1053733
December 29, 2021
Gab founder Andrew Torba on parallel structures and fighting communism.
I recently finished reading what I believe to be the most important political essay of our time. It’s called The Power of the Po... View MoreGab founder Andrew Torba on parallel structures and fighting communism.
I recently finished reading what I believe to be the most important political essay of our time. It’s called The Power of the Powerless and it was written by Václav Havel, a political dissident in the Communist Czechoslovak Socialist Republic who went on to become the President of Czechoslovakia after the fall of the Communist Regime.
His essay is so profoundly illuminating and refreshing to read as an American dissident under the Communist Oligarch Regime of the United States. Havel uses a Green Grocer as a central character throughout the essay to illustrate a prototypical Regime slave. People we would mock today as “NPCs” of the system.
The Green Grocer hangs up a sign in his store window, “Workers of the World, Unite!” not because he believes in workers of the world united but rather to virtue signal to the world that he is an obedient slave of the Regime. This is not unlike the businesses that fly pride flags or hang up Black Lives Matter signs in their establishments today. It’s not unlike the teens posting black squares on Instagram. It’s not unlike the people putting their pronouns in their email signatures.
As I read the essay I was captivated by Havel’s description of what it was like to “live within the lie” of the Communist regime in Czechoslovakia. The parallels between his descriptions of the people, the culture, and the political system of his time were all too familiar to what American right wing dissidents are witnessing and experiencing today.
“The post-totalitarian system touches people at every step, but it does so with its ideological gloves on. This is why life in the system is so thoroughly permeated with hypocrisy and lies: government by bureaucracy is called popular government; the working class is enslaved in the name of the working class; the complete degradation of the individual is presented as his or her ultimate liberation; depriving people of information is called making it available; the use of power to manipulate is called the public control of power; and the arbitrary abuse of power is called observing legal code; the repression of culture is called its development; the expansion of imperial influence is presented as support for the oppressed; the lack of free expression becomes the highest form of freedom; farcical elections become the highest form of democracy; banning independent thought becomes the most scientific of world views; military occupation becomes fraternal assistance. Because the regime is captive to its own lies, it must falsify everything.”
Sound familiar?
Havel even accurately describes the phenomena of President Trump and the unfortunate outcome of his attempt to “drain the Swamp,” which ended with him “losing” in a rigged election and becoming a vaccine salesman on behalf of the Swamp itself.
"In any case, experience has taught us again and again that this automatism (the Regime) is far more powerful than the will of any individual; and should someone possess a more independent will, he or she must conceal it behind a ritually anonymous mask in order to have an opportunity to enter the power hierarchy at all. And when the individual finally gains a place there and tries to make his or her will felt within it, that automatism, with its enormous inertia, will triumph sooner or later, and either the individual will be ejected by the power structure like a foreign organism, or he or she will be compelled to resign his or her individuality gradually, once again blending with the automatism and becoming its servant, almost indistinguishable from those who preceded him or her and those who will follow.”
Perhaps one of the most stunningly accurate things Havel describes is the Communist society’s utter lack of morality.
"The profound crisis of human identity brought on by living within a lie, a crisis which in turn makes such a life possible, certainly possesses a moral dimension as well; it appears, among other things, as a deep moral crisis in society. A person who has been seduced by the consumer value system, whose identity is dissolved in an amalgam of the accoutrements of mass civilization, and who has no roots in the order of being, no sense of responsibility for anything higher than his or her own personal survival, is a demoralized person. The system depends on demoralization, deepens it, is in fact a projection of it into society."
So what is Havel’s solution to this madness?
Not politics. He mentions several times that it’s useless to participate in a rigged political system with fixed outcomes. Instead, he calls for the same thing I am calling for right now: the formation of a parallel systems.
"There can be no way around it: no matter how beautiful an alternative political model may be, it can no longer speak to the ‘hidden sphere,’ inspire people and society, call for real political ferment. The real sphere of potential politics in the post-totalitarian system is elsewhere: in the continuing and cruel tension between the complex demands of that system and the aims of life, that is, the elementary need of human beings to live, to a certain extent at least, in harmony with themselves, that is, to live in a bearable way, not to be humiliated by their superiors and officials, not to be continually watched by the police, to be able to express themselves freely, to find an outlet for their creativity, to enjoy legal security, and so on. Anything that touches this field concretely, anything that relates to this fundamental, omnipresent and living tension, will inevitably speak to people.
