[This is an excerpt from Song of Albion: Rise of The West ~Second Volume ~ The Staff ]
Word count: 4,263
The American Gulag, built to house those who, for one reason or another, subverted the law and intent of the existing order. Every Nation requires a place to house those who would subvert the law of the land, both in the present and, most importantly, in the future.
In the Summer of Nineteen Ninety, I was imprisoned at the Federal Penitentiary, Butner, North Carolina, my third in succession to this point. This housing was in direct consequence to the prison riot of Nineteen Eighty-nine, at the Federal Penitentiary in Arizona, due to prison staff’s dereliction of duty in denying medical attention to one, John Chaffey, suffering from a brain aneurism, which was the cause of death.
My stay at the american gulag, Butner, was done not so much to overtly punish me, but to ‘keep me quiet’ regarding the death of Mr. Chaffey. I was asked to sign a paper which, among other things, absolved prison staff of wrong doing; I refused to sign, and was willing to aid the Chaffey family in whatever venue they found themselves.
Butner, a true american gulag, housed John Hinckley, the attempted assassin of President Ronald Regan, the only sitting president I ever voted for. Butner, a prison where narcotics, of the psychotropic variety, were used liberally on prisoners/patients for any number of reasons; although, to my knowledge, none were ever used on my person.
It was a trying time, and the move from Arizona was stressful, not only because I was in an unfamiliar environment, but because it had placed me so far from my family. Nevertheless, that is how the modern american gulag system likes to operate; stress, and institutional perversity, does much in the way of destabilizing ones spirit. It can conquer you, or you can conquer it, there is no half way point.
Life, itself, is like this.
I was sentenced to Forty Years in the Federal gulag system for Harboring a Fugitive, and ‘transportation of stolen money’, under the RICO act, a system of ‘law’ designed to thwart the Italian Crime syndicates, a direct threat to Robert and John Kennedy who, like the Mafia, demanded control of their respective armies. One would use bullets, and the other words, to dismantle or defeat their opponents. Men, real men, fight their opponents based on conflict of interests, on territory, or faith; both sides know there are rules, parameters, and levels by which he is to conquer. RICO, as a tool, knows no boundaries or parameters when, using federal law, it seeks to conquer an opponent.
Such was my first and only run-in with the modern american gulag system.
I had met many diverse individuals, of every Race and Creed, up to this point, and it had been quite a learning experience. When faced with isolation from friends and family, and seeing ones life taken from them for periods longer than the human mind can translate into discernible fragments, individuals create independent resources and values which, with time, become their salvation – or their damnation. Within this context, each Racial group seeks its own tribe by which each individual, and as a group, may insulate itself from the dangers and threats it perceives will destroy him/them. This is Nature’s Law. Not the ‘law of the jungle’, but Nature’s divine plan for the extension of each particular specie. It seeks no absolution for its hardness; it seeks no redemption for its right to determine the destiny of its subjects. Nature can be a cruel Mistress, or she can be understood in the ways in which she, herself, is quantifiable; in which she serves the gods who made her. This american gulag, then, becomes the Crucible by which nature is compacted, formed, and presents the individual with truths and consequences, which are rarely addressed in ‘civilized’ life. Yet, all the elements and conditions, which the gulag presents is, as is natural, are present, also, in our daily living; it is present today, as you read this work.
I am a White Nationalist, a euphemism which will, hopefully, make its meaning clear as this present work progresses.
I did not evolve, or devolve into this dynamic in the gulags of this nation but, rather, entered the world at my birth, as a member of the Western race-culture; a seed, left as a legacy to Life. Like my Father and Mother before me, the elements of race and legacy were also present…and so, as before, and before that. This is the corporeal beginning of unity, both of purpose as well as function. It is the extension of both the family – which is the State – and the essence of ‘who’ that family is, and will ever be. What is that essence?
Aristotle, a man of Western stock declares:
He who thus considers things in their first growth and origin, whether a state or anything else, will obtain the clearest view of them. In the first place there must be a union of those who cannot exist without each other; namely, of male and female, that the race may continue (and this is a union which is formed, not of deliberate purpose, but because, in common with other animals and with plants, mankind have a natural desire to leave behind them an image of themselves), and of natural ruler and subject, that both may be preserved. (emph mine)
Race, that element which we are all a part of. Race, that presence which defines us, molds us, and continues after we are gone. Race, that which separates us; marks us as unique, one to the other. Race, the element of blood and soil, that which binds us to persons and places, the value we place on spirit, on religious experience, government, and our ‘will-to-express’ that which we are, or wish to be. All this, bourne by a single seed, germinated and harvested; thus are we born.
