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Free Speech - June 1996 - Volume II, Number 6

America’s Retreating Borders

Our Southern Marches Are Being Overrun

By Kevin Alfred Strom

This month I'd like to bring you an essay by the anonymous Internet author Yggdrasil, whose pen name is that of the tree of knowledge which sheltered the gods in the ancient Nordic religion. He is a White Californian and self-described "yuppie member of the information elite." He sometimes abbreviates his nom de plume to just Ygg. Yggdrasil recently traveled extensively by automobile through the southern fringes of what is still nominally the United States. What he saw and what he recorded is a warning for all of us in America and everywhere our people still survive in the world today. Yggdrasil's essay is entitled "A Drive Through the Empire."
Last week the Ygg and Mrs. Ygg drove from Southern California to Texas and back. The kids stayed home.

The purpose of the trip was to look at housing in Texas, just in case we might want to join the great White migration out of Southern California.

The Ole Ygg hasn't gone for a long drive in about 15 years. You see, yuppies in the information elite fly everywhere. We don't drive. In fact, on the few occasions when I have told my partners that I am driving the short haul from Los Angeles to San Francisco, they look at me like I am crazy. The elites would rather stroll West Los Angeles naked than drive in the open country.

Like most who earn a living in the information industry, I get my impressions of cities and of regions of the country by what I see in airports and the glass towers I visit.

Well, it didn't take too many hours on the road in the Southwest to realize that my view of America from inside airports and the glass towers was less than a total picture of reality. Once on the road, I was judging America by the people I saw at gas stations rather than by the people I saw in its airport lobbies.

What a contrast!

The first impression is that the interstate highways are the exclusive province of factory workers, farmers, and service workers. Some have money for nice cars and trucks. Many do not. Generally, none of our elites are out there on these highways.

This pattern is actually a sharp contrast with the 1950's and the 1960's. Then, the elites vacationed by driving. That was a period of rapid freeway construction. The new roads were as smooth as glass. The interstates are much bumpier now. The inescapable impression is that the United States is no longer willing to invest money in its automotive highway network. Repairs are spotty. The wrong people use them.

A second inescapable impression is that there are large tracts of the United States in which Euro-Americans are foreigners.

We all know that Euro-Americans cannot wander the streets of Newark, Camden, South-Central Los Angeles, most of Detroit, much of Manhattan Island, and similar venues after dark without a near certainty of death or mayhem. Euro-Americans cannot enter these venues in daytime without a visibly obvious reason. In these urban combat zones of America, Euro-Americans yield the sidewalks in a classic reversal of roles from the old South.

Driving Interstate 10 from San Diego to El Paso leaves one not so much with a sense of danger as with a sense of alienation. There is a large swath of real estate in which you rarely see Euro-Americans. It runs North from the Mexican border about 100 miles, beginning about 20 miles inland from the Pacific and extending through Southern Arizona and New Mexico to San Antonio, Texas. You will see Euro-Americans in the airport at El Paso, but you will not see any on the streets or roads, nor any working at any of the motels or fast food outlets.

Mendelssohn's Violin Concerto booming up through the sunroof of a white Porsche had a dramatic effect on locals who had never heard anything like it before. They stared in amazement. The culture from which that auto and its music came were so profoundly alien, there wasn't a hint of recognition.

In El Paso, like San Diego, the U.S. Government has abandoned control of the border. Instead, there is an INS checkpoint about one hundred miles east of the border. It is the same in California, where the real border begins about 40 miles north of San Diego at the inspection station at Camp Pendleton, and in Fallbrook on Interstate 15. That is where the INS begins to apprehend and chase undocumented aliens. But within most of that 100-mile strip of territory along the border the policy is "don't ask, don't tell."

Within this nation of Aztlan, Euro-American culture has disappeared. Its residents will not attack (as in Detroit) but will watch Euro-Americans with wary suspicion. It is obvious to them that we are "outsiders" who do not "belong" there.

However, once you hit Austin, Texas, a remarkable transformation occurs. Euro-Americans are everywhere. You have arrived at the border of the Euro-American nation.