Abstract projects for an ideal political or economic order do not interest them to anything like the same extent–and rightfully so–not only because everyone knows how little chance they have of succeeding, but also because today people feel that the less political policies are derived from a concrete and human ‘here and now’ and the more they fix their sights on an abstract ‘some day,’ the more easily they can degenerate into new forms of human enslavement."
People want to be able to live authentically in the truth as themselves. To speak and express themselves freely. They aren’t interested in more false promises from politicians. They want something in the here and now that can instantly solve this problem for them. Sounds a lot like Gab to me, which is why Gab continues to grow and resonate with tens of millions of people.
"These parallel structures, it may be said, represent the most articulated expressions so far of ‘living within the truth.’ One of the most important tasks the ‘dissident movements’ have set themselves is to support and develop them. Once again, it confirms the fact that all attempts by society to resist the pressure of the system have their essential beginnings in the pre-political area. For what else are parallel structures than an area where a different life can be lived, a life that is in harmony with its own aims and which in turn structures itself in harmony with those aims?
What else are those initial attempts at social self-organization than the efforts of a certain part of society to live–as a society– within the truth, to rid itself of the self-sustaining aspects of totalitarianism and, thus, to extricate itself radically from its involvement in the post-totalitarian system?
What else is it but a non-violent attempt by people to negate the system within themselves and to establish their lives on a new basis, that of their own proper identity?"
I’ve been writing about building a parallel economy, parallel internet infrastructure, and a parallel society for about a year now. There’s a reason Havel went on to become the President after the Communist Regime fell. Even though he wasn’t very keen on being President or getting involved with politics he served his country and his people by leading them up from the ashes of the former system. As always there are no new ideas under the sun, but I believe the idea of a parallel Christian economy is an idea whose time has come and Havel proved that building parallel systems works.
We can and must build parallel Christian systems in order to authentically live within the Truth of God’s Word.
To God be the Glory,
Andrew Torba
1035493
December 7, 2021
As I see it, the floating city state may indeed be a small place but it is a place. Unlike now where we have no place at all. There are no glowie scum and there is no Jewish power at sea. No gun to ou... View MoreAs I see it, the floating city state may indeed be a small place but it is a place. Unlike now where we have no place at all. There are no glowie scum and there is no Jewish power at sea. No gun to our heads and no subverted government to stop us. We can teach our children what we want, we can live how we want and we can prepare for the future.
1035481
December 7, 2021
I got my boat on craigs list for about 2K. Plastic is pretty much forever, you can fix what ever is broke. Instead of buying a 10K sail boat you buy a 2K sail boat and slowly put the rest in as you ca... View MoreI got my boat on craigs list for about 2K. Plastic is pretty much forever, you can fix what ever is broke. Instead of buying a 10K sail boat you buy a 2K sail boat and slowly put the rest in as you can. In this way you can pay for the boat at your leisure , even use it as you progress in making it sea worthy. No one can repossess your boat , its yours and you can take the refitting as far as you wish. If we get a place to work together then boats can be refitted much faster as we move toward the fist floating white city state.
