Freedom Guards Academies

for those seeking freedom

“It is the common fate of the indolent to see their rights become a prey to the active. The condition upon which God hath given liberty to man is eternal vigilance; which condition if he break, servitude is at once the consequence of his crime and the punishment of his guilt.”
― John Philpot Curran

The Irish people began forming volunteer militias in 1778. At the time, British troops had been sent to fight in North America against the Americans in our revolutionary war. France had entered the war on the side of the Americans toward the end of the “year of the bloody sevens,” aka 1777, a first step in making that war into the second global war of the 18th Century. From 1778 until 1922, the Irish maintained various local volunteer groups that eventually established the independence of the Irish Republic or Éire as it is known in Gaelic. As you can see, it took 144 years to complete the work of independence for Ireland, and that’s gross. (Yes, it is a mathematical pun, you should enjoy it. People who travel cross country with me often find me pointing at a mile post that says “144” and shouting “that’s gross!” to their brief befuddlement.)

You should probably look into that John Philpot Curran fellow, and into the traditions and history of the Irish volunteers. Like I often say on this ‘stack, you have a lot of research to do. And since I’m not you, and I don’t know whether you learn better with videos or with text or with picture books, I’m not going to take up the responsibility of finding a bunch of links for you. I persist in suggesting that you can learn independently without me spoon feeding you links.

A very long time ago, iirc in his enormous book Expanded Universe, Robert Heinlein pointed out that the quality of public education available in the United States had dramatically declined between the 1900s and the 1960s. Greek was no longer offered, Latin was deprecated if it was available, some high schools allowed graduates out into the world without any knowledge of a foreign language, mathematics offerings sometimes ended at basic algebra, and advanced placement classes in history and science were not readily available in many school districts. But, in the same essay, Heinlein pointed out that you can learn anything you want if you set your mind to it. Being in a public school with limited offerings is a disadvantage, but it need not prevent you from independent study if you are determined.

Among other things, Heinlein wrote, “The 3-legged stool of understanding is held up by history, languages, and mathematics. Equipped with these three you can learn anything you want to learn. But if you lack any one of them you are just another ignorant peasant with dung on your boots." It probably won’t be long until the Marxists attempt to cancel him out of existence, so I recommend buying a few of the hard covers available from the Virginia Edition (named after his late wife).

Armistice Day

It has differing names in various countries. In the UK they still recall the armistice of the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month of the year 1918. Millions of men had shed their blood on the field of battle, and millions were buried by the time the constipated filth posing as army officers and politicians got around to having an armistice. Some of the rear echelon mfs actually ordered their troops to become engaged in deliberate combat that same morning because they wanted to be able to count towards their promotions a certain number of hours of combat activities.

I gather in the dominion of Canada they have taken to calling it “remembrance day.” Here in the benighted mess that became of the United States, it was re-named “veterans’ day” because it was regarded as pointless to remember the dead from just one war after a certain amount of time. Politicians are generally worthless souls who crave for attention and have no decency. Bureau-rats are the same, but with less acumen at public speaking.

So it is my intention to complete this essay today. which is the 11th day of the 11th month of Anno Domini 2023. Not much chance it’ll get done in the 11th hour on the Western front, but whatev. And since my dad fought in ww2, I am inspired to write a short section on his experiences there. The inspiration comes in part from the amazing and fabulous

Bliss And Blisters

whose essay on a similar topic is found here: My Dad, My Hero.

For reasons that I intend to cover a bit further on in this essay, my dad was not my hero during my childhood. My mom was. But more on those thoughts later. My dad was the recipient of at least one bronze star. He served in the European Theatre of Operations in the Army signal corps.

My dad’s family became alarmingly poor in 1929, when he was five years old. His dad had invested in the stock market. Quite a few things were destroyed by the Feral Reserveless scheme over the 110 years of its existence, and his family’s fortune was one of them. My dad was 14 when his mom passed away.

Her name was Istalia Rhine Davidson. Her family had emigrated from the vicinity of Hamburg, Germany in 1870, before she was born. As far as I know she was born in Glendale, California or in that region. She was very smart. I still have possession, amongst my things in Ohio, of her diploma from Stanford. I know that she knew English, Hebrew, and German. She corresponded with family members in Germany. After 1933 that became increasingly one-sided. She would send a letter and it would not be answered. Sometimes there were neighbours who would respond if asked, and explain about the men who came in the night. Often there was nothing but guesses.

Her birth certificate says she died of cancer. Maybe so. I believe she also died of a broken heart. It was a very difficult time to be Jewish and to know people in Germany. She passed in 1938.

My dad and his younger brother Duncan went to live with her brother, Bert Rhine. I get the impression that my granddad had turned to drink. I don’t really know, never met him, and there were not a lot of conversations about him, even when we were going through the old family photos.

It was uncle Bert who insisted that my dad learn typing. Dad was not at all inclined to take typing in high school. He was interested in mathematics and science and he was in the junior ROTC (reserve officer training corps) because, among other reasons, it got his family benefits worth having during the Great Depression. It also came with a promise from the politicians and the military that they would not draft the young men who were in the ROTC. Nevertheless, my dad relented to his uncle’s insistent demands and the typing class was taken.

