THE WEST'S DARKEST HOUR

In his autobiography This Time The World, Commander George Lincoln Rockwell, who some consider “the greatest American that has ever lived,” describes his experiences dealing with pathetic conservatives in the 1950s.



By this time [in the mid-1950s], I had had plenty of opportunity to look over the activity of the “right-wing”—the conservatives—and had come to the conclusion, in my total ignorance of the real nature of the case, that all they needed to succeed was an organizational drive to get them “together,” with a businesslike plan. I had found that there were dozens and maybe hundreds of very rich men, like H. L. Hunt of Texas and Robert Welch of Boston, who felt much as I did and who, together, could pool enough money and resources to swamp the Marxist-Zionist Jews and left-wingers. There seemed to be plenty of talent and ability, and an actual majority of our people over on my side of politics, so that common sense seemed to force the conclusion that it was only a lack of determined effort to put this together which permitted the left-wing minority, sparked by the sub-minority of Jews, to keep winning victory after victory and thereby send America down the path to Marxist socialism and racial disintegration. […].

But I reckoned without any knowledge of the human content of the “right-wing.” From the millionaires to the scared little people who attend the endless, pitiful “conservative,” “100% American,” “old-fashioned,” “constitutional,” “states’ rights” meetings, I learned by bitter experience that the human material of the right-wing consists 90% of cowards, dopes, nuts, one-track minds, blabbermouths, boobs, incurable tightwads and—worst of all—hobbyists, people who have come to enjoy a perverted, masochistic pleasure in telling each other forever how we are all being raped by the “shhh—you know whos,” but who, under no condition, would risk their two cars, landscaped homes, or juicy jobs to DO something about it. Knowing nothing of this, however, and being full of my usual enthusiasm and drive, I paid for a series of radio spots before and after Fulton Lewis’ show, announcing a Washington meeting to organize the right-wing.

The response seemed to be gratifying. Hundreds of people called, and I arranged with one of them, Sam Jones, the correspondent of Bill Buckley’s National Review, to use his lovely old Virginia mansion in McLean for our first meeting.

Of the hundreds who called, only about fifty showed up at the meeting, including John Kasper and an Arab friend. I addressed the meeting in the best “conservative” style, lecturing “nicely” on the need “to get together” more than anything else, during which I received little flurries of polite applause. Ugh! How I shudder now to think of all that feeble, useless, stupid “niceness”—while Our Race and our whole world are being brutally destroyed!

From time to time somebody in the audience would ask “What about the Jews!” and there would be snickers and shifting around of feet, like grammar school kids when somebody mentions the word “sex.” Then I would scold this “bold” character for such a “disgusting display of prejudice,” making my righteous love of the “wonderful” Jews very clear, and even sharing knowing winks with some close friends in mutual appreciation of my “clever” deception.

The Jews would not have disturbed such a meeting for anything in the world. We, like a million other “conservatives,” were indulging ourselves in the illusion of “fighting” treason, subversion, communism and racemixing—in other words, the Jews—without DOING anything and without hurting the enemy himself. If we did NOT have such silly little secret meetings, we would eventually build up such a pressure of frustrated patriotism that we just might have done something forceful, and therefore effective.

My wife took up a little collection, we passed out membership cards and then stood around babbling, as is the inevitable custom after such “battles” with the enemy. Everybody congratulated everybody else at this new and terrible assault on the “Eskimos,” as John Kasper called them then, and we went home all aglow with the great “success.” […]

I poured out my time and money in an all-out effort to organize the right-wing “nicely,” under the aegis of the American Federation of Conservative Organizations, and published a national conservative paper. We held meetings in the best meeting rooms in the Statler and Mayflower hotels. I had beautiful stationery engraved in gold. I used all my skill in art, writing, organizing, promoting and leading—the same skills which are now serving the American Nazi Party so well—but my best efforts were useless. The basic premise of conservatism was wrong.