1045812
December 19, 2021
I wrote this story because of my fascination with white nationalist sea steading. It depicts how such a world might look. For those who would like to make something like this real. Join our study grou... View MoreI wrote this story because of my fascination with white nationalist sea steading. It depicts how such a world might look. For those who would like to make something like this real. Join our study group. Sovereign State
The current flowed slowly as the men worked pumping lift bags full of air, radio traffic going constantly on their head sets. A massive wall of wire mesh five feet thick slowly raised into position. Johnny was hungry and tired, they’d been down here for hours , the sea made the lifting light but it made every movement just a little slower , made it just a little harder to see. The staging aria was only a few feet down, everything was assembled here, five hundred feet of wire mesh on a side, the giant hexagon structures were put together as the air compressors above feed them air. The work site covered at least 20 acres of sea bed all marked out and organized. Bright yellow ropes went here and there, men with spear guns and chemical irritants patrolled on torpedoes for sharks and other threats to the workers. Johnny watched the panel right it’s self and swam to the edge to steady it for the welder. Everyone knew their place from long habit and moved like clock work, drop the mesh on the floor, with the crane, attach the bags to make it perfectly vertical, check it with a level, swim to the corners and help steady it for the welding and wire lashing crew. Men with pliers and bailing wire lashed the panels to preadjusted corners that would hold them exactly strait forming a perfect hexagon. Others with welding equipment secured the larger structural supports together. The panels were assembled entirely under water due to their size. The sea offered buoyancy and lift bags did for pennies what a large crane would take thousands of dollars to do over time. Ordinarily this work would be done with massive amounts of rebar if one were pouring a freeway overpass or some such thing. Here it was done with mostly scrap wire. Barb wire was the worst to work with but any wire would do. A basic frame was welded from pipes, rebar angle iron what ever could be found. There was good reason for this, number one was the cost number two was it didn’t matter. What ever metal current could be passed through would grow limestone. Once the frame was built, wire was woven within it only inches apart. The limestone grew slowly about half an inch a year, the more wire, the quicker you could get it grown together. The men worked long hours, a common medical problem was sever fatigue. The operation didn’t demand them to work these hours but their ambition drove them. They were not merely working for a wage, they were working to save their culture, save their race it’s self from genocide.
The operation had started 7 years ago with nothing more than a bunch of guys sitting around drinking in the back room of a hard wear store in London. They cursed the “migrants” that were overwhelming their city, destroying what their ancestors had built. More so they cursed the globalist enemy that had engineered this apocalypse and the dumb brain washed cucks and outright communists who continued to vote for it all. They dreamed of another time, a peaceful time when Europe had hope, had the race of visionaries and heroes that had built it, fought for it. They were gone now, taken by time, replaced by goony bearded low testosterone effeminate cuck types and of course mud colored aliens who had no business what so ever being here. War would come eventually, it would be bloody , nasty and if it went nuclear maybe fatal for the human race. The island was seen as a place to go to stay alive, a place to regroup and create an unindoctrinated population. A way of making sure that true western civilization survived far away from the degeneracy that gripped the west. White families raising white children in white homes in a place where young children never heard of “mulitculturalism” or a thousand other different far left cultural Marxist buzz words. Understanding all that would come later in the small university they had created. Peterson University was complete with a small campus with all the sciences, arts , humanities etc but no “gender studies” or any other such bogus studies programs. Instead of that there was a hybrid warfare school where subversion tactics were studied in depth. Such things as KGB and Mossad training manuals were gone over bit by bit, groups were formed and tried to infiltrate each other, video games were created with populations to subvert and infiltrate. This and standard military training was mandatory for all males. Each man stood ready to fight if need be. Some were sent to Europe , the US and so on to do various covert tasks, gather intel and the like. Several destructive riots on Marxist university campuses had been started by placing torn papers on tables in empty class rooms with the names of Marxist professors on them. The papers were made to look as if they had been intended for the trash and contained statements denouncing
“transgenderism” etc. All of it was done up in a convincing manner, right wing articles printed off, highlighted , forged notes in the margins. Other papers with the target professors name on them were left in the collection of rubbish papers to finger the target. Snowflakes were mindless indoctrinated drones, ready to explode, that was what they were programmed for, just not to explode while still in the indoctrination center. Some professors had been beaten and spent considerable time in the hospital. The optics for the leftists were very bad indeed.
In another hour end of shift came over their head sets. Some would have stayed on but their crew chief wold have none of that. Divers were to get sleep it was mandatory for safety reasons. They worked a 12 hour shift but weren’t allowed to stay for 16 or more hours like many did in the surface work shops. Johnny’s day was over , he and the others ascended to the surface first reaching a limestone platform where their regulators were checked over, cleaned and put into boxes on the wall for next shift. Hoses were wound up and hung next to the regulator boxes. Next to each man’s cabinet was an identical one with the name of his replacement. You meeting Cindy goy? Bergson stood at his cabinet checking his regulator for tomorrow. Johnny looked up and grinned, soon as I pick up our transportation. Transportation? Most walked or rode bicycles here , the offshore artificial island was only a few miles square. The native islanders had granted them sea bed but not the best, it was in 60 feet of water, it had taken much wire and much time to lace together the limestone polders that formed it. They had taken 3 years to even form despite the wire being pretty closely laced. Once there however, the inhabitants stood on solid stone.