As we all know, FDR and Churchill knew all about the Japanese plans due to the October 1940 breaking of the most advanced of the Japanese naval ciphers. So the deliberate series of provocations by the USA military led to the outbreak of war. And FDR refused to brief the military commanders in the Philippines or in Hawai’i because he was the sort of vicious commie filth who wanted a lot of dead Americans. Then he proceeded to wave the bloody shirt (as they say in politics) on the 8th of December 1941, and congress declared war.

Within weeks my dad was drafted. Yeah, about those promises? Hah!

On the induction form there was a little box next to the words, “If you know typing check here.” So dad, dutifully, checked that little box. Of such tiny events many outcomes arise. My birth some decades later was one of those outcomes.

If you ever come to know how large scale military operations take place, you’ll understand why every military since the invention of the typewriter has wanted to know who in their service knows how to type. Command, control, communications (the so-called C-cubed), intelligence such as it is, and logistics all depend on the sending and receiving of accurate information. Typists make that possible. Yeah, sure, with virtual keyboards and thumbs, everyone *can* type, but with physical keyboards and some practice, a person can learn to type 120 wpm or more. I’m a bit more. When I work at it, I can take dictation by keyboard.

The military also has a certain capacity to locate talent. My dad had some officer cadet training, so he did pretty well in basic. He was upgraded to corporal a while out of boot, while he was still in the States in 1942. He learned that all of a sudden that some of the things the platoon did together were things he didn’t do any more. This took some getting used to. After they re-located his division to England, dad was made a first sergeant.

When they went to France in September 1944, the Signal corps had some particular duties. One of them was to get into a recent captured town, get into the sewer tunnels or whatever other tunnels there were, and get the telephone and telegraph cables hooked into the Allied side of the war effort. This took some doing, in practice. The bombing raids by the Allied air forces had motivated the Germans to put the phone lines underground, along with switching centres, and quite a few command centres.

One aspect of the doing was to send a platoon out under a sergeant’s watchful eye to some manhole cover somewhere near the middle of town. My dad was one of those sergeants. He would order his men to get the manhole open and pick out one of the guys to go down the ladder. Having come up through the ranks, he often knew this guy. And in some instances, everything went well.

Down at the bottom of the hole there was a sewer and some cables. Follow the cables, find a switching station. Maybe come back to the bottom of the ladder and explain which way the system controls were found and the platoon would go get a different manhole cover off.

In other instances, things went even better. Down there under the town would be a very hungry, very helpful German soldier. He was a nerd. So everything he could get to was working, and he knew where the last bombing raid had blown apart the cables off in one direction or another. And he was hungry. So he would be happy to show the equipment and explain everything through the language barrier. Of course, on both sides, the Signal corps guys often had some knowledge of the language of the opposing forces. German and Anglo Saxon have a lot of shared words and syllables. French and English have a whole bunch more. And Germans in occupied France learned some French for ordering in taverns and bordellos.

In a few instances, and it was only somewhat reluctantly and in his sunset years that my dad would talk of these things, there was a Nazi holdout down in the tunnels. And that guy would kill whomever it was my dad had sent to be first down the ladder. After which there would be some grenades dropped, and maybe a firefight. It was in this manner that my dad earned his bronze star. Or possibly more than one. He had more than one medal at the time that he opposed whichever war and sent the medals to his congresscritter. I think it was 2003 and the war was Iraq. I wasn’t in town at the time, and never got to see them before they were boxed up and shipped off.

I come from a long line of people opposed to war. I’ve written a number of times about my dad’s views on the topic, and some of his experiences. And it being “remembrance day” and “armistice day” and “veterans’ day” I wanted to write about these things here. But “they also serve who only stand and wait,” as God pointed out to King David long ago.

On my mom’s side, we have a family story about another soldier who was drafted. Mom’s family came from the Alsace-Lorraine region between France and Prussia around 1870. The progenitor of the Rieser family was about 18 years old when the French army arrived. The French government was going to instigate a war with Prussia. You can look up their insane reasons for wanting to do so, if you wish. Probably worth the time.

Our family hero lived on a farm with his family. He was one of a number of sons, the others having moved away or too young to impress into the army. There were draft horses and riding horses on the farm, so he knew how to ride. Being a farm boy he also knew about the care of horses. The horses were also "impressed” into the military. Because it was a French-speaking household the French army assumed they were French “citizens.” In all our family discussions of the matter, we knew that the family spoke both German and French with equal fluency and had flags suited to whichever army was marching in. Anyway, the family were paid for the horses. The family were not paid for the teenager, though, and there was much weeping and wailing as he was led away.

They made Joseph a lieutenant in their army. They trained him a bit, gave him a sword and saddle, boots, a nice uniform. If he advanced in rank he would have to buy his next uniforms, but there was great enthusiasm for the war. And this is how the story is related in the family. They assigned him 50 men and a larger number of horses, and he taught his men the care and riding of horses, the wielding of the sabre that he himself had only recently learnt, and a bit about carbines and pistols as well.

Then the day came when it was time to march to the front and for the war to begin. Much glory would pertain. Yay. He was given his orders, told where to take his men to bivouac. Such much glory for his unit which would gallop straight at the Prussian artillery and capture it first thing in the morning of the first day of battle, according to the orders.