When you say that you are from California, the Texas real estate agents explain that there are thousands like you who move there every year in a mass exodus. Neighborhoods in Texas aren't like California. "People go to church here. You won't find drugs all over the schools." But if you aren't comfortable with the overt religiosity of the people, you will not be comfortable living there.

We took the northern route back, along interstate 40 from Amarillo in the Panhandle, through Northern New Mexico and Arizona.

We stopped for a bite to eat in Gallup, New Mexico, just off the Interstate, on old Route 66. There were 60 restaurants, and most looked like mom and pop operations, so just to be safe we picked a Pizza Hut franchise and went in. The physical layout of the place was strictly Pizza Hut, down to the seats, salad bar, and sign that said please wait to be seated. But this wasn't any ordinary Pizza Hut. The service was extraordinarily different.

A young lady came over, fumbled and hesitated, and led us to a table without making eye contact. We waited 15 minutes and began to notice that the waiters and waitresses seemed to avoid eye contact with us. All of the workers and all of the patrons were Indians. We were the only Euro-Americans in the place.

After we had been there about 10 minutes, a man with blonde hair in a pony tail came in, was seated, waited for about 5 minutes to be served, and then quietly left. Finally, after 15 minutes, a young man came over to take our order. The body language was bad. He was stiff and uncomfortable.

Forty minutes later, and our pizza still had not arrived. Valuable road time was lost.

While we waited, the counter was doing a land-office business in carry-out pizza orders. All of the carry-out patrons were also Indians. Not a single one was White.

Mrs. Ygg was getting angry. Now Mrs. Ygg is not really a White nationalist. She is non-ideological, something of a racial "liberal," a fairly typical National Charity League "society mom" instinctively respectful of society's manners and conventions for preventing ill feeling and conflict. And it was the breach of public manners that threw her into a rage. She sensed that the Navajo did not want Whites in their restaurant and asked why they just didn't post a sign to that effect so that she could have taken her business elsewhere. She demanded that I go ask where our pizza was.

I went to the counter, waited two minutes for the waitress to make eye contact, and then finally blurted out to her back, "How is our pizza coming along?" The visibly agitated and uncomfortable waitress said, "I will check," and ran into the back room where the pizzas were being cooked.

The waitress came out and said she didn't know what happened to our pizza, but that they would prepare a new one, it would be ready in 12 minutes, and we did not have to pay. Fifteen minutes later the waitress came over with the pizza, said nothing, and did not make eye contact. The silent message was, "Eat this and get the hell out of here!"

By this time Mrs. Ygg was ready to re-fight the battle of Little Big Horn. I tried to calm her. I said, "We are now in the Navajo Nation just like the sign next door says. They don't mis-label anything. It is our culture that claims race and nation do not exist. They can be as uncomfortable with us as they want in their nation. We should do what they say, keep quiet, avoid eye contact, and then leave.

" Mrs. Ygg said, "BS! This is a retail establishment on a major interstate highway. They see thousands of Whites. How could they be in business here and be so uncomfortable with us? They are seething with hostility and suspicion. Further, all the Indian men in this place are wearing ‘gang pants’ and high tops. They listen to rap music in the back. They sure as hell understand American symbols of anger!"

I then said, "You know, it is quite strange that the kids who run this place are so suspicious and uncomfortable. They have had at least four generations of contact with us along this highway and two generations of television and they have not learned to put up a friendly front during business hours. Contact certainly has not produced understanding and amity. But maybe acting friendly when they don't feel friendly would be cowardly in their culture. Who knows! But this is what I mean when I talk to Ygg Jr. about the failure of multi-racial empires. If you had paid attention, you would know to expect this sort of thing. You would not now be surprised or offended. It is our presence here with them that is unnatural, not their breach of the manners that you have expected them to learn from us."

Mrs. Ygg then angrily said, "I don't care about that. I don't need their free pizza or their charity! I am going to pay for the pizza!"