No one resented the islanders for wanting foreigners far away No one went to the island except for official business such as to provide medical care or assistance with their own bio rock sea wall project. They looked after the islanders as they had promised. The sea had not invaded anyone's home, flooded anyone's well or salted any soil once it had been moved atop the massive sand fills behind the 10 foot sea walls. Everyone here worked like mad to keep their country out of the sea.
I’ll show you my ride for tonight Roarick. The two men ambled toward the big gray limestone block building surrounded by a limestone wall. A black rectangle stood open on the side, the smell of grease , rust and various chemicals greeted them as they entered. It was all highly ordered and neat. Mechanics bays stretched for a hundred yards or more. Hoses and power lines hung from the ceiling Men pounded, wrenched , drilled, painted all throughout as the sun sank lower in the sky. Each bay had some sort of engine or truck or boat part ,and not a few military vehicles and air craft. They approached a bony man in a green jump suit bent over a tool box. He was covered in grease and dirt. Rob Briggs was a 40 something mechanic who had left Canada when his town became flooded with Somalians. He feared for his family’s safety and had sent a reference to one of the front companies involved in the NGO created to save islands from sealevel rise. Like a lucky few he was accepted, into one of the covert ethnostates popping up in the middle of the worlds seas. A nova Europa of small growing limestone countries that would have made Wolf Hilberz proud. Or, at least of the application of his technology.
“Take a look at her Johnny”. Rob pulled a worn tarp off of a small grey snub nose electric truck. The smell of new paint was strong but Rob assured them that the paint was dry. The little vehicle looked brand new but dated back to the 1960’s at least. It was taken off of a rotting work boat a thousand miles away, hauled in on one of the salvage ships 2 years ago with a fork lift and a bunch of boat engines, tools etc. Much of this new west was literally made out of junk. The idea of course was that anything was junk in the hands of people with double digit IQ’s and junk was treasure in the hands of whites. Life in this new Europa had bought out the best in people, drinking and drug habits had disappeared,
weight was lost, peoples eyes were bright and their demeanor intense and ambitious. They knew they were building something. However small , it was the root of a new civilization. This was the world of the 40’s and 50’s when you could leave your door open at night or your keys in your car. When children wandered perfectly safe, blocks from home. Robert H Brigs was indeed proud of his creation and proud of his world. The little truck had no cab but a top formed from a solar panel that slowly charged it’s batteries. Johnny sat in the trucks seat , a blue LED display showed the battery charge and a lever jutted of a slot in the floor. Rob sat next to Johnny and went over the controls. I tired to keep this as authentic as I could. There’s no air in the tires, their the glued ground up tire particles we use here so it rids a little rougher than it would with pneumatic tires but, you’ll never have a flat on this. The color is wrong but I don’t have the color Cushman used on these. The batteries are li-poly , they’re supposed to be lead acid but that’s fine. I couldn't get a historically accurate gauge for the dash either but we’ve got these LED ones all over the place so I just threw that in there. This is a player , you can put a USB stick or aux cable to listen to your music. It’ll pick up am and fm too but there’s not much of that out here. Most vehicles have short wave and air craft or marine radio for entertainment but I don’t have it fixed up for that yet. Johnny grinned, na, it’s fine, I like it the way it is. It’ll probably outlast anything they’re making now anyway. Rob poked Johnny in the shoulder and laughed, there ya go kid, now just go get your girl and have it back by tomorrow. Johnny dropped Roarick off at his apartment , his wife waved to them from the small aria in front where she tended some flowers. Sea birds were sitting on the low wall around her and their son fed them scraps of dried fruit.