So the night before the big event he didn’t sleep really well, as you can imagine. And at about 3 a.m. he was wide awake, saddling a horse and choosing a second horse. Then he took up a dispatch case he had kept for this very purpose, mounted up, and headed for Belgium, then Holland, and eventually the port of Amsterdam. When he got to a border or a check point, he would wave the dispatch case and shout “urgent messages for the ambassador” in French and simply gallop past.

After some hours of hard riding and changing to the other horse, Joseph got to Amsterdam. He sold the horses and saddle, bought street clothes and a ticket to America on the next vessel out, and a French language newspaper. The headlines screamed about the terrible defeat of the French in that morning’s battles. Inner pages revealed the lists of the killed. His entire unit had been wiped out.

In America, he made his way to St. Louis where many people in 1870 spoke French and many spoke German. He kept the sabre which was over the fireplace in my mom’s home when she was growing up.

Private Military Academies

In the year 2021 I was asked to compose a business plan for a Freedom Guards academy for a friend in Arkansas. So I did. The intention was to have a single campus on a property where I had been working for some time. The property acquisition didn’t work out. On further reflection, I think the idea of a single campus is probably a mistake as well.

If you click on the picture above, it takes you to a page on “free” military schools which do not charge tuition. Some of these are local magnet or charter schools, so living in the school district may be necessary in order to send a student to the school. A more comprehensive list of the 58 military academies (free, private, and public) in the United States is found here.

Now, what, you might well ask, is a guy who was part of “Students Against Militarism” in college and joined the Committee Against Registration and the Draft in high school, doing putting in links to military schools? And the answer, my friend, is the times they are a changing. Insert musical notes. Let’s go ahead and link to the Bob Dylan song, too, because that voice is just too irritating to ignore. Might as well also link to the film “Watchmen,” which uses the song on its sound track. Because reasons. Okay, that’s a link to the Critical Drinker review of the film, This ‘stack isn’t going to be linking to watch-for-fee on YouTube nor to Amazon until some serious attention gets paid by those evil awful companies to their immorality. Exorcisms are in order. Now if the film were available for free on some platform, that would be okay, but I’m sure all you would-be pirates out there can find upload and download sites, and maybe even work out which ones aren’t infested with malware. Anyway, do your own shopping.

To be brief about it, and in the fullness of time the topic deserves a longer essay, I believe that many people who once thought they lived in a free country are going to be rounded up by those in power and murdered in death camps. So it would be well if you and the members of your family were aware of such things as tactics, strategy, and weapons. If you won’t learn yourself, you might be wise to send a son or daughter to a military academy for some learning. Or get thee to a gun range.

Many intellectuals don’t consider themselves suited to self-defence. I happen to think that’s mistaken. I started studying martial arts, includuing Gung Fu in college. It turned out that I was quite adept at military history and strategy, and got excellent marks in my classes on those topics. Nor am I entirely without merit in the physical fitness aspect of these things. I agree with Bruce Lee and others that self-defence is a philosophy just as much as it is a set of training. One of the people most influential in my life on this topic is Jesus Christ who spoke candidly about the situation to His disciples:

And he said unto them, When I sent you without purse, and scrip, and shoes, lacked ye any thing? And they said, Nothing. Then said he unto them, But now, he that hath a purse, let him take it, and likewise his scrip: and he that hath no sword, let him sell his garment, and buy one. ~ Luke 22:35-36

Why? Because it is the duty of the shepherd to defend the flock. There are wolves. If you hadn’t noticed as much during the long period of American prosperity, you should have noticed by now. And if you don’t believe in defending yourself, you might not like other things I’m going to say. Oh, as they say, well.

Graduate Studies

It might be wise to have a few graduate schools in military arts. The people who have taken control over the military and the feral gooferment have a number of schools for the advanced study of warfare. These include the naval academy at Annapolis and the military academy at West Point. There is also still a bit of command school at Leavenworth. I don’t generally like to link into the .mil top level domains because everything about today’s military is disgusting and evil, so follow such links with caution.

While there are private military academies that function as high schools and some military studies available to college students, there are not many private schools that offer graduate studies in military strategy, especially with regard to what I call fifth generation warfare. (I’m not enthusiastic about some of the “generation inflation” that I’ve seen, so I’ll go over the thoughts I have on this topic a little later.) There are 35 degree programmes in the USA for various kinds of related topics, such as fire and explosion investigation, so you might be able to cobble together a course of study to suit your needs.

I strongly recommend graduate studies in operations research, especially the mathematics of linear algebra. If you don’t know how to use equations to represent constraints and if you don’t know how to solve a system of equations to optimise a network problem, you aren’t going to be able to deal with logistics very effectively. And it is logistics that determines success in nearly every conflict.

The really interesting question is: outside of the government military academies, where do you go for advanced study in the area of military activities? George Mason university seems to have some applicable areas of study, as does Liberty university, as does St. Louis university. Embry-Riddle isn’t without some advanced course work. But nobody is really focused on creating a course of post-graduate studies let alone sets of such course work, for a doctorate in war and anti-war.