The crucible, whatever the cause or condition – prison or war, hunger or riches – only brings out what resides, already, in the body politic. We are, who we are, long before we awake from that warm, comfortable and hospitable place which bore us, nurtured us, and protected us. Brought into this world, the rules are already set, the parameters already given us by nature’s guiding hand; we do the best that we can, holding on to those things which seem right, those things which have harboured and sheltered many generations of life before us; this is the history of our past, a thousand generations of trial and error. This is, in its most primal and vital form, the culture in which each race, specific to its origin, is destined to live and die; to succeed or fail, a member of the greater tribe, in which he is but a single part. As another man of Western stock has said:
“We are born to die and to continue the flow”
This is the natural, organic, state of Nature, which does not smile or frown upon us, each in turn but, rather, embraces whatever we bring as an offering to her. We strive, and in the striving, we realize, as often as not, that we are insignificant when alone; but as we look around, and realize as well, that each of us, you and I, belong to each other creating, as it were, a larger body of works, of strength and unity. We are connected. What affects one can, and does, affect the other, even if the ripples cannot always be seen in the here and now; throughout the ages, what is said and done now (or in the past) will be felt in the future. This is the law of consequence.
Law, that was the single reason why I, and several other co-defendants were given sentences ranging from 40 – 250 years. However, the law, as such, was and is seen differently by different people. First, there was the State, that edifice which we, as a Western people, including all the diverse people living with us, see as that unique motive force in our lives, arranging and rearranging our day-to-day environment. This is the truth of the matter – and religious thinkers and believers who would argue the point are duly noted – yet, as anyone can see, those persons, good hearted as they may be, however much they believe in goodness, justice, righteousness – in God – it is the modern state and its accompanying technics, which make us, or more rightly, condition us, to be. In the image of the state we are. Well, at any rate, most of us.
This work is not about, in any complete sense, the legal or historical machinations of the consequence which brought me and my fellows to this present day; rather, it is a work about the cause, those events and circumstances which, outside of destiny herself, were at work to bring me, indeed, the whole nation, to a boiling point. This work is a continuation of a previous work, which tried to present in my own humble way, the way-signs of the Western race-culture in a broad sense; and in a more microscopic way, the way-signs of our presence here, in America, or more rightly, North America, for we include Canada proper, as members of the West, in a racial sense, as well as the political technics which supply her with guidance and her form of function. My thoughts are split between just how to present this second work, whether to tell a story about the beginning of that nascent nationalism held within all the children of the West who have been raised in the shadow of our elders, of our forefathers and mothers which brought us to this point, or to strictly endeavor to present this work as a studious presentation for the academic proper. The distillation, I hope, will be satisfactory to those who have wanted to hear more about the cause of which prompted men and women, husbands and wives, sons and daughters, to take on a ‘system’ which, for all intents and purposes, was looking out for the best interests of their fellow citizens, their own racial Kinsmen.
In this respect, this work will be less academic than the first yet, as is my wont, and to the chagrin of many who know me, my prose may yet find a more serious tenor in such matters, which is my style. I do consider my role in life as being a serious one, for I have ever seen myself, and those to whom have mentored me, as participants, bringing those issues and beliefs as being of the utmost importance to my kinsmen, both in a racial and political sense, which would assure their survival and a fairer existence for them as well as their children. The characters present in this work, both historical and personal, are part of a great mosaic, a tapestry which, at present, has not been finished. Ripples, just as the accident which caused them, have consequences unforeseen, or expected, which only end when nature decrees it. This is the beauty of Life, for we can play the hand dealt us, we can figure we know exactly how it will end, but of ‘ the plans of mice and men’ there is no knowing. Fate, destiny, pre-destination, whatever one calls it, or believes it to be, the great Author of all our doings is, ultimately, in charge. We can press on, all of us, duty bound to do the best that we can, and in the end, the only thing that matters is that we tried, each of us, to do what was ‘right’ for the betterment of our people – whatever that people – and to the people of the West, that people who bore us, for myself and my comrades, was that which was our first cause.
To be sure, some in this work will be seen as religious, pious, and extreme; others, as well, will be seen as short-sighted and politically naïve to others. Be that as it may, it is part of a real story, and a real history; both elements, to be sure, have not been heard by many, yet, millions have a sense of it, and hundreds of millions have, deep inside, felt the same passions and drives, the same desire for the understanding of why things are the way they are, and how they can make a difference in the lives of others; whether or not they strive on a daily basis to ‘put bread on the table’, as the first cause, it remains a constant, that what we feel deep inside is not being fulfilled in this modern age. What we are taught when young by our parents, our grandparents, our Church, our professors, our friends or the spirits of the books we read all, without exception, affect the way we see the world, but cannot overcome what we feel or are directed by, our natures, our blood.