Although it is made to appear so, the battle between the “conservatives” and “liberals” is not a battle of ideas or even of political organizations. It’s is a battle of force, terror and power. The Jews and their accomplices and dupes are not running our country and its people because of the excellence of their ideas or the merit of their work or because they have the genuine backing of the majority. The Zionists are in power in spite of the lack of these things, and only because they have driven their way into power by daring minority tactics. They can stay in power only because people are afraid to oppose them, afraid they will be socially ostracized, afraid they will be smeared in the press, afraid they will lose their jobs, afraid they will not be able to run their businesses, afraid they will lose their political offices. It is fear and fear alone which keeps these filthy left-wing sneaks in power. It is NOT ignorance on the part of the American people, as the “conservatives” keep assuring each other—“ye shall know the truth and the truth shall make you free”—when the truth is that any slave knows the truth—that he is a slave—but he is not free in spite of knowing this truth, unless he can somehow obtain the power to force his way to freedom. It is not the truth which will make us free in America, because millions already know the truth and hate bitterly what is going on, but they are afraid even to admit they know the truth. Ten million signed the petition for Joe McCarthy and they are not all dead, although they might as well be, as long as the right-wing spends all its time and money trying to “win” another ten million instead of getting the ten million we already have to stand up! We have plenty of people, money and facilities to take America back from the traitors tomorrow morning if all the people who already know what is going on were not afraid anymore and would stand up!

As long as the right-wing confines its fighting to being “nice,” the great masses of the public will bow down like the sheep they are to the left-wing which is NOT nice—which uses smear, economic persecution, legal harassment and finally, physical terror to maintain its domination of our national life and culture by force. The force is disguised, of course, in checkbooks, judges’ robes, rigged party conventions, etc., but it is still force or the threat of it which has America down and afraid. No amount of papers and pamphlets, were they all masterpieces of propaganda, and no amount of talk and meetings can stop this growing left-wing force and power, and the fear it inspires—much less drive it back and destroy it.

But in 1955, I still imagined we could “sneak up” on the Jews, like my sissy friends. We would build a great “grass-roots” membership by not mentioning the Jews at all, or even praising them. Then, while they suspected nothing, we could become stronger and stronger and finally, one fine day, we would wipe the smiles off our faces, spin around on the surprised Hebrews and let them see just what we had in mind!

I found this coward’s dream being promoted everywhere I went. Every “conservative” I met would draw me aside and groan about the latest outrages and treason of the “you-know-whos” and describe to me the latest plans to sneak up on the tormentors. I was as much beguiled by this childish illusion as anybody else. l spent hundreds of hours discussing the methods for this super-sneaky revolution and the only thing I gained from it all was the final discovery that it was and always has been impossible to unseat the terrorists by talk. One must dislodge such evil usurpers by the same weapon which got them in: POWER! Theirs was and is secret and disguised. Ours, by nature, must be open, legal and honest, but it must still be power, not talk or pamphlets or sneaky dreams. Thus it involves risk.

I also grew to know the people my wife and I came to call the “die-hards,” for some obscure reason I can’t recall. These were the perennial “patriots,” the eternal attendees of meetings, the inexhaustible babblers, the super-clever know-it-alls who are going to “throw the election into the house this time” and the disgusting hobbyists who discharged their pent-up “patriotism” once a week or so in the masochistic orgasm they seemed to obtain by flagellating themselves with the latest outrages of the Jews. These people seemed to have been “fighting” the Jews all their lives, decade after decade. Their standard reaction to anything they didn’t think up themselves in the way of new schemes for sneaking up on the Jews was, “I was fighting this thing before you were born, son.” This was supposed to send the upstart packing, as if people who had spent forty or fifty years fighting so unsuccessfully had any business opening their mouths at all. These “die-hards” would insist on bending one’s ear endlessly and at all hours of day or night. Any attempt to escape from them was taken as a personal insult. My wife and I grew to dread the sessions with the “die-hards,” who were not interested in doing anything except talk and were World Champions at the pastime.