Online Courses

There are, of course, endless offerings online. You can find military history and military analysis channels on YouTube. I am rather enthusiastic about the military history, Austrian economics analysis, and Battlestorm documentaries of TIKHistory. I’ve also found some of the free videos including primitive animation of battle sequences from Kings & Generals to be not terrible. There are also outfits like “the Operations Room” which seem to be animation-heavy with analysis by the survivors of some military/spy agency activities. Of course, no, I’m not posting links here, you get to look things up on your own.

It seems possible that you can learn *about* orienteering, map reading, and finding geo-caches in the wilderness by looking at videos and reading up on the topic. But you still need to have a “practical” as we used to call tests that involved doing stuff. If you cannot find anyone to give you a practical exam of your knowledge of a practical matter, like auto repair or orienteering, you run into the really interesting experience of finding out that theory and practice, while in theory are identical, in practice are very different. And those differences? Yeah, they have killed some people.

Yes, of course you can learn operations research and linear algebra from videos and online courses. Once you have reading and some mathematics you *can* learn nearly anything. Whether you do or not, however, depends on how determined you are. And that’s an interesting question, to me.

Does anyone really want to understand area defence? Supply and logistics as an aspect of the art of war? Fifth generation victory without a single battle? Building communities of free people capable of independent defence? Applicability of fourth generation hit and run tactics to Fabian strategy for resisting in the face of overwhelming enemy superiority of numbers? Do other people spend as much time as I do looking into alternatives for area denial techniques that can be survived by livestock and children when unattended? Or am I really weird? Well, heh, you know the answer to that one by now.

I’m guessing that there are veterans, especially veterans of the special operations groups, that have an interest in passing on their knowledge, especially to people who live near them and can be of mutual help in tough situations. And, brother, we’re going to be having tough situations for a while. So if you don’t feel inclined to get a burner computer and use it to search for all kinds of knowledge, occasionally purging your search history for good measure, well, get thee to a gun range. And see what you can do about befriending some of the veterans you find there. Because the vets are going to get through tough situations, again, still, by improvising, adapting, and overcoming. And if you don’t know where to find them in your community, look for the places where people are keeping their skills sharp, such as gun ranges and ad hoc shooting spots out in the wide open spaces of the West. (The Bureau of Land Mismanagement has more target practice places to go than you can shake a stick at. Best of all, they aren’t advertised. You just drive around on dirt roads until you find a shot up road sign or a bunch of shells and cartridge casings on the ground. Point at the nearest butte or bluff and get busy.

Building Communities

There are tens of thousands of people on FreedomCells.org looking for other people near them to form communities. For all that I know, there are also actual places where people are building communities today. I am myself going to be doing so.

Therefore it has come to my attention that Wendy McElroy did a good job summarising the work of Josiah Warren and others who tried to build utopian communities at the end of the 19th Century. Some of the things that help build a community are: having a place where everyone can take meals together such as a big barn or hall; having a local currency that people spend locally; having events such as weddings, celebrations, and festivities together.

I think it will become important to have a local guard that is responsible for keeping watch at night and during the day. Probably an all volunteer group, like many rural fire fighting services. But certainly a group with a measure of discipline so that homes are not left unguarded. Otherwise the people who want chaos and unreason are going to establish control of various places. And you would probably be happier with your neighbours patrolling the streets than finding yourself under the power of some guy with a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire.

Building Campuses

It will come to the point, not long from now, when Americans are going to need advanced studies in military activities. Whether there is a national divorce or not, there are clear indications that some of the people in power in the District of Corruption mean to end all vestiges of freedom and rule by decree. I don’t say that the very best of the people in Mordor on the Potomac (hat tip Skip the Free Rifleman) are going to be incapable of opposing the onslaught of tyranny. But I do think we should anticipate that the side of freedom and limited government is not going to prevail.

I could give you a long list of reasons why I think that’s so. Briefly, if you look at all closely at American history, if you are willing to see past the silly adulation for Lincoln, Wilson, the Roosevelts, and more recent presidents, you’ll understand that the domination of others is central to the national government. Those ladies who have cocktail parties on all the important occasions (probably this evening as it happens) all around the Potomac at their lush estates? They are feral beasts who lust after power and the wealth it brings. You won’t find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy in this quadrant of the galaxy.

Now, of course, they have “intelligence” services that engage in unconstitutional and unlawful domestic espionage surveillance operations. So they will investigate what is going on and be aware that there is a campus somewhere of graduate studies for guardians of freedom. Which they will want to visit, and infiltrate.

The comic book version of this story would have us who want to live free very carefully verify the bona fides of those who come to our campus. We would be watchful and clever and the feral agencies would never get in, let alone get the goods on any of us. But we don’t live in that comic book reality.

So we’ll want more than one campus, and within each campus we’ll want inner sancta as well as outer zones of activity. People who are more trustworthy will get closer to the advanced coursework. People who are less trustworthy won’t.

You can see where it is all a great training exercise. How better to train your command, control, communications, and intelligence people than in an active exercise in staying out of feral prison? You’ll want your teams to know all about data security and communications privacy, so you’ll need classes in these topics. Much of that information is, of course, available on the Internet. Some of it is essential to the function of the Internet itself, most of which is now encrypted at some level, or capable of encryption.

But how, you may ask, will we prevail if we’re infiltrated, undermined, surveilled, and attacked by tyrants? And my answer to that question is very simple, as well as meaningfully complex: God provides. Praise God. Amen.

