Gary Lee Yarbrough: A Man Against Time

Gary Lee Yarbrough: A Man Against Time

In Memorium:

A Dedication

To those Silent Brothers who, living or dead, struggled for a better way of life for themselves and their children; who left a legacy for those who were to come after, and to the children in the wombs of their wives, continuing the flow of Life itself. ~ Frank L. DeSilva ~

Word Count 4,905

Gary Lee Yarbrough died on April 1st or 2nd of 2018.

Gary Lee Yarbrough, a man dedicated to the People of the West who, in the telling, gave more than his Life: He gave his Family, his Home, his Love, his children, his ideals and his very Soul.

Hard to imagine, in these days, a man willing to expend all the effort, all the risks, and all the personal obligation to a cause. Yes, a Casus Belli.1

This Work is about Life, and Gary Lee Yarbrough stands in a unique place, amongst unique individuals.

His story, like that of his comrades, those Silent Brothers, has had a large impact on the meaning of today’s happenings: The so-called Alt-right, with its many faceted alliances and dedicated individuals have, to date, made quite an impression upon society at large, as well as around the World. None of these inroads, and I mean none, would have come to pass without the participation of men like Gary Lee Yarbrough. Period.

Meeting Gary, getting to know him, was something that I will not soon forget.

A life, or lives, within the understanding of our human experience, are either sympathetic or in opposition to our own, a common duality of our species, and makes for a continuing divergence of thoughts and emotions, making the epic of our lives the richer and fuller for it. We may not fully understand the confluences, which bring us pain, or those that bring us pleasure, but we constantly experience both, and this is part of a rich and full life, the roadmap of trial and error.

A man’s life, is filled with circumstantial excess, as well as an extreme shortage in the personal growth and experience of individuals, which bring a mosaic of diffuse perspectives, passions and qualities into contact with him. The quantity and quality of these life-experiences are, by definition, limited to the time and space of each character; to location and environment.

There are paths perilous, and paths serene, and all lead, inexorably, to a certain finality, which many ofttimes fear or shrink from, never fully understanding the balance between the summer of one’s birth, and the winter of one’s death. Many turn to the ‘higher powers’, and many others turn inward seeking, in both cases, the answers to the various conclusions, which make up the totality of their lives, weighing in the balance the essence of the ‘good and bad’, the ‘left and right’ paths; of chance and Fortune, and ‘what could have been’. These are usually the thoughts of our elderly, and if one can learn from this, early on, how much better would be our individual endings, being comfortable, at least resolved, that our parts in this passion play were meaningful, to both ourselves and others?

We are part of an evolution, all of us, brought to us by the majestic panorama we call Life and our specific parts are, in turn, part of another’s evolution; everything said and done echo’s in eternity, and beyond. The individual, however, is the basic element of evolution who, in turn, meets another and then, another. This is the concept of familial relationship, of extended family and tribe, of Race and its organic relationship to the whole.

I, for instance, did not evolve, or devolve into this national and racial dynamic 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 physical beginning of unity, both of purpose, as well as function. It is the extension of both the family – which is the nascent beginning of State – and the essence of ‘who’ that family is, and will ever be.

What is that essence?

Aristotle, a man of Western stock declares2:

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 elemental force, which we all share a part.

Race, that corporeal reality, that presence, which defines us, molds us, and continues if we but protect it, will continue long 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 too 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:3

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.

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.

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 in the life of this individual, yet Prison is where many of these Silent Brothers, including Gary, ended up, and some died there.

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, that 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 on to 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, and 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.

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 can be said of 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 Modern4, 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, the mother of your children, or the stranger who passes you by without a word. Nobility is genetic, it is inherent, 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 that exists, independently, yet is shared by those who have lived 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 of its existence, because they have learned to expect it in their peers, rather than themselves. Yes, these men and women 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 unconscious within his soul, who represents the whole. He is the best, this incalculable asset to the Race.

Such was Robert Jay Mathews; so too, were his Silent Brothers.

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 were Christian men, while others 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, 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 inter-relatedness 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.