The Ole Ygg replied: "No, you are not! They have told us the rules. We are to eat and get out with no more contact. Insist on paying and you risk serious conflict. Much as you might like to see me kick these pudgy little people through the window (as the Koreans taught me to do many years ago), you know I can't do that, even in self-defense, without my political views being uncovered and becoming an issue."

As we finished our pizza and walked toward the door, several young female patrons at the carry-out counter looked at us with alarm, as if we were men from Mars. They saw the Ole Ygg first and became uncomfortable, but became much more agitated at the sight of Mrs. Ygg. It was as if she were George Armstrong Custer.


As we drove away, I could not help thinking back to Yggdrasil's Lesson One, and the thoughts of Professor Barro from Harvard, who observed that if the "constituent characteristics" of ethnic groups within a single country differ by too much, it might be wise to split the country into separate nations. A handy guide occurred to me: Any population that needs a quota or explicit preference has "constituent characteristics" that differ enough to justify separation. All you need do is keep the current questionnaires and administrative apparatus in place.

We continued to drive west. In a little while we reentered the White Nation that begins in Flagstaff, extends through Kingman, and winds across the desert to Bakersfield, California. It is a different White Nation from the traditional one in Texas. It is a nation that knows it is under attack. Like America's pioneers, they know that the eastern elites will send the cavalry to protect the black and brown attackers if they defend too visibly or successfully. They know yuppies when they see them and they have learned to keep their true feelings and ideas to themselves.

While sitting in a diner in Kingman, I spotted a copy of The Arizona Republic reporting the arrest of 30 Aryan Brotherhood members in Arizona. McPaper had reports of a debate between McVeigh's lawyer and the prosecutor, as well as an article to the effect that McVeigh might want to testify at his trial and claim he never touched a bomb.

It occurred to me that our Euro-American elites are going to be exceptionally angry and fearful as it becomes more and more apparent that their integrationist dream is failing. They are likely to blame these poor working class Whites and pursue them with a vengeance as the only remaining group within our multiracial empire upon whom they can enforce their will.

Look for the jails to fill with offenders who cross the line of manners and belief into the proliferating categories of "hate crimes" applied selectively on the basis of race and social class. Look for sporadic mass prosecutions for child molestation in these small towns, as social workers isolate children from their parents and interrogate them for weeks at a time behind closed doors to "recover" their memories. Look for more armed standoffs and fiery deaths. Look for the clever among these working class Whites to learn the diaspora art of concealing their true feelings lest they become targets. Marranos of the desert and the trailer parks!

Herrnstein and Murray were right in their seminal work The Bell Curve. The information elites have become so profoundly isolated from working class Whites that they have come to believe that Whites truly are the passive, emasculated creatures portrayed by Hollywood.

Treatment of poor Whites by our elites and their legal system will not know any of the usual boundaries of "civil rights" and "civil liberties" that apply to Blacks or Browns. Our elites see no reason for caution. "Justice" meted out by our custodial state to poor Whites uppity enough to think for themselves is likely to be brusque.

Our information elites see America only from the air.

As Yggdrasil intimates, the prospects for White children do not look too bright in the Third World future planned for America by her currently ascendant enemies.

But European Americans are still the majority in this country, and it is our intelligence, our labor, and our consent which holds the evil empire together. Thence, the potential for Whites to influence the course of future events is very great indeed. But before we can exercise such influence we must educate our people so that they know who they actually are, and what has been done to them by their enemies and by traitors within their own ranks, and finally to see the necessity of organizing not only for our own interests but for our very survival as a people.

These are the aims of this newsletter. These are the aims of our radio programs. These are the aims of our World Wide Web sites.

You know, one of the greatest things in the world today is the Internet, where freedom of speech still reigns supreme, and your message is just as powerful and as big and as accessible as the Jewish networks' message. America's enemies are working hard to change all that, but while you still can, get on the net and check out this web site.

A cassette recording of this broadcast is available for $12.95 including postage from:
National Vanguard Books
P.O. Box 330
Hillsboro, WV 24946

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