We live in a universe created by God. God loves us. God loves free will, He made so much of it. Praise God. Amen.

Find the Fed

Long ago in a troubled youth, I lived in Houston. At that time there were various hacker collectives. We didn’t have what you think of as the Internet and there was no world wide web. There was dial-up. There were bulletin board systems (BBS). There was, after 1983, FidoNet.

As I’ve mentioned elsewhere, I first began mucking about with computers in high school. Sent my first email around 1978 from the high school terminal to my dad’s account at the university. We had a 75 baud acoustically coupled modem that actually modulated and demodulated. It was soldered together in one of the workshops where students learned about electricity in those halcyon days.

Well, we had conferences. One of these, brought to us by the Cult of the Dead Cow and other hackers of the day, was HoHo Con. You can, as I often suggest, look it up.

There was a game. It was in many ways a foolish game, so, of course, it came with foolish prizes. There were two prizes. The game we called “Find the Fed.” The prizes were both t-shirts.

One of the shirts said “I found the Fed.” If you found the Fed, or the Feds if there were more than one, you got to wear the shirt that said “I found the Fed.” The other shirt said, “I am the Fed.”

If you were the Fed, you could stay, but only if you wore the shirt. And sometimes the Fed stayed and sometimes they went.

There were a lot of different ways to find the Fed. Sometimes it was pretty obvious. If you look today at photos of the “Patriot Front” goofs, you might even get slightly offended by the lack of imagination involved. The gooferment wants to disarm you, and, as Machiavelli wrote about 500 years ago, “being disarmed, among the other harm it brings you, causes you to be despised.” They aren’t even trying very hard.

The sine qua non of finding the Fed is listening. The Fed will talk about doing things that are illegal. The Fed will talk about the prospect of doing illegal things. The Fed will actively incite the doing of illegalities. The Fed wants to get you to do something illegal so you can be arrested and, possibly, turned into a resource for the Fed and its bosses. (I use the word “its” advisedly, since the Fed of my day was almost certainly a male hacker wannabe, but is today maybe female, maybe transgender, and maybe pronoun obsessed. And “its” is the gender indeterminate pronoun, and if you don’t like it, I believe you can figure out what you can do about it.)

So if you want to find the Fed, stfu and listen. The person trying to convince others to commit crimes is the Fed. Sometimes you can trip over their briefcase or book bag, or one of your nimble fingered friends can lift their wallet, and you can actually confiscate their credentials. Doing so is very upsetting to them. They don’t like having to go back to the office and get a new set of credentials. Make them feel ill. Also the pickpocket stuff can itself be illegal depending on circumstances (as part of a magic act you can get away with it, for example).

Finks I Have Known

There was a guy in my high school graduating class named Ian. He was mostly an ordinary sort of nerdy fellow, president of the physics club while I was its treasurer. Then he fell in love with Holly, who was in the class for students about a year younger than us. I seem to recall she was the secretary of the physics club at one point.

Holly was a Jehovah’s Witness. At the time I was substantially oblivious to the tenets of the various denominations and had only the vague notion that there would only be 144,000 of God’s chosen getting into heaven, according to the Witnesses. I had not heard of any of the theories of the origin of the group. But I had seen the pairs of Jehovah’s Witnesses appearing on doorsteps with inquiries about whether you have heard the Good News.

Apparently Holly and her pastor or church elder convinced Ian that he had to rat out his dad. So Ian’s dad was arrested by the bureau of alcohol tobacco and firearms, as I understood the news reports. The federal “crime” was selling to a willing buyer a conversion kit to turn a rifle from semi-auto into full auto. I believe in today’s era of technology you can download a file from somewhere for free and get your 3D printer to emit the relevant pieces of material. Forty years ago it was a matter involving some reasonably close tolerances on parts that were machined for the purpose.

Ian’s dad went to federal prison because Ian chose to be a fink. Such behaviour flies in the face of God’s commandment to honour thy mother and father.

I mention it because Ian seemed like a nice enough guy most of the time. He did threaten to beat me up after school one day because I had expressed positive views of one of the young ladies in our graduating class. Apparently there were rules not previously disclosed to me, and Ian was inclined to be an enforcer. But it wasn’t the first time I was threatened with a beating, and like all other threats it had none of the intended effects. Threats are really stupid, in case nobody has told you. It just makes you look weak.

I mention this point because there are only a few million feral agents in all branches of service and in all agencies of the feral gooferment. I suspect that of those persons there may be ten or twelve who have read the constitution they swore to defend and protect against all enemies foreign and domestic, and maybe two of those who would actually pause to reflect on whether some action they were ordered to take was constitutionally authorised. But there are 330 million Americans.

Well, that was last year. I gather from one of the search results fetched back that there are supposedly 339,996,563 Americans as of mid-year 2023. Does that seem terribly specific? Unbelievably so? Yeah, to me as well.

The number, whether it is 330 million or 340 million or something else is an estimate because it is nothing more than the concatenation of the lies assembled by the several states. And each state is simply providing the concatenation of the lies told by each county or other jurisdiction (parish, township, etc.) that purports to keep track. Yeah, yeah, there’s a decennial census which I gather now is performed somewhat more often. But, look here, in 2020 there was a bit of a brief controversy that something like 100,000 voters in Wisconsin who cast votes in the November balloting in 2020 were all registered to vote on the first day of January in 1918.