A few hundred yards down the road Johnny picked up Cindy at her parent’s place. After her mother admonished her about staying out too late and how Johnny had important work to do tomorrow on the sea floor she finally climbed into the seat next to him. Cindy had on a flowered dress that hung to her knees and her long blond hair in braids. They took off in the little truck , Cindy fumbling with the USB port, she soon had it figured out and some fashwave on the speakers playing low. They drove around for a while and parked overlooking the sea at a dock. Two young boys and a little girl were playing around some crates there. One of the boys ran to a crate. Hurry I got a degenerate in here! The other boy yelled enthusiastically ” give him the gas goy!” the little girl drug an imaginary hose and plugged it into the crate / gas chamber. The other boy pretended to open a valve as the girl giggled. “More zyklon!” yelled the boy at the crate. “That’s what you get , dirty postmodernist!” spit the little girl. At this the two boys cracked up laughing. Cindy looked around the dock it was secured with netting all along the open part for the night, the kids should be fine. Still she yelled over, be careful of the water don’t fall off the dock! . One of the boys looked up , no ma'am we’re watching. Johnny nodded at the children and grinned as he drove off along the dock. This aria would be much larger soon.
Rain pounded the glass, they were two weeks out now. The ship was old, a multi purpose “handysize” cargo ship 450 feet long. The engine had been rebuilt a lot of the wiring redone and it had been given a coat of paint. She was loaded down with supplies, sailing out of Russia. Sugar, salt, flour, children’s clothes. On deck were lashed thousands of feet of steel cattle fence. This would be used to span the distance from the sea floor 400 feet down to the surface. It would be necessary to build a wire tower 350 feet tall anchored on the top of the table mount where they were going. If they were able to accrete enough limestone, they would have a solid rock tower which could be used to anchor the next phase consisting of a 70 foot tower that would breach the surface. These would then be under a constant salt water spray above the water line and the entire thing energized. It was expected to take 4 years to complete the experimental tower and 4 more to complete the breach tower or breach section as it was called. The breach tower would have to withstand waves so it had to have a relatively shallow anchor point to prevent it from just snapping off before it accreted enough limestone to strengthen it. The anchor tower needed to be far enough below to not take too much pounding during it’s fragile wire mesh phase because of it’s great length. As it grew, it was sure to attract fish and coral along with every other reef dweller. The table mount had been an island once and if they were successful, it would be again. If the project was successful, more scrap fence would be bought in and the process repeated 200 feet away. Once the breach phase was completed on the second tower, cables could be strung between to form a kind of bridge capable of holding some structures.
The man standing watch that night was John Mitchel , he was about 26 with a wife and two children back at the island and a brother in Russia. His brother was living at a Russian white nationalist settlement as a liaison to coordinate between the Russian white nationalists and the pan Euros on the sea. They were separate governments, separate nations, but all worked together. The ship had delivered a large quantity of fish , dried kelp and protein powder made from jellyfish that often plagued Japan. This was excellent as an additive in animal feed and could be added to various foods to boost the protein content. These technological advances were only available to white nationalists for the most part. Anyone outside the movement that even knew about them knew little and nothing as to their origins. The ship left with it’s cargo which had been quietly purchased by the Russians over the last few months and stored up in a warehouse. They had agents that were able to get almost anything and did so constantly for their settlement as well as for trade. John’s brother was good at organizing and acquiring what was needed at sea. John checked his watch, 5 am it would be false dawn soon but he doubted he would get much light very early in this rain. He pulled his black leather coat together , pulled his black stocking cap down and made for the small diesel heater against the wall. He cranked the knob allowing more marine diesel to flow into the combustion chamber. He’d been trying to save the fuel, but not tonight in this cold, there would be plenty. He picked up the half gallon can full of coffee from the top of the heater by it’s riveted on handle and poured his cup full. Nothing was wasted out here, the can probably had peaches or tomato sauce or something in it a couple of years ago. Now it had a spout bent into it and a carved wooden lid inlaid with sea shells. A screw went through half a wooden thread spool into the lid to form a small handle to grip it. Carved into the lid was the ships name Wolf Hilbertz. The ships simple icon consisted of a few wavy lines crossed by four bolts topped with a cluster of wheat representing limestone accretion to create a land of plenty. The door with it’s small window pane swung open and the first officer Will Platt entered and went strait for the heater to warm himself. He wore the same black leather coat and a visor cap with the ships icon done up in brass. All their clothing was old style , no one dressed slouchy. It was considered Marxist and nihilist to do so. Such things were associated with decay and the death of civilization, extinction. Mitchel bought Platt a cup from a small cupboard under the control panel and Platt filled it from the can / coffee pot contraption. How far till we reach The Lights Will? Another three days at most, weather is supposed to clear by tomorrow or at least by mid day the next day. Platt bent over the radar scope. Up ahead a small blip appeared. “Something up there”, he pointed to the colored splotch on the screen. Platt grabbed the ships wheel and steered it in the direction of the splotch. Looks about 3 miles out, we can reach it pretty easy. As the sun came up they could see a gray horizon and the waves but not much was out there.