Our meetings were better and better attended, but there was no result at all. Nothing was accomplished. As the months wore on and we began to see our small savings diminish with no signs of any real progress, I began to come down with a case of “desperationitis” so common to the right-wing. I had begun to meet a large, unorganized, but regular circle of “patriots” which exists everywhere, with whom I discussed all kinds of tricks for “spilling the beans” about the Jews, all at once. There were endless plans for dropping “the whole story” out of airplanes on top of the public, while the helpless Jews watched in impotent rage as the millions of leaflets fluttered down, out of the sky. There was talk of a plan to raid a TV station of one of the major networks and hold the personnel at gunpoint, while one of us—nobody cared to discuss who, exactly—would present to the breathless millions the documents and facts on the jewishness of Communism, which we have in such abundance, but which mean so little as long as we reach only one another. There was even a scheme for sending aloft huge signs on balloons, tied to inaccessible places, which would “squeal” on the Jews from the sky, while they scrambled madly to get them down. These wild ideas are actually being discussed, right now, as you read this, by otherwise intelligent people somewhere, people who are simply too overwhelmed by their own timidity and ignorance to understand that even if they played these nasty tricks on the Jews, there would be no result at all.

Just two weeks ago, as I write this, the Jews used two or three minutes of one of my speeches to introduce a long program on behalf of race-mixing on a national TV network show. Mine was the only voice for the White man in that dreary hour of Jewish race-mixing propaganda. The Hebrew media-masters even used the section of one speech in which I explained that the Jew Communists were organizing the colored races of the world in a mass assault on the White Man. The Jews imagine, in their own ignorance, that my speech, delivered to a howling mob in Washington in all its naked passion and ferocity, will repel people—which is just as wrong as the “die-hards” with their silly idea that “spilling the beans” will somehow “wake up the people” and attract their support. Neither is the case. People are more inert than it is possible to believe, even after you discover their inherent inertia. It takes an incredible quantity of propaganda, repeated over and over and over to move them even a little bit. This is one of the reasons Joe McCarthy told me that he wouldn’t even attempt to tell the whole truth. “They’d simply put me away as a lunatic,” he said, “and the public would forget what it was all about.” And he was probably right.

The idea that there is anything easy that can be done which will send the Jew traitors scurrying for Israel like rats, while we walk triumphantly into the White House, is one of the worst self-delusions which has been keeping the right-wing babbling and conspiring while the Jews have been laughing at us and trampling all over our Constitution, our rights, our traditions, our dignity and our White Race.

Anybody, when he first discovers what is going on, might be forgiven a certain period of nourishing this delusion and hope, but when he sees the Jews starving the families of his fellow hopers who lose their jobs, who get railroaded into jail, shipped to “mental health centers” and are smeared and blasted for just the slightest attempt to stand up to Jewish power, he ought to get the idea in no more than a few years. Any man who spends thirty or forty years pretending to imagine there is such an easy way, while our country and our White Race go down and down is not a dreamer, nor is he ignorant. He is a coward!

“Conservatives” are the world’s champion ostriches, muttering to one another down under the sand in “secret,” while their plumed bottoms wave in the breezes for the Jews to kick at their leisure. They are fooling nobody but themselves.

I had already sold Russell Maguire, the publisher of Mercury Magazine, an article about U.S. follies in Iceland, so I now planned to propose further work for him. I called and arranged an appointment in his lavish Park Lane apartment in New York.

I had never met him and was happy and relieved to find him the opposite of my recent employer in Memphis. He was small, intelligent, unassuming and seemed utterly dedicated to the cause of America and the White Race. We talked over the “movement,” as patriotic leaders inevitably do upon meeting, and agreed that what was needed was what he called a “hard-core.” I told him I thought eventually we would need a Nazi Party, and he agreed, but said it would have to be done with extreme secrecy. At the time, I didn’t know enough about it to argue him out of that idea, as I do now, so I went along with that, too.

Then he offered to put me on the payroll in his Fifth Avenue offices as his assistant, to help promote Mercury Magazine, his beloved project, and to begin quietly setting up the “hard-core” he wanted. Even if this had not been what I dreamed of, I would have taken it at the handsome salary. Here was the opportunity praised for by many a young American I knew: getting paid for fighting treason! I reported for work almost immediately and had the trailer hauled by a moving company to a trailer park in Moonachie, New Jersey, just across the river from Manhattan.

