The Turner Diaries
Chapter 1
September 16, 1991. Today it finally began! After all
these years of talking-and nothing but talking-we have finally taken our
first action. We are at war with the System, and it is no longer a war of
words. I cannot sleep, so I will try writing down some of the thoughts
which are flying through my head. It is not safe to talk here. The
walls are quite thin, and the neighbors might wonder at a late-night
conference. Besides, George and Katherine are already asleep. Only Henry
and I are still awake, and he's just staring at the
ceiling. I am really uptight. l am so jittery I can barely
sit still. And I'm exhausted. I've been up since 5:30 this morning, when
George phoned to warn that the arrests had begun, and it's after midnight
now. I've been keyed up and on the move all day. But at the
same time I'm exhilarated. We have finally acted! How long we will be able
to continue defying the System, no one knows. Maybe it will all end
tomorrow, but we must not think about that. Now that we have begun, we
must continue with the plan we have been developing so carefully ever
since the Gun Raids two years ago. What a blow that was to
us! And how it shamed us! All that brave talk by patriots, "The government
will never take my guns away," and then nothing but meek submission when
it happened. On the other hand, maybe we should be
heartened by the fact that there were still so many of us who had guns
then, nearly 18 months after the Cohen Act had outlawed all private
ownership of firearms in the United States. It was only because so many of
us defied the law and hid our weapons instead of turning them in that the
government wasn't able to act more harshly against us after the Gun
Raids. I'll never forget that terrible day: November 9,
1989. They knocked on my door at five in the morning. I was completely
unsuspecting as I got up to see who it was. I opened the
door, and four Negroes came pushing into the apartment before I could stop
them. One was carrying a baseball bat, and two had long kitchen knives
thrust into their belts. The one with the bat shoved me back into a corner
and stood guard over me with his bat raised in a threatening position
while the other three began ransacking my apartment.
My
first thought was that they were robbers. Robberies of this sort had
become all too common since the Cohen Act, with groups of Blacks forcing
their way into White homes to rob and rape, knowing that even if their
victims had guns they probably would not dare use
them. Then the one who was guarding me flashed some kind of
card and informed me that he and his accomplices were "special deputies"
for the Northern Virginia Human Relations Council. They were searching for
firearms, he said. I couldn't believe it. It just couldn't
be happening. Then I saw that they were wearing strips of green cloth tied
around their left arms. As they dumped the contents of drawers on the
floor and pulled luggage from the closet, they were ignoring things that
robbers wouldn't have passed up: my brand-new electric razor, a valuable
gold pocket watch, a milk bottle full of dimes. They were looking for
firearms! Right after the Cohen Act was passed, all of us
in the Organization had cached our guns and ammunition where they weren't
likely to be found. Those in my unit had carefully greased our weapons,
sealed them in an oil drum, and spent all of one tedious weekend burying
the drum in an eight-foot-deep pit 200 miles away in the woods of western
Pennsylvania. But I had kept one gun out of the cache. I
had hidden my .357 magnum revolver and 50 rounds of ammunition inside the
door frame between the kitchen and the living room. By pulling out two
loosened nails and removing one board from the door frame I could get to
my revolver in about two minutes flat if I ever needed it. I had timed
myself. But a police search would never uncover it. And
these inexperienced Blacks couldn't find it in a million years. After
the three who were conducting the search had looked in all the obvious
places, they began slitting open my mattress and the sofa cushions. I
protested vigorously at this and briefly considered trying to put up a
fight. About that time there was a commotion out in the
hallway. Another group of searchers had found a rifle hidden under a bed
in the apartment of the young couple down the hall. They had both been
handcuffed and were being forcibly escorted toward the stairs. Both were
clad only in their underwear, and the young woman was complaining loudly
about the fact that her baby was being left alone in the
apartment. Another man walked into my apartment. He was a
Caucasian, though with an unusually dark complexion. He also wore a green
armband, and he carried an attach_ case and a
clipboard.
The Blacks greeted him deferentially and
reported the negative result of their search: "No guns here, Mr.
Tepper." Tepper ran his finger down the list of names and
apartment numbers on his clipboard until he came to mine. He frowned.