The years and I, having passed through fire and evolution, have brought a certain retrospective malaise, as not all which has transpired, has had a positive effect on either myself, or on the participants of this story; but this may simply be my own deficiencies, my own humanity. It is difficult, then, to completely ‘re-live’ every facet and nuance of emotional or intellectual finality which, at those moments long ago, made up my own world-view, or emotional imperative, which intent and motivations prompted my part in the actions of this story, the retelling only reflecting a partial and imperfect rendition of the totality.

Much has transpired since the early ‘eighties of the last century, and Gary Lee Yarbrough was a busy man. He, and many others like him.

Like today, the sides were very clear. Many groups one sees today, one saw in those days. The push and pull of these opposites are immemorial. The struggle, which so many see as new, is much older than the present generation realizes; in the midst of all this, the ‘true believers’, even as Gary and his comrades saw, in each generation, are the first to make a stand.

The Silent Brothers, it might be mentioned (as the detractors and obstructionists have already sought to impart for some thirty years), were not ‘nazis’, ‘supremacists’, or ‘haters’, as has been the wont of many on the opposite aisle; this has never cut too deeply to my sensibilities, as it is understood that everyone has their own pre-conceived notions, their prejudices, and their in-born ignorance.

Each generation, however, will face this same tactic.

Those who I consider my peers, however, while taking sides and believing strongly in their world-views have, in a majority of situation – both public and private – taken a position of hearty affirmation, yet have rarely ever sought to ‘keep the other from offering his own view’, as long as the opponent could take as well as he could give. Moreover, there were few instances of purely ‘one-sided’ invective against what was considered the ‘opposition’, but was always balanced with evenhanded debate – especially amongst ourselves, and the only hate, which was to be commonplace, was the hate of being forced to accommodate those ideas or beliefs, which we intellectually or intuitively knew to be deleterious to our way of life, that is to say, to the way of life of our fellows, neighbors, and communities and the West, specifically.

These, of course, were ideas and beliefs that, perforce, made others antagonistic to our way of life, and in the even-handed public discourse, amongst our own people, our own race-culture, could be just as antagonistic as that, which we faced from our brethren belonging to the present demos of our Age, that amalgamation of diverse stock and spiritual inclination, presented to the world as being of the same House. These latter, however, as will be readily seen throughout this work, are not a part of our ‘race-culture’, assimilated, but without that natural and organic relatedness that a racial affinity may bring, which may, also, bring impasse, but which will, as time passes, be won, even if by degree, and thus will the familial relationship be strengthened – even through strife and war.

A ‘house divided’ means more than the simple relationship between the ‘rule of law’, as division seeks its own, and in the temporary sea of alliance and compromise, only satiates the lust for power as there are glasses filled with reason and authority, the drink of which is both rare and tentative in today’s environment. On the one side stands Authority and Tradition – on the other, revolution and evolution, fixed by rules that are anathema to those who have built and, until recently, managed a house filled with their own children, that blood and bone of their lineage, and who are now content with the adoption of children from many houses seeking, as it were, to raise a common fraternity of peace. To do this, of course, the Rod of Correction will have to be used.

This is the rub.

The ‘authority’ of untold generations, has been replaced with another authority. It has been replaced slowly, ineluctably, and inevitable in its conclusions: through hatchet, axe and saw, have we been shown the light.

The mighty weight of the demos, ready to crush any validation of the ‘authority and tradition’ of another time, of another generation, and who now sees the future in crystalline clarity without the reminders as those events prior to their present supremacy; the clarity of the future far outweighing the ‘intemperate’ order of the past. Such has been all revolutions of thought and perception. No Guillotine to mark this as a certainty, as a commonly understood point of validity, but of the ‘hammer of ‘law’, of ‘media and public cinema’, of the parishioner and his fellow geldings, certain to make the cut, albeit a rough edge tearing, rather than slicing the body and the head from each other. Shepherds and guardians have made it so. Such is the life of the demos, to be corralled and herded. There are, however, those who would not, be herded.

This is impasse.

To those that continue to remain fixed to a tradition, depending on whose side one is on, has becomes rebellion and sedition to the opposing camp; this now becomes a contest of wills and determination. It is a war of attrition, and the mettle of this army, is tried by a different fire. The pursuits and ideals remain the same, but the method of this operation, attrition, takes longer than honest combat, and the rolls become depleted daily. The art of extension, is seen in opposition to the art of destruction, and he who has the most cash wins. This has been seen in every contest of wills since time immemorial. No matter the spiritual or intellectual sensibilities, the mundane elements needed to secure a fighting corps is gold, and lots of it. This is where the sensibilities, become entangled, and morality becomes suspended – this is true for both sides in a confrontation – and the inevitable choices bring conflict.

