“Hey man. I want you to hear it from me first. Jason’s dead.”

Silence for a moment. I waited for my old platoon sergeant to say it was a joke. I had just had a conversation with Jason the day before online. We had complained to each other about how lonely our society was for men who had spent years sweating, crying and bleeding alongside each other. About how ‘soft’ the so-called men we worked alongside as civilians were. About how society in general had no place left for warriors. Jason wasn’t dead. He was having a hard time, but we all were… right?

“I didn’t want you to see it online. His family is going to have the service this week. They wanted us to feel free to come for a memorial service over the holiday weekend this month.”

I thanked my old sergeant and hung up the phone. Leaned over my kitchen countertop and let the emotions wash over me. For the first time in a long time, I sobbed.

At the memorial service, a dozen-odd roughly dressed men made a circle in the church parking lot. Cigarettes and beers passed covertly. We recounted memories, stories and conversations with Jason. Every one of us could remember a time we depended on him for something; a mood lift, a joke, our sanity or even our lives.

Jason was a year shy of thirty. He left behind a grieving girlfriend, heartbroken parents and a brother who blamed himself. He left behind a group of men who had laughed and cried and fought with (and against) him. He was the first of the men I had forged a bond in fire with to pass on from wounds not of his body but his spirit. The first, but not the last.

I’ve been asked what radicalized me. It wasn’t the time five black males beat me to the ground until I passed out before they went through my pockets. It wasn’t the time two hispanic boys held guns at my head and took my phone, backpack and wallet. It wasn’t the time I had a frozen water bottle and a beer can lobbed into the back of my head at a political event where I went without being a supporter, just wanting to hear out a candidate. It was the looks on my brother’s faces as the rifles fired over a flag-draped casket. It was the despair I saw in a dozen war-worn White faces as men watched a brother laid to final rest, born down by the weight of a world who rejected his very existence.

Our opponents love to paint our movement as one of hatred, of reactionary opposition to “difference”. The reality is, our fight is one of love for our racial brothers and sisters. Of honor for our forefathers who secured our future through their labor and pain. Of hope for our children, and the future we shall leave as their inheritance. We don’t fight because we hate those different from us. We fight because we love our own Folk.

One Folk. One Nation. Hail victory! ✋🏻

The times I was most blackpilled in life were when I had nothing going on. When I was a lone WN with nobody else who shared my views around me. When I was unemployed, single, and wasn't training or lifting. When your only connection to the cause is online, you have no real connection.

You almost exclusively here "woe is me" complaining and blackpilling from those permanently online. They only experience the struggle from behind a screen, so they take no real part in it. Conversely I have found that those who participate in real life organizing for Our People are almost exclusively happy and optimistic. There isn't a naive sense that we're going to "win" tomorrow, but there is sense that we are all working together for the future.

When you are active and organizing with your people the things you thought unachievable yesterday suddenly seem achievable. You get the sense that even if the world goes to hell tomorrow, you'll make it through. Just my 2 cents for those with WN leanings who haven't stepped up yet. It's better on the other side, step out from behind the screen and get active.

@TheWesternChauvinist7

I
WOKE Washington & Lee University desecrating the grave of Robert E. Lee's horse, Traveller, at the chapel where he is buried. Despicable.

Thoughts and prayers to our movement comrades in PF🙏🏻

“What color is your Bugatti?” Some people think that’s clever. Essentially it is the new American ethos. It’s not about how you got what you have, it’s just about having it. Being a romance scammer, operating cam sites, using your political office to accept legalized bribes, selling demeaning pictures of yourself, being a literal prostitute etc

A humble home and food on the table for your loving family is worth more than an ill gotten fortune. Pity the sad young men who look up to scum like Tate and the women who helped make him rich.

In hell he won’t have a Bugatti. Tate is not a paragon of masculinity he is a cheap imitation of it.

"Be Active"

Issued by @ArditiArt

#flatdesgin #digital #activism #action

*RUNDO UPDATE*

As of a few days ago, Rundo was officially extradited to the US.
For everyone who Rundo has inspired online or in person, this is your opportunity to pay it back and show your support by sending him letters, books (must be from the store itself or Amazon), etc.
Keep in mind to have good optics and watch what you say. Also, don’t send him any spergy books or materials like Siege, etc. Rundo wouldn’t like it anyways.

Robert Rundo
Inmate # 77104112
MDC Los Angeles
PO Box 531500
Los Angeles,CA 90053
USA

We all appreciate your support here at W2R and we’re not going anywhere💪🏻

- W2R crew