Imprisonment is the last thing on someone’s mind when they seek to do a thing that is above board, that which is duly understood by all, such as the churchman when he sees the error of someone close to him, and tries to correct what he sees as a stumbling block to the life of this individual. Patriotism is of the same stuff. It is a passion, a desire, a destiny predicated upon his life’s ‘world view’, which was given him as a legacy by those who came before. Patriotism, is the stuff of Nationalism, for one’s nation is himself, a hundred-million-fold; it is based, not on the concept of today’s ‘legal’ interpretation of state and citizen, but on that organic strata, that very flesh and bone of race and its mystical apparatus which marks us as Human, oh! so human!!
Ecce homo, the elemental force of nature, our nature, that which belongs to us, specifically, as a Western People.
It is our nature to feel pride, revulsion, antipathy, sympathy and generosity to those things which seem as natural responses, and with time these senses and proclivities become a tradition which, in turn, is passed onto those whose sub rosa concerns benefit thereby, from the instruction of those who have experienced life in the truest sense; they have lived it. Those to whom we are indebted, in both a past and present construct are those specifically who have experienced life – they are the ‘elders’ of our tribe; it makes no difference if this tribe has 100 persons, or 100 million. This is a law, perhaps, which does not agree with nature, for nature cares not whether we, as a tribe or specie goes up or down, as long as she remains. But, we are organic, animal like in so many ways, and the uncivilized might forget their elders, allow their powers of reasoning to go unnoticed; civilized people, however, take care of their elders, and listen patiently to what they have to say and impart. This is only right.
Here, we come to our own crucible, relative to this work, insofar as we will now focus more attention upon the crux of the matter envisioned here.
Carl von Clauswitz, a man of Western stock, stated that “Politics is War by other means”, and was speaking specifically in a Western sense he, being a tried and true warrior, setting the tactics and strategies of a western motif, War, and applying it to the practical applications of government. Therefore, it is safe to say that in our political inclinations, war is just as persistent as politics. As individuals, we are marked as either hot or cold when it come to war; the same is the same in politics. Those who are drawn to a ‘thing’, whether this involves politics/religion/war, become fixed, they are known for this particular passion. Zealots are made of these qualities, true believers, who work tirelessly to accommodate what they believe in, and would share with others. All civilization is bourne by these types of individuals. The mass, that centralized mechanism of persons who, for the most part, are cold and consistently make up the general herd will always follow the lead of those passionate individuals who are able to persuade them as to the right or wrong of a thing.
We all fit a plan; we are all designed to follow or lead. This is a ‘classification’ which is viewed suspiciously by the Modern, but serves the truth rather well. We, all of us, do fit this category; at one point in our lives we may be followers, and later, leaders. It is a rare case, indeed, to know and respond to both at the same time: This, the true Leader. This is the gem, which brings to bear the essence of what it means to be noble. To be sure, this leadership is seen in more than just the courage of the battlefield warrior; he can be seen in the form of your church deacon, your accountant, your spouse. Nobility is genetic, and is refined through the crucible of ritual and punishment: it is the long-term inculcation of culture, in its pure meaning, which is the refinement of social conditions which, among other things, demands a reciprocal response from those whom you share your life with. It is more than tradition, yet belongs to it. This is Community in the extended understanding.
Nobility, then, is the natural stratification, which exists, independently, yet is shared by those who have shared the same experiences and upbringing. The higher-man, that person of both nobility and culture who, at times, will show himself is, in the pure sense, the absolute Leader. He rules, without even recognizing this gift; he serves, he follows, yet the magnetism which flows from his veins is unique to him, and many who possess it are unaware, because they have learned to expect it in their peers, rather than themselves. Yes, these men do exist; they have lived and died in a world of our own inhabiting, some known, and others unknown to the rest of us.
We have, in this modern world, learned to not expect this type of man.
In the crucible of prison, it was there. In the dirty, noisy subway, it is there. In the train station, in the city park, in the civil service, in the local social club, in the local church or Kindred, all of them share a spirit, perhaps present in more than one single person who, without a doubt, is this type of man. No law can create this (this is the law of meritocracy vs democracy). It may, as either ‘law’ or ‘institution’, encourage this; it may reward it, but cannot create it. It is a value, which is indispensable to the future of any culture, for this type of man is, indeed, the culture-bearer of his people. It is this individual who, whether it is known to him, or unconconscious within his soul, who represents the whole. He is the best, this incalculable asset to the Race.
I have lived with men and women of this caliber; I have fought along side them. I have seen them die. I have seen them survive monumental obstacles. I have seen them watch as family and friends passed from them, the untold personal pain of loss, rejection or failure, and the long-term life-denying world of prison try to poison their Faith, their Hope, their Vision; but which have stood fast, anchored against the storm which life has allowed to batter and beat them. Some were spiritual men, concerned with their fellow man, and the travails which hammer into being their very existence, some Christian, some following the ways of Western man’s ancestral gods, the God’s of their fathers. Some were esoteric students, as were many of our Western antecedents before them.