Do the ‘ends justify the means’?

Looking about one, if one finds himself on the ‘outside’ and, looking in, sees his own house managed by another, now the head of his wife and children, supplanting him in their eyes then, certainly, for the usurper, the ends do justify the means, as he now has the women and the gold which, formerly, had belonged to his opponent; he has claimed the Victory, and he relishes the fact. Morality does, indeed, play a part, but the morality of the ‘victor’ is what marks the difference between the two: one was not afraid to conquer, the other bereft of conquest must, of necessity, take what the victor deems him worthy to receive. Slavery by any other name is still slavery, and the slave knows it. To be enslaved, however, is one thing – to continue being a slave is another.

This, essentially, is how Robert Jay Mathews and Gary was to see their national life, if not also their own personal state of being. This feeling of ‘enslavement’ began to grow when they was very young, and this was to become a collective catalyst, with his particular personality taking on a larger than life drama. I use collective correctly in this regard, as there were many who had the same passion, who spoke and preached of a similar message. It was, however, only Robert Jay Mathews who actually did bring about circumstances and actions, which were to resonate, to become the effect, and not simply the accidental cause of circumstance. Gary was soon to follow.

Gary Lee Yarbrough, like many of his generation, were loyal to a fault, and they, like he, were respectful, indeed, they were obligated to show respect to their Elders, those who had come before, and were daily making a way for the future of White children. that’s what Boomer’s were taught, and as a general rule, they were successful in maintaining the successive legacy from one generation to the other. There are many who daily make snide remarks, and denigrate those of this generation, but those who stood out in the last century, and made the biggest mark, were these types of men.

Dr. Pierce gets a lot of press, even now, but few are willing to admit that William Luther Pierce stood strong, and proud, of men like Gary, Robert J. Mathews and others.

Gary, for instance, did not hold Dr. Pierce responsible for the travesty of WWII, nor for barely holding his own against tremendous odds. Gary saw these men, these mentors, struggling daily, and did not criticize, whine, or play arm-chair warriors (although then, as now, there were plenty), but offered what help he could.

He was a family man. He was a Father. He was a Warrior. He was a Spiritual man. He was Loyal.

During the hard years of Prison for Gary, he had much support from the common man and woman. One of his great regrets, was that he was unable to personally meet every single correspondent. Gary was truly a common man, who loved his People, and never shied away from giving a encouraging word, or a hand on the back, of a person who needed it. He was dissapointed, however, by those who were in the public eye, and those who followed, for not even passing his Story along, and that of his comrades. All those he expected to continue his legacy with the Pen, did little or nothing, yet they claimed to be Leaders of the ‘movement’. But I digress.

Gary experienced much while incarcerated. He was offered ‘early release’ if he would ‘testify’ against public persons, whom the establishment wanted silenced. He could have. But he did not.

Some of those individuals continued to struggle for their people. Some have made a good deal of money. None of them, to my knowledge, ever went to see Gary, while he was incarcerated.

As the men of this generation slowly passed from view, a new generation has arisen. This is nature’s law. I know of every single one of these new leaders, those who have raised their heads above ground, and I have respect for the genuine efforts I see. In the process of managing a new front in this struggle, it is interesting to note, that not ONE of these present ‘leaders’ have every uttered Gary Lee Yarbrough’s name, let alone discussed, even in a historical setting, what Gary was willing to do, to secure the existence of our people and a future for White children.

There is much, much more, to say about this man. As time carries on, it will be said. That’s how legends work…time works for them, not against them.

______________________
Notes:

1 An event or political occurrence that brings about a declaration of war. (see: Source)

2 Politics – By Aristotle, Book I, Part I.

3 Robert J. Mathews – Speech delivered at the National Alliance, 1984. [emph. mine]

4 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

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3 thoughts on “Gary Lee Yarbrough: A Man Against Time

  1. Pingback: Gary Lee Yarbrough: A Man Against Time — Foundations of The Twenty-First Century – The Voice Of National Socialist Reason

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