"This is a bad one," he said. "He has a racist record. Been cited by the
Council twice. And he owned eight firearms which were never turned
in." Tepper opened his attach_ case and took out a small,
black object about the size of a pack of cigarettes which was attached by
a long cord to an electronic instrument in the case. He began moving the
black object in long sweeps back and forth over the walls, while the
attach_ case emitted a dull, rumbling noise. The rumble rose in pitch as
the gadget approached the light switch, but Tepper convinced himself that
the change was caused by the metal junction box and conduit buried in the
wall. He continued his methodical sweep. As he swept over
the left side of the kitchen door frame the rumble jumped to a piercing
shriek. Tepper grunted excitedly, and one of the Negroes went out and came
back a few seconds later with a sledge hammer and a pry bar. It took the
Negro substantially less than two minutes after that to find my
gun. I was handcuffed without further ado and led outside.
Altogether, four of us were arrested in my apartment building. In addition
to the couple down the hall, there was an elderly man from the fourth
floor. They hadn't found a firearm in his apartment, but they had found
four shotgun shells on his closet shelf. Ammunition was also
illegal. Mr Tepper and some of his "deputies" had more
searches to carry out, but three large Blacks with baseball bats and
knives were left to guard us in front of the apartment building. The
four of us were forced to sit on the cold sidewalk, in various states of
undress, for more than an hour until a police van finally came for
us. As other residents of the apartment building left for
work, they eyed us curiously. We were all shivering, and the young woman
from down the hall was weeping uncontrollably. One man
stopped to ask what it was all about. One of our guards brusquely
explained that we were all under arrest for possessing illegal weapons.
The man stared at us and shook his head
disapprovingly. Then the Black pointed to me and said: "And
that one's a racist." Still shaking his head, the man moved
on. Herb Jones, who used to belong to the Organization and
was one of the most outspoken of the "they'll-never-get-my-gun" people
before the Cohen Act, walked by quickly with his eyes averted. His
apartment had been searched too, but Herb was clean. He had been
practically the first man in town to turn his guns over to the police
after the passage of the Cohen Act made him liable to ten years
imprisonment in a Federal penitentiary if he kept
them. That was the penalty the four of us on the sidewalk
were facing. It didn't work out that way, though. The reason it didn't is
that the raids which were carried out all over the country that day netted
a lot more fish than the System had counted on: more than 800,000 persons
were arrested. At first the news media tried hard to work
up enough public sentiment against us so that the arrests would stick. The
fact that there weren't enough jail cells in the country to hold us all
could be remedied by herding us into barbed-wire enclosures outdoors until
new prison facilities could be readied, the newspapers suggested. In
freezing weather! I still remember the Washington Post
headline the next day: "Fascist-Racist Conspiracy Smashed, Illegal Weapons
Seized." But not even the brainwashed American public could fully accept
the idea that nearly a million of their fellow citizens had been engaged
in a secret, armed conspiracy. As more and more details of
the raids leaked out, public restlessness grew. One of the details which
bothered people was that the raiders had, for the most part, exempted
Black neighborhoods from the searches. The explanation given at first for
this was that since "racists" were the ones primarily suspected of
harboring firearms, there was relatively little need to search Black
homes. The peculiar logic of this explanation broke down
when it turned out that a number of persons who could hardly be considered
either "racists" or "fascists" had been caught up in the raids. Among them
were two prominent liberal newspaper columnists who had earlier been in
the forefront of the antigun crusade, four Negro Congressmen (they lived
in White neighborhoods), and an embarrassingly large number of government
officials.
The list of persons to be raided, it turned
out, had been compiled primarily from firearms sales records which all gun
dealers had been required to keep. If a person had turned a gun in to the
police after the Cohen Act was passed, his name was marked off the list.
If he hadn't it stayed on, and he was raided on November 9-unless he lived
in a Black neighborhood. In addition, certain categories of
people were raided whether they had ever purchased a firearm from a dealer
or not. All the members of the Organization were
raided. The government's list of suspects was so large that
a number of "responsible" civilian groups were deputized to assist in the
raids. l guess the planners in the System thought that most of the people
on their list had either sold their guns privately before the Cohen Act,
or had disposed of them in some other way. Probably they were expecting
only about a quarter as many people to be arrested as actually
were. Anyway, the whole thing soon became so embarrassing
and so unwieldy that most of the arrestees were turned loose again within
a week. The group I was with-some 600 of us-was held for three days in a
high school gymnasium in Alexandria before being released. During those
three days we were fed only four times, and we got virtually no
sleep. But the police did get mug shots, fingerprints, and
personal data from everyone. When we were released we were told that we
were still technically under arrest and could expect to be picked up again
for prosecution at any time. The media kept yelling for
prosecutions for awhile, but the issue was gradually allowed to die.