A voice on the radio announced “Captain wants to look at the situation, he’s coming up”. Justin Shroder was a man in his late 50’s who had been at sea for about 10 years on cargo ships before joining the white nationalist movement along with his grand daughter and her family. The move had been made in the interest of protecting her two boys from Marxist indoctrination at so called schools and keeping them safe from crime. Shroder looked through binoculars at the shape bobbing in the rain ahead. It was a small boat but he couldn’t make much detail at this range. In an hour the bridge was full of crew members all taking turns with binoculars looking at the boat. It turned out to be a good size ships life boat. They came along side it and men in rain gear stood on deck peering in through it’s windows trying to see if anyone was aboard. A line with a grapple was thrown aboard to snag the small craft and men in survival suits tied to lines climbed down ladders and boarded the boat. The first man aboard was a man from New Zealand named Rollins. He opened the door half expecting to find a pile of corpses but found the cabin empty. The men went through the boat, all the survival gear was still in place, nothing had been touched in some time. There was no evidence anyone had even opened the door for years. Rollins radioed this information back to the Wolf Hilbertz. We’ll put a tow line on it and take it with us came the reply. That one boat would serve as a shop or office once at The Lights. The Lights was a seasonal colony of fish and sea vegetable farmers situated over an unexplored table mount in the middle of the pacific ocean. Unexplored that was until they had colonized it. By now hundreds of cables stretched the 400 feet to the top of the mount providing a way to anchor numerous boats and underwater fish enclosures. Such sea mounts had once been islands but were sheared off by waves as the tectonic plate spread away from their point of origin into deeper water. Their flat tops were the result of this scouring by waves but it made them good platforms to build on as well. The name “The Lights” arose from stories people told of seeing mysterious lights in the aria. There were numerous photos of these lights on the horizon even among the boats that made up the town but no one had any idea what they were. In addition to much fish and sea weed farming , The Lights was the site of a lot of research. There were projects studying power generation using temperature differentials in the water column and several wave energy generators attached to cables anchored to the mount. By now, they had two ROVs that worked on the bottom quite a bit inspecting cables, collecting rock and coral fragments into fishing net bags to use as anchors , installing research projects. The presence of a good amount of stable electrical power made The Lights a favorite aria for research. A large mesh cage was on the bottom currently, 8 months into accreting stone. When fully accreted it would have the water pumped out. An air lock was attached to a tower at the hundred foot level to make access easier for divers. So far the structure was accreting well and had been the inspiration for the tower experiment. Under sea structures were the gold standard in the minds of many as they could not be seen or located without much searching and a lot of luck should enemy operatives try. About 800 people lived at The Lights each year during the season which was just starting. You could anchor there during the entire year and some had done so. But, the sea became rough and most preferred to occupy the aria seasonally. They dispersed to other settlements and joined other floating communities in various arias in the off season. The fish and other produce provided a fair amount of money. It was sold in various nations mostly on the underground market but the bulk of it was sold or traded to other white nationalist colonies.
The Lights had a group of the Pacific Traditionalist Women’s League as well. The girls would come out and help with dispensing the cargo when ships arrived. They greeted the men and served hot meals, helped with paper work and so on. These women, when representing the organization always wore uniforms with below the knee skirts, blouses and caps. The uniforms were seen as a return to civilization and more than that , deep down it was a protest against hated cultural Marxism and nihilism. Part of what the women did was to train in medicine and train with rifles as well as practicing maritime skills. They took it seriously, it was an organization and they worked hard.
The Wolf Hilbertz approached the cluster of boats, the rain was down to a drizzle and the sky overcast but the noon day sun was up there behind the clouds and light levels were up. Mitchel stood on the bow and waved as the boat with 7 PTWL girls motored toward them, he grinned as three girls came out on deck. Other men began to gather around waving and smiling.