Which is a bit odd because the offices of the gooferment were all closed that day, it being New Year’s day. And a bit odder that people who would have had to be 21 years old in 1918 to be accepted onto the voter rolls were voting at the delicate age of at least 123. And that there were 100,000 voters of that advanced age, really, it boggles the imagination. How could it possibly be? Well, there were some follow up stories that I saw and some hemming and some hawing. But the short of it is, those voters didn’t really exist and were just assumed to have been registered at the indicated date and it was all a computer error. Because the person who programmed the computer couldn’t be blamed, no one actually lost their job, was convicted of fraud, or spent so much as a day in jail. Nope.

But it is stories like that one, and a vast array of others, that persuade me that what we are told about the population is all lies. Nevertheless, the American people outnumber the evil worthless aparatchikisti who work for the nasty unconstitutional agencies doing terrible things for the benefit and satisfaction of highly immoral persons like Mike Bloomberg, $hillary Clinton, Barry Obama, or the Biden thing. So we should be winning right? We outnumber them by something like 85 to 1.

Ah, but that’s where Étienne de la Boétie has his day. In his excellent manifesto on Voluntary Servitude, he wrote that it is true that the tyrant doesn’t have enough ears to hear every word spoken against him. But the people do, and the people rat on each other. The tyrant doesn’t have enough fists to beat up all the people who are suspected of treason, but he can hire that work done. So, really, tyranny requires the cooperation of the people who go right on being jerks to each other until the system is overthrown. And then the tables are turned and the jerks are sometimes hauled out behind the chemical sheds.

I mention these points because if you are going to create a place for people to think about and talk about ideas relating to area defence, regional defence, communications privacy, data security, arms and armaments, tactics, strategy, logistics, geocache location, orienteering, or even so much as map reading, there is someone named Karen who is going to call some number and report you. You know it because it was happening all during the Scamdemic.

An absolute Chad put a scarecrow on a beach with a fishing pole and a line in the water late one night. And sure enough some useless gutless piece of filth called the cops who dutifully showed up in their horrid little outfits and went down there to arrest that violator of the “nobody gets to have fun” rules current in that community. You know that there is some horrid little snivelling twisted complainer who will call the police if you aren’t allowed to have five guests over to mourn your recently deceased relative.

I know it. In 2017 I was SWATted by my neighbour across the street. Came out of my house with three red laser dots on my chest. And one of those dots was wavering back and forth, not exactly steady. So, yes, people do tell lies to cause trouble to the people they decide not to love. (The prosecutor moved for dismissal after interviewing the couple across the street and some others. Yes, I had my attorney present and it was in a preliminary hearing. The prosecutor later moved to expunge the arrest record. Some places still have a few honourable persons in elected office. Not many.)

These facts mean that if you want to be a part of discussing hypothetical situations, no matter how you frame them or choose to talk about them, someone is going to rat you out. Finks exist. Does that mean you shouldn’t bother? I think that depends on whether you think there is any point to having a culture, a civilisation, or a future for your children that goes beyond slavish devotion to authority, willing participation in servitude, and marching into the showers holding a bit of rock shaped like a bar of soap. I’ve been doing much musing on that topic for a while now.

Third Stringers

Back in the first part of 2020 I was reading voraciously. Clearly things were amiss, and I was enthusiastic about finding out what was going on. Did you know that at the end of 2019 an unusually large number, over 1,100, of chief executive officers of American companies resigned or took early retirement? I thought that was surprising. Turns out it was even more in 2020 and 2021. As if a bunch of people who didn’t want to be a part of what was being done were willing to walk away.

Oh, they didn’t speak out, though. Which is a bit of a wonder, but then they all had homes and families and lives and they had made themselves a part of something. So the people who have real power know where they hide their children, to reference a line from the film “The Patriot.” And in the stark terms in which things have been stated for about sixty years, you don’t have to wonder what will be done to you if step too far out of line.

As mentioned above, today as I write this essay, it is the 11th day of the 11th month. In a further 11 days it will be the 22nd, and that will be the 60th anniversary of the day when Allen Dulles hired four hit teams to gun down the president of the United States in his motorcade in Dallas, Texas. The city of Dallas ought to be held to account for its role in the murder, and so should the fbi, the cia, and the military.

But, of course, there was a conspiracy to cover up the murder, it was pinned on a patsy who was himself gunned down. Later, Dorothy Kilgallen figured out a lot of the details and was about to write a column revealing all the facts and she was murdered. Oh, sorry, “died suddenly.” Yeah.

Lots of other eyewitnesses were also killed. And people in the hoax stream media pretended it wasn’t all happening and went on reporting the “news” as if they were telling the truth. It became one of those strange exercises in group think. Until the House Select Committee looked closely, it was regarded, from 1964 when the filthy liars like Arlen Specter and Gerald Ford put together the Warren Commission report until 1977 when parts of the truth began being published, as something of a vital aspect of American culture not to doubt too hard the falsehoods being spewn by the terribly evil liars in government.