Actually, the System had bungled the affair rather
badly. For a few days we were all more frightened and glad
to be free than anything else. A lot of people in the Organization dropped
out right then and there. They didn't want to take any more
chances. Others stayed in but used the Gun Raids as an
excuse for inactivity. Now that the patriotic element in the population
had been disarmed, they argued, we were all at the mercy of the System and
had to be much more careful. They wanted us to cease all public recruiting
activities and "go underground." As it turned out, what
they really had in mind was for the Organization to restrict itself
henceforth to "safe" activities, such activities to consist principally in
complaining-better yet, whispering-to one another about how bad things
were. The more militant members, on the other hand, were
for digging up our weapons caches and unleashing a program of terror
against the System immediately, carrying out executions of Federal judges,
newspaper editors, legislators, and other System figures. The time was
ripe for such action, they felt, because in the wake of the Gun Raids we
could win public sympathy for such a campaign against
tyranny. It is hard to say now whether the militants were
right. Personally, I think they were wrong-although I counted myself as
one of them at the time. We could certainly have killed a number of the
creatures responsible for America's ills, but I believe we would have lost
in the long run. For one thing, the Organization just
wasn't well disciplined enough for waging terror against the System. There
were too many cowards and blabbermouths among us. Informers, fools,
weaklings, and irresponsible jerks would have been our
undoing. For a second thing, I am sure now that we were
overoptimistic in our judgment of the mood of the public. What we mistook
as general resentment against the System's abrogation of civil rights
during the Gun Raids was more a passing wave of uneasiness resulting from
all the commotion involved in the mass arrests. As soon as
the public had been reassured by the media that they were in no danger,
that the government was cracking down only on the "racists, fascists, and
other anti-social elements" who had kept illegal weapons, most relaxed
again and went back to their TV and funny papers. As we
began to realize this, we were more discouraged than ever. We had based
all our plans-in fact, the whole rationale of the Organization-on the
assumption that Americans were inherently opposed to tyranny, and that
when the System became oppressive enough they could be led to overthrow
it. We had badly underestimated the degree to which materialism had
corrupted our fellow citizens, as well as the extent to which their
feelings could be manipulated by the mass media. As long as
the government is able to keep the economy somehow gasping and wheezing
along, the people can be conditioned to accept any outrage. Despite the
continuing inflation and the gradually declining standard of living, most
Americans are still able to keep their bellies full today, and we must
simply face the fact that that's the only thing which counts with most of
them. Discouraged and uncertain as we were, though, we
began laying new plans for the future. First, we decided to maintain our
program of public recruiting. In fact, we intensified it and deliberately
made our propaganda as provocative as possible. The purpose was not only
to attract new members with a militant disposition, but at the same time
to purge the Organization of the fainthearts and hobbyists-the
"talkers." We also tightened up on discipline. Anyone who
missed a scheduled meeting twice in a row was expelled. Anyone who failed
to carry out a work assignment was expelled. Anyone who violated our rule
against loose talk about Organizational matters was
expelled. We had made up our minds to have an Organization
that would be ready the next time the System provided an opportunity to
strike. The shame of our failure to act, indeed, our inability to act, in
1989 tormented us and drove us without mercy. It was probably the single
most important factor in steeling our wills to whip the Organization into
fighting trim, despite all obstacles. Another thing that
helped-at least, with me-was the constant threat of rearrest and
prosecution. Even if I had wanted to give it all up and join the
TV-and-funnies crowd, I couldn't. I could make no plans for a "normal,"
civilian future, never knowing when I might be prosecuted under the Cohen
Act. (The Constitutional guarantee of a speedy trial, of course, has been
"reinterpreted" by the courts until it means no more than our
Constitutional guarantee of the right to keep and bear
arms.) So I, and I know this also applies to George and
Katherine and Henry, threw myself without reservation into work for the
Organization and made only plans for the future of the Organization. My
private life had ceased to matter. Whether the Organization
actually is ready, I guess we'll find out soon enough. So far, so good,
though. Our plan for avoiding another mass roundup, like 1989, seems to
have worked. Early last year we began putting a number of
new members, unknown to the political police, into police agencies and
various quasi-official organizations, such as the human relations
councils. They served as our early-warning network and otherwise kept us
generally informed of the System's plans against us. We
were surprised at the ease with which we were able to set up and operate
this network. We never would have gotten away with it back in the days of
J. Edgar Hoover. It is ironic that while the Organization
has always warned the public against the dangers of racial integration of
our police, this has now turned out to be a blessing in disguise for us.
The "equal opportunity" boys have really done a wonderful wrecking job on
the FBI and other investigative agencies, and their efficiency is way down
as a result. Still, we'd better not get over-confident or
careless. Omigod! It's 4:00 AM. Got to get some sleep!
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