Emmett Martin an engineer sat on a capstan next to the railing, cocked his sailors flat cap forward and struck a kind of body builders pose for the girls. Mark Tillman the cook stood buy laughing. Don’t fall overboard Martin the Captain said as he walked to the railing. Martin straightened up respectfully, no sir, just saying hello. The men formed up to start unloading the cargo bit by bit onto the various waiting boats. The Wolf Hilbertz next job would be to assist in spooling all the wire to the bottom to from the tower. The engineers at the site had plans for lowering the wire over a 50 foot by 50 foot square aria. It would be spooled down, attached to a steel grid on the bottom that would hold it the proper distance apart. As each section of old cattle fence was lowered it would be checked and fitted with floats every 20 feet that would support it. The floats were just pieces of polystyrene attached with wire but they would also help act as spacers holding the sections the proper distance apart face to face as they were lowered and attached to the grid below. It was a delicate balance as the buoyancy had to allow the mesh to sink but still hold it upright. Never the less, constructing a tower under water was much easier in some ways than doing it on land. Within the next three months they expected to have a 300 foot tower on the floor accreting limestone. Others would be laid if the first was successful. The crew set about dock work assisting the crews of other boats with cranes , fork lifts and so on. Shop boats came to a floating dock anchored next to a hundred foot cargo ship that was being used as a wear house supplies were boated over to it and unloaded. Business owners purchased spices, tools, toys, scuba gear , clothing and so on. As they emptied the wear house out, the Wolf Hilbertz filled it with more cargo. The shop boats all went to various anchorages. Typically shop boats anchored in two long rows reminiscent of a street with about 9 shops, a medical clinic and a dentist. Some men were towing the found life boat along side another boat anchored near the end of the row a small rusty work boat with a big spool of cable approached the location. A cable drop boat , you hired it if you needed to anchor at a spot and there was no anchor cable. An accreted limestone block was being lifted over board with the boats crane, it would sink to the bottom attached to the long mooring cable which the life boats anchor would hook to , a setup not unlike a mooring ball at a marina. In the distance a boat speeded out to the fish enclosures, workers heading out for their shift. Mitchel walked along a floating dock that spanned most of the shop boats. Many small dinghies were attached to it that people would take to shops that had no span of dock. The dock segments were typically flooded and sunk during the off season. When the town was set up again, an ROV would attach an air line and they would be refloated , cleaned and gathered back into shape to provide access to the shops. The Wolf Hilbertz carried about 20 more of the little rectangles with air tanks under them. They weren’t cheep but the people here grew an awful lot of fish and other produce, it bought in money if it didn’t make them rich. The town even resumed it’s shape every season as all boats were reattached to the same mooring cables which attached to the bottom. The top of the sea mount 400 feet under water was dotted with the outline of the town in the form of cables, attached to fish nets full of rocks , limestone blocks and various other heavy objects that could hold down a mooring cable. This was called the towns shadow by some. No one knew how big the town could get but theoretically , if production picked up enough it could cover the entire sea mount, sloping over the edge as far as it was possible to stretch a cable down. Then a new sea mount would have to be colonized, several were starting up fish farms already and had small floating towns like this one starting on them. Mitchel passed a clothing store, sure enough Martin was standing at the counter with one of the PTWL girls, she was buying a rain coat for the weather this time of year. Marten motioned Mitchel into the shop, he climbed up the set of stairs that hung over the deck. This is Lucy , Lucy, John Mitchel , he’s part of our crew. They’re having a dance tonight John to celebrate our arrival. Let the guys know, the warehouse has some empty space , they’ve decorated it up nice. Mitchel grinned sure thing goy, I’ll let everyone know that I see. I’m going back to the Hilbertz and wash up some clothes so I got something to wear I haven’t done my laundry. I got a whole box of candy from my brother back in Russia, the kids will like that. Lucy turned to Emmett as Mitchel left, “he’s interesting, I suppose he’s married the way he thinks of the kids”. Ya, married for a while now , has kids back at some island colony. Lucy was trained to teach about seasteading too interested white nationalists, “those island colonies aren’t to different from The Lights really. The colony just sits on top of a sea mount with part of it sticking out of the sea that the islanders have” we build on shallow sea bed a ways out from the island. She went on, “we actually