Back then the mass murdering baby torturing cannibal Henry Kissinger encouraged president Nixon to commit atrocities with the bombings of Cambodia, Laos, and parts of Thailand. To this day none of the people involved have been held to account. But there was a “Pentagon papers” exposé published at one point. And Nixon was embarrassed in the Watergate hearings so he resigned, which served the interests of one of the many factions in the District of Corruption, the blood soaked chins of various demon worshippers being seen to move up and down in nods while the rictus of a grin appeared here and there.

More recently there was a scam called the global financial crisis which Barack Obama used to give trillions of dollars to his bisexual friends in the banking cartel. Obama is an aggressive rapist who enjoys hurting other people. So he did. Tens of millions of Americans suffered from his perfidy.

Obama also hates people overseas, so he was particularly vicious about the Arab Spring when information came out that he and $hillary had done horrifyingly evil things in Egypt, Tunisia, Algeria, Syria, Libya, Iraq, Afghanistan, and elsewhere. He was very very angry about the Philosophy of Liberty video being translated into Arabic and watched over a million times by the end of 2010.

Bradley/Chelsea Manning, Julian Assange, and a little later Ed Snowden, among others have shown us what the nasty evil hateful disgusting child rapists are doing to attack individual liberty, private property, free speech, freedom of religion, and every other freedom supposedly protected by the bill of rights. So it is little wonder that the people who are actually competent at their jobs have reached the point of not wanting to do them any longer.

If you look at the people in charge these days, they aren’t really any good at their jobs. They are bad at everything. And they don’t try to hide it because they are basically saying, “What are you going to do about it, slave?”

And the answer is, “I am going to obey God. God is going to bring a reckoning. And mankind will be free.”

Bullies

I’ve met a lot of bullies in my life. I’ve been tormented by some wretchedly stupid people. I’ve also been bullied by my dad.

My earliest living memory was being two years old. I was being punished, severely, by my dad. Why? The punishment did serve the purpose of focusing my recollection of what I had done. I was out in the garage, in the winter, at our family home in Colonie, New York. I had seen some show, maybe on a television or film screen, maybe in person, that involved high wire entertainers. The garden hose was on the floor of the garage. I was walking on it, imagining myself being one of those people in costumes walking on the high wire. And dad didn’t know where I was, so when he found me, he was very angry and upset. I bore the brunt of that anger.

Later, as a teenager, there was a dispute over the waxing and polishing of the floor of the upstairs hallway. Dad, ever mindful of economics in those days of stagflation, had me take off my eyeglasses. Then he hit me so hard across the face that I bled for ninety minutes.

Now, don’t get me wrong, my dad was a great teacher. He loved his family. And beat the stuffing out of us on more than one occasion. It was particularly strange to know that he loved me, from the many lessons he taught in mathematics and physics, the fun activities in flying around in his Piper Tri-pacer, or building model rockets, and also endure these beatings. He was a very intelligent man, a nuclear physicist, the chairman of the physics and astronomy department of a major state university for many years. But he could be mean. Maybe it was post-traumatic shock from those experiences in Eisenhower’s army, idk

But he was far from the only one who bullied me. Mike G in grade school was surprised that the kid who had been out sick for six months was willing to fight back. Mike went home one day with a split lip. And Neal McC decided not to throw firecrackers at me on my walk to school the next morning. So that was nice. A little later, Gleen J decided to jump me and try to break my back, though, late one afternoon in the schoolyard.

I was picked on a lot in grade school and junior high school. So much so that one day in seventh grade I stopped in the middle of one of the halls and stood there crying. Not bawling, just tears pouring down my face and not a sound coming out of me. The bell rang and the other students went into class, and I stood there. Couldn’t see any reason to go into a classroom. Kept crying. A “guidance counsellor” found me in the hall about twenty minutes later, strong armed me to the office, called my mom. So I went home early that day. It’s important to mention that I forgive them, all of them, including my dad, the bullies at school, the cops who broke eleven of my bones in Houston, each and every one.

My mom was the hero in my childhood. She would stand up to my dad. One night they had a fight and he went out to the kitchen, rattled the drawer where we kept the carving knife, and shouted, “I’ve got a knife.” Running and chasing noises ensued.

All the boys were upstairs after supper. We were supposed to do our homework. I would have been six, so I was supposed to be sleeping. Obviously none of those things were happening. About the time my mom got around to the kitchen and rattled that same drawer and shouted, “I’ve got a knife too,” my eldest brother came down the hall to my room. He was crying that same quiet way we all had - you didn’t cry out loud because it would attract attention. And besides, you weren’t going to get any help.

John asked me how I was doing. I remember smiling. I said something simple like, “Can’t sleep.” He sat next to me on the bed.

He asked me what to do. He would have been 14 at the time. Dad and mom had convinced him that if anything bad happened to the two of them, it would be his responsibility to take care of the younger children. So, how would he do that if, as we surmised, mom and dad either killed each other that night or one or both were arrested, or some combination of these events. And the answer came to me, as if an angel in heaven were whispering in my ear.

I told my brother that we would get the little card box with the index cards with the names and phone numbers of all the friends and family. We’d find uncle John’s number and call him. My mom’s brother would come get us and we’d go live in St. Louis. We wouldn’t like it. Uncle John was an army officer and was flying helicopters in Vietnam for part of that same year. He was a strict disciplinarian and none of us liked his strictness. But we would get by. So, having heard these thoughts, John stopped crying and went back to his room. He had a plan for what to do, so he could stop obsessing.

