the pills and dope, exercising plenty, and showing every sign of “making it.” He accomplished dozens of dangerous missions against the SNCC, NAACP, Communists and peace creeps. He accompanied me to many a fight—and many a jail.
Within eleven months, faster than almost anybody before or since, this kid became an officer in the Storm troop section, and led more successful operations against the enemy than any single Party Officer, with one possible exception.
An example of the work of this kid was the time the Black agitators were trying to unseat the White Mississippi delegation, and our own blackface “delegation” sent the Black agitators packing back to Mississippi as laughing-stocks. My ex-beatnik managed to race onto the floor of Congress on opening day in blackface, with top hat, loin cloth and cigar, shouting. “I’ze de Mississippi delegation, and ah demands mah seat!”
The young man escaped the vicious circle of despair, boredom and degeneracy of millions of “modern youth” only because he happened upon the spiritual life-preserver of Nazi love of Race and Nation before he sank forever into the putrid slime of modern spiritual syphilis.
There will be many who will say that he could have been saved, perhaps even more effectively by religion. Fifty years ago, yes. But I have had five years of experience seeing these lost kids on college campuses all over America. And I can assure the reader that most of these young people are far too cynical and hardened to be able to open their ears and heart even for a moment to accept a religious approach. Start talking about religion to such hard-case cynics and you drive them further and further away, no matter how hard you try.
It takes a new and shocking approach, a dramatic and powerful approach to have any hope of making an impression on such lost, bitter kids. We have it, and it works.
White nationalism failed Dylann Roof. He did what he did because he found no foots-on-the-ground options in the websites he visited.
After Rockwell was assassinated in 25 August 1967, no one carried his torch. Presently there are many kids wearing “raggedy blankets and sandals” so to speak, wandering vagabonds because they want to fight the enemy—but unlike Rockwell’s National Socialist gang, self-styled “white nationalists” are utterly disorganized. Half a century after the kid knocked the door of Rockwell’s Nazi Headquarters, internet “nationalists” have no leaders in the real world.
The economic crisis that is hitting Greece will eventually arrive to the US. Alex Linder has been right about Greece’s Golden Dawn. But unlike the neonazi movement of the Balkan peninsula, white nationalists are not organized and the coming financial accident will take them by surprise.
In the next entry we will see how decades ago Rockwell warned us about the utter silliness of trying to make a difference through mere essayism: the feminine ways of today’s WNsts (most of them de facto conservatives).
Far from being a Jewish conspiracy to undermine European man, as some assert, Christianity has always been a source of moral strength for Western man, especially when it comes to family values.
However, when a religion is dying because its myth loses appeal, no amount of artificial propaganda can resurrect it. Family values can be successfully promoted entirely by secular means, as the short-lived fascist regimes of Italy and Germany demonstrate.
5th August 1942, evening
I must admit that the Italians infuriate me with their continual running away, but purely from the point of view of a world philosophy, they are the only people on earth with whom we can see eye to eye.
When I read the history of Fascism, I feel as if I am reading the history of our movement: the same cowardly and lazy bourgeoisie, which believed in nothing, avoided any sort of conflict and lived in perpetual fear of irritating the Reds!
An interesting debate followed Matt Parrott’s recent article at Counter Currents about the pros and cons of fascism for the coming ethnostate.
I admire both Julian and Hitler, who ruled without a system of checks and balances. But at the same time we must avoid blundering on colossal scales (Julian’s invading Persia; Hitler’s invading Russia). That’s why at Counter Currents Trainspotter asked me a most pertinent question about the concept of the Two Roman Consuls to avoid such civilization-destroying blunders.
This is the lead paragraph of the current Wikipedia article on Roman consuls:
A consul served in the highest elected political office of the Roman Republic. Each year, two consuls were elected together, to serve for a one-year term. Each consul was given veto power over his colleague and the officials would alternate each month.
However, after the establishment of the Empire, the consuls were merely a figurative representative of Rome’s republican heritage and held very little power and authority, with the Emperor acting as the supreme leader.
If someone deserves to be compared to LOTR’s Isildur he was Julius Caesar. We are barely taught at school the history of the Aryan people called the Celts. Studying their tragic history ought to change our idealized image about Caesar and the beginning of the Roman Empire.
Caesar betrayed the Republic and started what became known as the Roman Empire. The empire fell under the spell of the One Ring, “economics over race,” especially considering that the conquered Celts were whiter than the Romans. (It was the Romans, not the Celts, the ones who by the times of Caesar’s conquest of Gaul had started to miscegenate.)
Last year I was shocked to learn that Caesar practiced a sort of exterminationist anti-whitism. You see nothing of this barbarism in TV series like Rome or the other idealized series on the fall of the empire. But the grim fact is that Caesar killed… one of every four Gauls!
For instance, when his troops occupied the Gaulish town of Avaricum Caesar ordered all 40,000 inhabitants put to death. His conquest of Gaul was exterminationist, with whole tribes, including pure Aryan women and children, being slaughtered.
In William Pierce’s history of the white race we are told that by the autumn of 54 B.C. Caesar had subdued Gaul, having destroyed 800 towns and villages. More than three million (!) Celts were enslaved. And what is much worse, “behind his armies came a horde of Roman-Jewish merchants and speculators,” with “hundreds of thousands of blond, blue-eyed Celtic girls” that marched south in chains. They were “pawed over by greasy, Semitic flesh-merchants in Rome’s slave markets.”
So the century when we were born was not the first time that a “Hellstorm,” which we could define as whites’ enslaving and genociding the cream of their own race, happened in Europe.
From the time of Caesar’s abolition of the Two Consuls system, the fate of Rome was sealed. No Roman Emperor after Caesar ever shared power. All became absolute dictators. No Consul had veto powers even when the emperors became virtually mad (as was the case of Nero). Miscegenating Romans started to forget the republican principles that had made them so strong—disciplina potestas, probitas, severitas, gravitas, pudicitia, pietas and especially the principle that the common good is the highest law: salus populi suprema lex. Instead, they started to behave like American pigs or, to use a Petronius term during the reign of another mad emperor, Caligula, like Trimalchios.
Marble bust of Brutus
Not Caesar but Brutus should be our model. And the history of Brutus’ ancestors, the founders of the Roman Republic, should be studied starting perhaps with Lucius Junius Brutus.
I told Trainspotter that throughout Plato’s Republic runs the fear that the degenerative Ionian and Athenian lifestyles could potentially ruin the state, and that this propensity of whites to behave like miscegenating pigs in the later stages of civilization could only be prevented by a tough Dorian discipline.
In a nutshell, the coming Fourth Reich must adopt the Two Consuls principle and repudiate all sorts of Caesarism.