The Turner Diaries
November 28, 1991. A disturbing thing happened tonight
which could have had fatal consequences for all of us. A carload of young
junkies tried to break into the building here, evidently thinking it was
deserted, and we had to dispose of all of them and their car. This is the
first time something like this has happened, but the abandoned appearance
of this place may invite more trouble of the same sort in the
future.
We were all upstairs eating when the car pulled
into our parking area and triggered our perimeter alarm. Bill and I went
into the darkened garage downstairs and uncovered a peephole, so that we
could see who was outside.
The car had cut off its lights,
and one occupant had gotten out and was trying our door. He then began
pulling loose the boards which were nailed over the glass in the door.
Another youth got out and came over to help him. We couldn't see their
features in the darkness, but we could hear them talking. They were
obviously Negroes, and they obviously intended to get into the place, one
way or another.
Bill tried to discourage them. In his best
imitation-ghetto accent he shouted through the door: "Hey, man, dis place
occupied. Move yo' ass on outa heah."
The two Blacks jumped
back from the door, startled. They began whispering to one another, and
two other figures from the car joined them. Then a dialogue began between
Bill and one of the Blacks. It went about like
this:
"We didn' know anybody was here, brother. We jes'
lookin' for a place to shoot up."
"Well, now you knows. So,
git!"
"Why you so hostile, brother? Let us in. We got some
stuff and some chicks. You by yo'se'f?"
"No, I ain' by
myse'f, an' I don' wan' no stuff. You jes' better move on, man." (Note to
the reader: The dialect of the Negroes in America contained many special
terms relating to drug usage, which was endemic among them up to the end.
"Stuff" meant heroin, an opium derivative which was especially popular. To
"shoot up" was to inject the heroin into a vein. Both the Negro's drug
habits and much of his dialect spread to the White population of America
during the period of government-enforced racial mixing in the last five
decades of the Old Era.)
But Bill was unsuccessful in his
attempt to discourage them. The second Black began a rhythmic pounding on
the garage door, chanting over and over, "Open up, brother, open up."
Someone in the car turned on a radio, and Negro music began blaring at a
deafening volume.
Since the last thing we could afford was
to attract the attention of the police or of someone at the trucking firm
next door with a continuation of this noisy scene, Bill and I quickly made
a plan. We armed both the girls with shotguns and posted them behind
crates to one side of the shop area. I took a pistol, slipped out the rear
door, and silently crept around the side of the building, so that I could
cover the intruders from the outside. Then Bill announced, "Awright,
awright. I open de do', man. You drive yo' car right
in."
While Bill began raising the garage door, one of the
Blacks went back to the car and started the engine. Bill stood to one side
and kept his head lowered, so that when the car's lights hit him his white
skin was not conspicuous. When everyone was inside, he began lowering the
door again. The Blacks' car had not pulled in far enough for the door to
close completely, however, and the driver ignored his command to move
ahead another foot.
Then one of the Blacks on foot got a
better look at Bill and immediately raised the alarm. "Dis ain' no
brother," he cried.
Bill flipped on the shop lights, and
the girls came out from their places of concealment as I slipped in under
the partly closed door.
"Everyone out of the car and flat
on the floor," Bill ordered, yanking open the door on the driver's side.
"Come on, niggers, move! "
They looked at the four guns
trained on them, and then they moved, although not without loud protest.
Two of them, however, were not Negroes. When they were all stretched out
on the concrete floor face down, all six of them, we saw that we had three
Black males, one Black female-and two White sluts. I shook my head in
disgust at the sight of the two White girls, neither of whom appeared to
be over 18.
It didn't take long to decide what to do. We
couldn't afford the noise of gunshots, so I took a heavy crowbar and Bill
picked up a shovel. We started at opposite ends of the crew on the floor,
while the girls kept them covered with their shotguns. We worked quickly
but precisely, one blow on the back of the head sufficing for each of
them.
Until the last two, that is. The blade of Bill's
shovel glanced off the skull of one of the Black males and struck the
shoulder of the White girl beside him, cutting into her flesh but not
inflicting a lethal wound. Before I could bring my crowbar into play to
finish her off, the little bitch was up like a shot.
I had
pushed the garage door down as far as I could after coming in, but it
still had not latched properly and had meanwhile crept up about six
inches. She scooted through this narrow opening and headed for the street,
with me about 10 yards behind her.
I froze with horror as I
saw an arc of light swing along the dark pavement just in front of the
running girl. A large truck was turning into the street from the parking
lot next door. If the girl reached the street she would be illuminated by
the truck's headlights, and the driver could not fail to see
her.
Without hesitation I raised my pistol and fired,
instantly dropping the girl in her tracks beside the weed-overgrown fence
separating our parking area from that of the trucking firm. It was a very
lucky shot, not only in its effect, but also in that the roar from the
engine of the accelerating truck effectively masked the report. I crouched
in the driveway, drenched in a cold sweat, until the truck had thundered
off into the distance.
Bill and I loaded the six corpses
into the back of the Blacks' car. He drove it off, with Carol following
him in our vehicle, and left the grisly cargo parked outside a Black
restaurant in downtown Alexandria. Let the police figure it
out!
The work on the new communications equipment is coming
along quite well. The girls put so many units together before supper
today-and the unfortunate events of the evening-that I couldn't keep up
with the tuning and testing, which is my part of the work. If I had a
better oscilloscope and a few other instruments, I could do
more.