My parents didn’t kill each other that night. Nor did any of the neighbours on our street call on us the next day. Nobody called the cops, which I think is a good thing about the culture in that era, because the cops are nasty evil people who enjoy bullying others and wouldn’t become cops if they didn’t. But they also didn’t find out if we were all okay. It’s a strange sort of culture, really, when you think about it.

I could go on at great length, but Substack has already told me that this essay is too long for email. Too long! As if I were Tolstoy or Doestoevsky emitting a tome. But no, I’m just this guy, y’know?

So, you’re probably wanting to see how I choose to wrap things up, and I won’t disappoint you. You see, I do know what we’re up against. I do have a keen eye for these things. The third string is in charge, the game is nearly finished, the varsity are all used up, everyone is sure that the battle is lost. America as an empire is on its last legs, the barbarians have already come in through the gates which have been held wide open for them.

Wrethedly stupid people have been increasingly in charge for the last 60 years because once it became clear that the powers that be were willing to murder JFK, people who knew how to do stuff started making plans to step back and see how it all went. A bunch of really incompetent choices were taken. The railroads collapsed into bankruptcy and were idiotically nationalised. The currency was debased in 1964 and again in 1971 and is increasingly worthless. A lot of really terrible agencies were created to do a lot of really terrible things, and have been staffed with increasingly horrid persons.

Your neighbours are mostly finks and rats, Karen and her ilk, insufferable jerks. Your cops are mostly bullies and your feral agents are eager to testi-lie to convict you. Something in excess of 99.5% of all federal charges end up in a plea bargain or some other sort of conviction, so you know they will just make it up to put you in prison. Over ten percent of the country has spent time in jail or prison, and there are endless laws you can be accused of breaking even if you are trying really hard to obey all of them.

God knows all these things. God sent Jesus to show us the way. And Jesus has shown us that good will triumph even though we are tortured by the evil ones. There is a just God who rules the affairs of mankind. God loves us and wants us to be free. God loves free will, He made so much of it. Praise God. Amen.

It’s Worthwhile

So then the question, in sum, is simply: do we who want to live free bother to build a culture and the necessary institutions to bring about a renewal of civilisation? Yes.

For me, the answer is yes. Yes, it is worth doing, because there are some beautiful things, things worth saving. The greatest of these is love.

The Curriculum

I’ll be writing some of the curriculum and a few of the texts that will be needed. A few years ago, I started one of the books, the Space Scouts Field Manual Parody. You can find it at this link. It needs quite a bit of expansion.

We’ll need courses on data security, communications privacy, encryption, economics, logistics, linear algebra, operations research, aircraft, spacecraft, how to tell if you are under a known earth-surveillance satellite, how to operate drones, marksmanship, fieldcraft, tactics, strategy, military history, blunders not to repeat, the tactics of mistake, and many more. It will inevitably arise that people will want parades and marches, so some close order drill might be involved.

Individual self-defence is important. If you aren’t physically fit, you might not make it. And if you are fit, you might want to know how to block a punch or throw one, how to sweep kick to level an opponent, and how to take on several fighters at once. You should know how to use a knife, a pistol, a rifle, a mortar, and other weapons of war. You should know how to make tools for self-defence out of ordinary items.

Someone needs to know how to fix things and keep them running. Generators and steam engines and water wheels. Sharpening chain saw chains and other blades. Rebuilding engines and even building them from junkyard parts. Distributed manufacturing so you can hook a container of equipment up to three-phase and process a few containers of parts into finished goods, then drive away secure in the knowledge that nobody is going to collect sales taxes on those items. (In Oregon, they don’t have sales tax.)

We’ll need libraries with books and computer labs with work stations. We’ll need teachers and students and scholarships and fellowships. Researchers and bottle washers. Some serious effort should be made to build a lodge practice for healing arts. Students are going to be injured or wounded, so a surgery would be good to have. And all the other things people need to keep going: food, kitchens, places of worship, dormitories and houses, poets and priests.

Opening the Milky Way

God says that mankind can have the resources of the entire galaxy available for our exploration and settlement if we learn to love one another. It’s a big place. They say it is about 100,000 light years across.

That means that if you use things like gravity slingshot manoeuvres and constant acceleration engines to get up to 10% of the speed of light, it would take a million years to get to the other side of the galaxy. Back in 1987, a guy named Keith Henson showed up in the green room of the North American Science Fiction convention and invited me, Aleta Jackson, Greg Barr, and G. Harry Stine, among others, to a party at the far side of the galaxy, a million years from now. We should live so long, God willing. Amen.

Yes, I do believe in the resurrection of the body, and life everlasting. You should too.

If you want to be a part of this project, please let me know in the comments, or email me at jim {at} eldarcapital {dot} com and we’ll see about getting in touch. If you want to get ahead of the curve, install Signal and Session on one of your devices. Talk soon.

Let us pray: Eternal Father, please help us free the slaves, stop the wars, and end tyranny. Please help with guidance, resources, ingenuity, endurance, fortitude, and patience. Please show us the little fires so we may pass by them. Please bring love into our lives so we remember what we have to live for. Amen.