Others, in retrospect, followed a more simple and basic calling: they believed in a vision which demanded a response to the ever increasing denial of their sovereignty, as men, to be both provider, and protector, of their wives and children; the denial of their rightful place in the marketplace of shared ideas, of debate and civic forums without being shouted down as being ‘racists’, homophobes, nativists, or simple rabble-rousers. They demanded the right to assemble in the worship places of their own choosing, with people of their own stock, and proud, without the ‘consent’ of the legal authorities who cannot grant these basic rights; these ‘authorities’ are able, only, to deny them.
By ethnic background, these were members of all the sub-racial groups of Europe: Keltische, Teutonic, Nordic, and Mediterranean and Slavic. There were Poles, Irish, Italian, Welsh, French, Scottish, Finnish, Latvian, Norwegian and Swedes, the blood of that ancient and honorable name of Aryan, or noble ones; this word, ancient and beautiful, having been dissected and forgotten by the Modern, is used here to denote the familiarity and interrelatedness of this connected People, this White Tribe, being used to describe the culture and people known as Western Man. This is used without fear or favor; this writer cares not one wit, jot, or tittle about what others, even of his own blood, have to say about the negative connotations, which have ‘become’ commonplace. This word is old, ancient, and has lived well with great men, and mean; it has bourne it’s language, parent to many of our shared origins, and describes those ‘long-heads of Europe’, as Huxley wrote, and serves us now, today. Governments come and go, legislative bodies rise and fall, but Race, those markers which ever give us our identity, remain. These markers belonged to those persons who I was to share a small portion of my life’s journey. I was, and will always be, proud to have known them, to serve with them, to learn from them, and to share that mystical apparition, Destiny.
I think, after all is said and done, that myself, all of us, are destined to enjoy the company of certain individuals for better or for worse; this, also, is Life in its fullest sense. There are no more, or less individuals, fated by the Wyrds with whom we shape our future. We are given a certain amount, and that is the end of it. This is not resignation, but the understanding of things, which are greater than the sum of each part. It is a living thing: Friendship.
This marks us as unique and temporary islands in the sea of chance.
So it was, that in the late seventies, on into the early eighties, that chance brought into my life specific individuals which made for those events and circumstances which, even now, bring happy memories to a life filled with both good and bad, highs and lows, life and death. I would not have wanted it any other way.
All in all, these lives, like yours, was worth something greater than the individual parts, which made up a Brotherhood, a family, and a nation. Lives, which are spent in the search and action of doing good for one’s fellow man, are good lives; they have nobility.
 I wanted to add a small mention as to this particular place:
From the first ‘drop-off’ spot, after being delivered by plane to Lompoc, Ca., I was soon thereafter sent to Phoenix, Az., or simply ‘phoenix’ to its many denizens, where I was to spend approximately four and a half years; the Warden there was one Peter Carlson who, I was to learn, kept a very ‘clean ship’, was an extremely fair man, intelligent, compassionate to both wives and children of his charges and, for me at least, represented an exemplary study in how ‘civil servants’ should be gauged.
The ‘prison riot’ which was simply a general ‘reaction’ to a tragic event, could not have been stopped, short of giving immediate aid to the individual who needed it, but a warden is subject to many intrigues, personal agendas by staff and the like, and was simply a party to an event which transcended any one individual. It is my understanding that Mr. Carlson was slotted to become the Bureau of Prisons Director within a few years but, sadly, was replaced by a Clintonian affirmative action placement (who had the power over this jurisdiction), Janet Reno, which did nothing for ‘morale’ throughout the system, nor did it provide a better environment for ‘staff’ nation-wide.
Moreover, I suspect that Peter Carlson might well be embarrassed by his mention in this present work, however, it would be remiss of me to not mention a worthy and professional human character who, as one mucked through the dungeons of this nation, stood tall as a beacon of reason and professional discipline, as well as a moral compass (for many), that might have benefited his entire profession if allowed to achieve a higher status, based on merit, not on political cronyism. FLS
 Politics – By Aristotle, Book I, Part I.
 Robert J. Mathews – Speech delivered at the National Alliance, 1984. [emph. mine]
 Rise of The West, 2003.
 On War – Carl von Clauswitz
 Readers of Rise of The West – will know this term; for those who have not read this work, here is the intended meaning: “Connotes a problematical example of ‘today’s’ man; of the thinkers, philosophers, and government ‘experts’ which have, and are presently, leading us into a Dark Ages. Its overwhelming connotation is negative.” FLS