November 30. In thinking over Saturday's
events, what surprises me is that I feel no remorse or regret for killing
those two White whores. Six months ago I couldn't imagine myself calmly
butchering a teen-aged White girl, no matter what she had done. But I have
become much more realistic about life recently. I understand that the two
girls were with the Blacks only because they had been infected with the
disease of liberalism by the schools and the churches and the plastic
popculture the System churns out for young people these days. Presumably,
if they had been raised in a healthy society they would have had some
racial pride.
But such considerations are irrelevant to the
present phase of our struggle. Until we have in our hands the means for
bringing about a general cure for the disease, we must deal with it by
other means, just as one must ruthlessly weed out and dispose of diseased
animals in any flock, unless one wants to lose the whole flock. This is no
time for womanly handwringing.
This lesson was brought home
forcefully to all of us by what we saw on the TV news this evening. The
Human Relations Council in Chicago organized a huge "anti-racism" rally
today. The purported excuse for the rally was to protest the
machine-gunning of a carload of Black "deputies" Friday, in downtown
Chicago in broad daylight, presumably by the Organization. Only three
Blacks were killed in the incident, but the System seized on it in order
to squelch the seething White resentment against the Human Relations
Councils and their deputized Black goon squads. Apparently these Black
"deputies" have perpetrated even more shocking outrages against
defenseless Whites in Chicago than they have around
here.
The Chicago rally, which was vigorously promoted by
all the mass media in the Chicago area, involved nearly 200,000
demonstrators in its initial stage-more than half of them Whites. Hundreds
of special buses, contributed by the city transit authorities, brought in
people from all the suburbs for the occasion. Thousands of young Black
thugs, wearing the armbands of the Chicago Human Relations Council,
strutted arrogantly through the huge mob-"maintaining
order."
The rally was addressed by all the usual political
prostitutes and pulpit prostitutes, who issued pious calls for
"brotherhood" and "equality." Then the system trotted out one of their
local Toms, who gave a rousing speech about stamping out "the evil of
White racism" once and for all. (Note to the reader: A "Tom" was a Negro
front man for the authorities or for Jewish interests. Experts at
manipulating the masses of their own race, they were paid well for their
services. Some "Toms" were even employed briefly by the Organization
during the final stages of the Revolution, when it was desired to flush
millions of Negroes out of certain urban areas into holding camps with a
minimum loss of White lives.)
After that, the skilled
agitators of the Human Relations Council worked various sections of the
crowd up into a real brotherhood frenzy. These swarthy, kinky-haired
little Jewboys with transistorized megaphones really knew their business.
They had the mob screaming with real blood lust for any "White racist" who
might be unfortunate enough to fall into their
hands.
Chanting "Kill the racists" and other expressions of
brotherly love, the mob began a march through downtown Chicago. Shoppers,
workers, and businessmen on the sidewalks were ordered by the Black
"deputies" to join the march. Anyone who refused was beaten without
mercy.
Then gangs of Blacks began going into the stores and
office buildings along the march route, using bullhorns to order everyone
out into the street. Usually it was only necessary to kick one or two
stubborn Whites into a senseless, bloody pulp before the rest of the
occupants of a department store or building lobby got the idea and
enthusiastically joined the demonstration.
As the crowd
swelled, approaching a half-million persons toward the end, the Blacks
with the armbands became more and more belligerent. Any White in the crowd
who looked as if he wasn't chanting loudly enough was likely to be
attacked.
And there were several particularly vicious
incidents which the TV cameras gloatingly zoomed in on. Someone in the
crowd started the rumor that a book store they were approaching sold
"racist" books. Within a minute or two a group of several hundred
demonstrators-mostly young Whites this time-had split off from the main
crowd and converged on the book store. Windows were smashed, and teams of
demonstrators inside the store began hurling armloads of books to others
outside.
After an initial flurry of rage was dissipated by
wildly tearing handfuls of pages from the books and throwing them into the
air, a bonfire was started on the sidewalk for the rest of the books. Then
they dragged out a White salesclerk and began beating him. He fell to the
pavement, and the mob surged over him, stomping and kicking. The
television screen showed a closeup of the scene. The faces of the White
demonstrators were contorted with hatred -for their own
race!
Another incident in which the TV viewers were treated
to closeup coverage was the killing of a cat. A large, white alley cat was
spotted by someone in the crowd, who started the cry, "Get the honky cat!"
About a dozen demonstrators took off down an alley after the unfortunate
cat. When they reappeared a few moments later, holding up the bloody
carcass of the cat, an exultant cheer went up from those in the crowd near
enough to see what had happened. Sheer insanity!
It is
impossible to put into words how depressed we all are by the spectacle in
Chicago. That, of course, was the aim of the organizers of the rally. They
are expert psychologists, and they thoroughly understand the use of mass
terror for intimidation. They know that millions of people who still
oppose them inwardly will now be too frightened to open their
mouths.
But how could our people-how could White
Americans-be so spineless, so crawling, so eager to please their
oppressors? How can we recruit a revolutionary army from such a
rabble?
Is this really the same race that walked on the
moon and was reaching for the stars 20 years ago? How low we have been
brought!
It is frighteningly clear now that there is no way
to win the struggle in which we are engaged without shedding torrents-
veritable rivers-of blood.
The carload of carrion we left
in Alexandria Saturday was mentioned briefly on the local news but not at
all on the national news. The reason for the downplay, I suspect is not
that sextuple killings have become too commonplace to be newsworthy, but
that the authorities recognized the racial significance of the thing and
decided not to encourage imitation.