For awhile, it seemed too good to be true. I “broke my neck” for Maguire, and he seemed to appreciate it. He was willing to listen to suggestions and accepted them. It was heaven after the office in Memphis! But then I began to get into the office intrigues, which go on in every office in the world and my position, which had no title, became difficult. Sometimes “R.M.,” as the staff called this tiny multimillionaire, would send me over to pounce on all the mail at his Mercury office on 50th Street and search through it in order to see if the staff over there—including his own daughter who was the boss at Mercury —were filching from or messing up the mail accounts! This did not endear me to that staff, nor did I gain any popularity when I discovered leftwing sympathies in some of the editors and presented the evidence as was my duty, to the boss. Part of my job was also to filter the thousands of requests for financing which plague every wealthy man and throw out the scoundrels, the fakes, the boobs and quite a few decent people with whom R.M. simply did not want to be bothered.

Meanwhile, I was busily searching out and rounding up the talent for Maguire’s “hard-core.” In the process, I came across a man named DeWest Hooker. When I met Hooker, once again, my life changed permanently. Hooker already knew Maguire and Hooker had been the nearest thing to a Nazi since the Bund. He was a graduate of Cornell, exactly my age, with the same temperament, same ideas, and infinitely more experience.

He was handsome, so handsome that he made money as a professional model, whom I still see in cigarette ads. His rugged, aristocratic face was framed by perfectly groomed hair, greying at the temples. His build was athletic and tall, and he walked with a bounce and spring in his step which is rarely seen among our beat people. He was a descendant of the Hooker who had signed the Declaration of Independence, with millionaire parents and a millionaire wife.

But, most important of all, Hooker was a Nazi! He was not a “patriot” or a “right-winger” or a “conservative,” but a fighting, tough, all-out-Nazi. He had gone into the streets of New York City and rounded up gangs of tough kids and potential juvenile delinquents, and converted them to fanatical loyalty to the United States, the White Race and Adolf Hitler. He called this gang of little hoods the Nationalist Youth League, and I was deeply impressed when I saw what leadership and guts will do to make decent, dedicated Americans out of little lost baby gangsters. Hooker had those kids worshiping him! He was an obvious aristocrat from a mansion in Greenwich, Connecticut, who wore a Homburg and a Chesterfield with supreme dignity, and he led those little New York gutter kids out of despondency to form picket lines against Jewish Communism, right in its filthy stronghold: New York City!

My first meeting with Hooker was on a Thanksgiving Day, when he was due at a family dinner, but we got so totally absorbed in our discussion that he kept his wife waiting hours, until she was very angry at him. As we talked, he told me one amazing thing after the other.

Wes explained the Jews to me more clearly than I had ever figured out before. He described, with dramatic gestures, how they operate like a snake with different skins, which they crawl out of or into as the strategic need may arise. When Jewish Communism begins to get too “hot,” as it has here in the U.S., because of the millions who saw the parade of Jew Communist spies, they slide out of that skin and become Zionists. And when this also gets too hot, then they molt and become “anti-communists” or something else. In the excitement, nobody ever seems to notice that it is always the same snake.

Even more enlightening, he gave me a sparkling clear picture of the mess I had come to know on my own as the “movement”—the cowards, the loud-mouths, the hobbyists, the ADL agents, the “prostitutes” who make money out of it—the whole depressing lot of them. […]

I discovered Hooker hated Maguire, for whom I was working. Maguire, he said, was rabid only on one thing, the Mercury, his pet project—and the hell with the cause itself. He told me that Maguire was utterly ruthless financially and would weasel out of any deal he could, if it cost him money. He even claimed that Maguire had tried to hire him, Bill Evans (for whom I had obtained the loan from Snowden) and another man to kill key Jews at $10,000 a head, but that he became so difficult to pin down on the money question, they felt he would never pay. In fact, some of the boys wanted to shoot Maguire instead. Hooker said Maguire would talk forever about his “hard-core,” but would never do anything.

