Chapter XXIII

August 1, 1993. Today has been the Day of the Rope-a grim and bloody day, but an unavoidable one. Tonight, for the first time in
weeks, it is quiet and totally peaceful throughout all of southern California. But the night is filled with silent horrors; from tens of
thousands of lampposts, power poles, and trees throughout this vast metropolitan area the grisly forms hang.

In the lighted areas one sees them everywhere. Even the street signs at intersections have been pressed into service, and at
practically every street corner I passed this evening on my way to HQ there was a dangling corpse, four at every intersection.

Hanging from a single overpass only about a mile from here is a group of about 30, each with an identical placard around its neck
bearing the printed legend, “I betrayed my race.” Two or three of that group had been decked out in academic robes before they were
strung up, and the whole batch are apparently faculty members from the nearby UCLA campus.

In the areas to which we have not yet restored electrical power the corpses are less visible, but the feeling of horror in the air there is
even worse than in the lighted areas. I had to walk through a two-block-long, unlighted residential section between HQ and my living
quarters after our unit meeting tonight. In the middle of one of the unlighted blocks I saw what appeared to be a person standing on
the sidewalk directly in front of me. As I approached the silent figure, whose features were hidden in the shadow of a large tree
overhanging the sidewalk, it remained motionless, blocking my way.

Feeling some apprehension, I slipped my pistol out of its holster. Then, when I was within a dozen feet of the figure, which had been
facing away from me, it began turning slowly toward me. There was something indescribably eerie about the movement, and I
stopped in my tracks as the figure continued to turn. A slight breeze rustled the foliage overhead, and suddenly a beam of moonlight
broke through the leaves and fell directly on the silently turning shape before me.

The first thing I saw in the moonlight was the placard with its legend in large, block letters: “I defiled my race.” Above the placard
leered the horribly bloated, purplish face of a young woman, her eyes wide open and bulging, her mouth agape. Finally I could make
out the thin, vertical line of rope disappearing into the branches above. Apparently the rope had slipped a bit or the branch to which it
was tied had sagged, until the woman’s feet were resting on the pavement, giving the uncanny appearance of a corpse standing
upright of its own volition.

I shuddered and quickly went on my way. There are many thousands of hanging female corpses like that in this city tonight, all
wearing identical placards around their necks. They are the White women who were married to or living with Blacks, with Jews, or
with other non-White males.

Schadenfreude?

“I agree with your politics, Tanstaafl, but the guy has cancer, give him a break. Auster may be my enemy, but I don’t wish metastasized pancreatic cancer on him.

Tim Wise might be another story, though.”

Personally, i’d lose NO sleep over the fact of every judaic extant, ceasing to exist from metastasized cancers, pancreatic or otherwise.

It would save a lot of spadework down the line.

Call it an “Act of God”, against the work of the devil.

No harm done.

“Only a country of pathetic wusses would fail to identify this fact and defend itself. I think we should stop being a country of pathetic wusses.“

Only a frustrated bolshevist commissar so consistently and dishonestly pathologizes other people for not doing what he wants them to. Who is we? Defend ourselves from who?

Auster wants this “country of pathetic wusses” to stand up and man the ramparts because he thinks it has been, until recently, the best place “the jews” have ever had. It’s clear he couldn’t care less about what’s good for the “pathetic wusses”. He condemns in even stronger terms leaders who more or less do speak in defense of the country, especially the White subset – eg. Pat Buchanan, Jared Taylor, David Duke – and he does so specifically because he perceives them to be bad for “the jews”.

I’m less concerned about the scenario in this work of fiction coming to pass than I am any number of more realistic scenarios based on the genocidal anti-White regime we actually live under.

I think Auster and his creepy coterie harbor exterminationist fantasies that they can’t keep themselves from projecting onto the people they hate – their vision of a perfect future includes a Day of the Rope for “the anti-semites”, and it’s based on a true story that took place in late 1940s Nuremberg.