have more room here, the whole thing is ours it’s just so deep down that it’s harder to build”. Lucy launched into a list of facts about sea mount colonies and how they would be the future of their movement. As a PTWL girl she often handed out literature to people on the subject. There was some conventional internet at The Lights, but speeds were very slow because of the distance. The Lights did have transmitters on various boats that would allow communication between members of the colony. They could exchange emails, run web sites and the like but it was mostly on the local aria network. Data from outside came mostly by short wave. Lucy worked with tellecom equipment at The Lights , printed pamphlets and helped publish a web page with information on local culture, fish production, ongoing projects and news from other colonies. Some of the girls work involved espionage operations as well, relaying data, and assisting in hiding white nationalists wanted for things like assassinations. Occasionally a globalist met an untimely end under suspicious circumstances and enemy authorities wanted a man for questioning or some such thing. He would be taken far out to sea and assigned an identity working some remote sea mount start up. Often appearances would be changed, once such a man entered the sea steaders distant and unknown world , he was gone. Not often, but sometimes when ships were sent out connected with globalists they went missing. It had to do with them entering a strange fog in the dead of night that caused the crew to simply fall asleep and not wake up again. These ships ended up completely stripped , altered, switched around various ways , made unrecognizable and pressed into service for white nationalists. The Marxist crews “slept” on the abyssal plains wrapped up in steel wire or anything that would keep a body on the bottom so it never drifted to shore. The joke was “the long sleep” as opposed to “the long march”. There were highly trained teams that took care of this kind of work. The story sea steaders told outsiders was that they were libertarians looking to find freedom on the sea. Looking from outside, it was so convoluted with so many different groups that it was impossible to tell who was who and who did what. As was the case with groups like the Viet Cong or Taliban, enemy operatives were left bewildered as to who was to blame for what. The rain continued and night fell. People filed into the wear house /dance hall. PTWL girls met people at the door and greeted them, danced with the sailors from the Wolf Hilbertz and served food and drinks. Couples mingled about, drank, danced, talked business. Children ran around and music played into the night. The season was just starting
1035495
December 7, 2021
How do we expand the white ethnostate at sea? What future does it offer? Simple, the floating city state is a time capsule of our people, an uncontaminated reservoir of our sacred race we hold so dear... View MoreHow do we expand the white ethnostate at sea? What future does it offer? Simple, the floating city state is a time capsule of our people, an uncontaminated reservoir of our sacred race we hold so dear. Globalism will fail, as all such systems do. With this plan there will be many of us left to recolonize the burnt out land. We will push aside their dead bodies , replant the fields, rebuild the cities. And we will do it all because we are still alive to do so, because we made plans, radical plans that pushed things as far as a man can push things. A Jules Vern-esqu vision , a desperate gamble but infinitely better than the alternative and a way to spit in the face of extinction it's self.
1035488
December 7, 2021
Any project to build a white nation must eschew low IQ belligerent thugs. Building a civilization is serious businesses. Low IQ criminally minded people do not build civilizations, that's just a fact.... View MoreAny project to build a white nation must eschew low IQ belligerent thugs. Building a civilization is serious businesses. Low IQ criminally minded people do not build civilizations, that's just a fact. It takes patience, foresight and intelligence to accomplish the task. No one with his mind of violence, impulsiveness, or of a childish character is fit for the task and will fail. It is my belief that in this era of blatant white genocide and the preying upon of our children that high IQ whites are ready to accept the 14 words we must secure the existence of our people and a future for white children. The pro white movement now has access to serious people who can make serious contributions.
1035478
December 7, 2021
It is a big planet with a lot of room. The concept of the floating city state is a valid one. Sailing together in groups under a government of each groups choice will allow for not one but many white ... View MoreIt is a big planet with a lot of room. The concept of the floating city state is a valid one. Sailing together in groups under a government of each groups choice will allow for not one but many white enclaves all mobile. Each can disappear like a ghost and reappear elsewhere. All work together to secure the existence of our people and a future for white children.
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