Meanwhile, in our trailer in Moonachie, my wife and I were very happy, considering the restricted living-space. She was once more pregnant, but we had money in the bank and our family grew daily more loving and united. With the pay coming in steadily and Maguire promising me raises for a job I wanted very much to do, the future seemed ideal.

I spent a good deal of time with Wes at his place in Greenwich and in New York. He had been driven out of business and political activity by the Anti-Defamation League and Jacob Javitz who was at that time New York Attorney General. The Jews had even obtained a permanent injunction against him in New York, as they are trying now to do in my case. He had to move from Larchmont, New York, to Greenwich, Connecticut.

Hooker was convinced that the “movement” would never succeed in the U.S. because, he said, “The “fat-cats” are too selfish and greedy ever to support a movement the way the Jews support their boys.” He was disgusted, and I couldn’t blame him, after I heard the series of experiences he had had with the “fat-cats,” as he called them—experiences which I have since “enjoyed” myself.

These creatures would pay any amount for some little pet project they had in mind, but they would not pay any money to the human talent necessary to get a fighting, efficient organization together, as the Jews do.

I still felt then that they could be persuaded to back a responsible plan and responsible people, and talked West into holding off on his plans to quit the movement and go back into business to make money, as he had previously done in TV, for instance, where he had made $40,000 a year. I told West I was working for Maguire with specific instructions to organize such a group. He scoffed and said Maguire would welch. I felt differently and stuck up for Maguire all the way. I felt sure I could bring these two good men together eventually, in spite of the wild talk and charges.

Hooker has the genius which is desperately needed by the dead right-wing, and I felt sure I could get Maguire to back him eventually as a leader. I had to run back and forth between them, as you would between two pouting school girls who had turned their backs to one another. But little by little, I got them closer together. Finally, Maguire agreed to a secret meeting between Hooker, himself, Fred Willis (Maguire’s oldest and best friend), and myself at Maguire’s Park Lane apartment.

Hooker put his full faith into the effort and came up with complete list of all the people and “leaders” in the movement, their records, their potentials and their drawbacks. He also had an accurate list of the spies and agents of the Anti-Defamation League which had Maguire itchy-fingered. Although it irritated him and went against his nature, I even got Hooker worked up to the point where he called Maguire “Sir,” as I did.

We presented a complete plan for a slow, secret Nazi build-up under Hooker throughout the U.S.A. using the personnel and leaders already so well known to Hooker, a front group with an “almost” Nazi flavor and—financing by Maguire. Eventually, we felt that most of the other rich men would help, if they could see something first. Maguire seemed entranced with everything we presented. Hooker wanted to give him the complete list of ADL and other Jewish agents, plus the evaluations of all right-wing leaders, but I had suggested holding off until we got some kind of commitment. This tactic got results.

“All right!” said Maguire, with the air of a man suddenly decided on an immense step. “I’ll back it! The country doesn’t have five years left! We’ve simply got to do it! I’ll put in a thousand dollars for the first year!”

Hooker looked at me with his mouth open. I looked at Hooker, then we both looked at Maguire’s old friend, Willis. Here was a multimillionaire with over $80 million, sitting in an apartment which was costing him at least $1500 a month, to say nothing of his fabulous palace on the waterfront in Connecticut—and he was telling us that he was going to “back” a national political movement of gigantic proportions to save America, with $1000 a year! And he was going to do this great thing because “we only have five years left!”

Hooker and Willis were all for giving Maguire hell right there and then. Willis was worse than disgusted and said so, but Hooker kept quiet at my request.

I tried again. I knew Maguire spent hundreds of thousands of dollars per year printing Mercury and reprints from the magazine, plus all kinds of material for his four or five offices. I reasoned that if he were too stingy to contribute, perhaps we could get him at least to trade with us as printers, and thus finance the movement. We had dozens of young men who would learn the printing trade overnight and work like horses for nothing—which would make all the printing profits pure gravy for the fight.

