Harold A. Covington - Dreaming The Iron Dream

ISBN 1-59364-025-0Library of Congress Control Number: 2004117676Copyright 2005by Harold A. Covington

All rights reserved. No part of this book, except briefexcerpts for the purpose of review, may be reproduced inany form without written permission by the publisher.

Printed in the United States of America

Liberty Bell PublicationsP.O. Box 890
York, SC 29745

Gimme That Old Time Religion..................................................................... 10
Creating a New White Literature ................................................................ 170

IntroductionGreetings to Mr. and Mrs. America, and all the ships at sea.

These essays, or monologues, or rants, or whatever you want to callthem, come from what has been up until now my most productive periodpolemic-wise, the Nineties and the early Oughts. They are what is knownin Russian as samisdat, unauthorized dissident political and socialcommentaries transmitted by a kind of literary underground to a smallnumber of readers by whatever means come to hand. The earlier piecescome from a weekly newsletter which I published throughout most of theNineties called Resistance, which was a true samisdat publicationsmall,crudely typed, and reproduced in the cheapest copy shops or in some cases surreptitiously run off on the copy machines at whatever lowlytemporary job I was working at the time to keep out of the homelessshelter. The later raves are, of course, from that great purveyor ofsamisdat in our time, the Internet.

Other than some passing references in some of the later articles, Ihave deliberately excluded most of my Northwest Migration material.The purpose of this anthology is to provide readers with the best of HACin the pre-Northwest sense; my Northwest Homeland raves will becollected together and melded into one long, stripped-down polemic at alater date, our little white book, so to speak. This collection is frankly aconvenience for me, to obviate the necessity of my sending out reams ofincreasingly aging material to new people. The monologues I haveincluded are in my view the best of my febrile crop, plus several which Iadded by request from readers, such as How NOT To Do It and Our Socialism. I tried to make a selection that wouldnt be too redundant. TheMovement being what it is, I have to use a lot of spaced repetition. Themonologues are arranged in approximate chronological order. For therecord, as far as conveying what I want to convey to our people, my favorites are The Song, Not The Singer: Dreaming the Iron Dream; andBut Harold, What Do You Want Us To DO?

Enjoy!
-HAC
Olympia, Washington October 2004[August 1992]

Harold Covingtons funeral oration for Robert Miles

On August 16th, 1992, a giant departed from among us when RobertMiles died at the age of 67, three months to the day after the death of hisbeloved wife, Dorothy. The gap which he has left in our ranks will noteasily be filled.

For over forty years, Bob Miles played a leading role in the Whiteresistance movement in America, his courage and vision earning himworldwide renown among every friend and foe alike of Aryan man. Bob endured repeated assault; a life of grim poverty and unremitting hardship; six years of false imprisonment on perjured testimony in the worsthellhole of Americas prison system as well as a disgraceful attempt in1987 to imprison him yet again on bogus sedition charges; decades ofspying and harassment; the imprisonment and murder of friends andfamily members; and an avalanche of media abuse and defamation without parallel in the annals of gutter journalism.

They never broke him. Bob Miles met and overcame every attack,every ordeal which this evil regime inflicted on him. and he did so with acalm courage, a quiet dignity, and an irrepressible charm and humorwhich, more than anything else Bob did or said or wrote, drove the Jewsand their lickspittle lackeys in the United States government to enrageddistraction.

Bob Miles clearly understood something which many in ourMovement have lost sight of, which is that death is no big deal. It is an inevitable fact of existence, to be accepted philosophically and met withdignity when the time comes. What matters is how one lives, what oneleaves behind in the way of accumulated knowledge, experience, andmoral example. For all of us today and for comrades of the future, rolemodels dont come any stronger or more admirable than Bob Miles.

More than any White racial nationalist patriot in contemporary times,Bob lived his simple, powerful philosophy, which he sometimes referred to by the Irish Gaelic name of Sinn Fein, Ourselves Alone. To Bob it was all very straightforward. Aryan man is the pinnacle of Gods creation; we dont need anything which any other race or culture canoffer us in exchange for admixture. All that is necessary to preserve our race and ensure a future for our seed among the stars is a simplerecognition of who we are, and the spiritual willpower to just say no toevery poisoned chalice, every rotten sweetmeat of which the Jew urges usto partake.

Bob understood the one basic principle which holds the key to ourentire struggle, yet which seems so incredibly difficult for many of us tograsp; which indeed, some of us never succeed in grasping. The Jews arenot the problem, nor are the blacks or the Hispanics or the politicians orthe international bankers or the Communists or any other grouping of ourracial adversaries. We are the problem. Our weakness, our laziness, ourprofound moral cowardice, our craven unwillingness to place our physicalbodies and our creature comforts at risk, as Bob himself did without fearor hesitation.

When we look in a mirror, there we see our enemy. But if we look hard enough, we can see Bob Miles standing behind us, a smile on his faceand his hand on our shoulder to guide and uplift and strengthen us, as everhe did when he was with us here in life.

In ancient Celtic times, when a High King of Tara died, messengerswere dispatched in swift chariots riding the length and breadth of all Ireland, from Antrim in the north to Kerry in the southwest. At eachvillage and crossroads and castle they came to, these couriers cried out,The mountain has fallen!

Our mountain has fallen, but his spirit lives on, and it is strong.[April 1993]

I have always known that Hitler was right. Even when I was a childand had no idea what National Socialism was all about, I seemed to havean instinctive recognition that all was not right in the society I was growing up in, and that anyone whom the authorities of that societyfeared, hated, and reviled as much as Adolf Hitler had to have somethinggoing for him.

When I played army with the other boys in my Burlington, NorthCarolina neighborhood, I always wanted to fight on the German side. Norwas this unusual; there were other boys like myself who drew swastikas on their schoolbook covers and rooted for the Germans when watchingtelevision shows like Combat or The Gallant Men. There was something in the shape of that Teutonic coal-scuttle helmet that thrilled our verysouls. I have often wondered how this could be, when we were so youngwe could have no idea of the issues involved with the war or what theNSDAP was all about, and indeed were constantly subjected to a barrage of anti-NS propaganda, in a time when the war was a very recent memory. I think that this was because there is a kind of innate moralfaculty in our people which Aryans are born with, which instinctivelyrecognizes the difference between truth and lies, between right and wrong. Its a pity more of us cant retain that faculty into our adult lives.