Scrambling wildly in my mind to put this deal together while keeping peace at the meeting I made the pitch to Maguire and he accepted it. He agreed to give us the printing and the “fabulous” thousand dollars a year!

We parted at the canopied door on Park Avenue. Willis seemed too disgusted to talk any further. After hearing Maguire moan and groan year after year about the utterly desperate situation of America and the White Race, after hearing him admit that the only way to save ourselves from the Jews was with a tough, hard core, it must have been galling in the extreme to see him sitting on his money bags and offer to toss us a few-coppers for going out into the streets to have our heads bashed in by tyrants.

Hooker and I went to his club (Cornell), right around the corner and sat in the library trying to calm down and get our bearings for further action. In spite of the setback, it seemed to me at the time that I had rescued things with the printing deal. I wanted to plunge full speed ahead with arrangements. Hooker was understandably sour and predicted that Maguire would simply welch again, but I wheedled him into going along on the deal. He admitted that I had had more success than anybody so far with Maguire, just by getting on the payroll and arranging the meeting. Maguire, he pointed out, usually refused to see more than one person at a time, to avoid witnesses. So, West had a flicker of faith in my own enthusiasm and we went to work setting up a printing plant.

We got a press, a little store, started the boys frantically reading manuals on printing, held meetings, planned financing, raised money and generally did all the things necessary to be ready to handle our end of the business deal. Then I went to Maguire and said we were ready to start with some small printing orders, perhaps office forms.

It is probably an insult to the reader’s intelligence to state bluntly what happened. Men do not suddenly change their habits—Maguire welched. There was no printing to be had at any of his offices. Not only did he welch, but I now became a source of great discomfort for him. My presence was a silent, unspoken, even unconscious rebuke to him for his faithlessness. It was hard for him to go through the “we’ve only got five years left” bit with all his visitors, as he did every day, with me at his elbow. […]

Maguire’s daughter was the boss at Mercury, and it was not long before I discovered an indefinable blockage to everything I tried to do in the office. I thought at first it was his daughter, Natasha, but found out that the old man himself was behind a few louse-ups. One day he called me from his office and told me to meet him two floors below. He didn’t want us to be seen conferring. We met in the men’s room and he told me that his wife was giving him a hard time about me. She was a White Russian, he assured me, and on “our” side, but didn’t want to jeopardize the luxurious life she had attained with her husband, nor risk the security of her children. It was the old story, but I never expected to hear it from a multimillionaire. Maguire told me his wife was so upset that he was taking her on a Caribbean cruise, a pattern I have since learned that he follows whenever things get too hot, as they did recently when the New York papers blasted him at the instigation of the ADL for being “anti-Semitic,” which the sly little fox denied!

He told me his wife had heard of my efforts to organize a “hard-core” for him, and was “terrified.” He whispered on and on so disgustingly about the pressure on him, and kept referring to the possibility of “cutting the thread,” meaning my employment, that I naturally offered to resign. He accepted before I managed to get the words out, assured me that he would secretly support me with cash, instead of the salary, to keep up my work, and “soon” would give us the printing business to launch the movement. Needless to say, none of this materialized.

He did, however, buy two of the articles I did when the Marine Corps was under attack by the reds for its eliteness and aristocratic, tough traditions… But that was about the last I ever saw of Russell Maguire or his money. He is probably still telling people we have only five years before it is all over, so we must hurry and subscribe to Mercury! We are, I suppose, to beat the Jews to death with baled copies of this non-anti-Semitic journal. Since this was written, he has sold out altogether and run.

Many right-wingers are sincerely concerned, I know, about my battles with men such as Maguire, Snowden, et al. and my revelations of what they really are. “They are doing good,” I am told, “why not let them go about their business their own way. They are helping. Don’t hurt them.”

I maintain that they are only giving the appearance of helping. They are the ones who are actually hurting. Before a mass of people will rise up and do anything effective and forceful about a tyrannical situation, there must be built up a certain emotional pressure. A firecracker has not the force of a rifle bullet because it explodes harmlessly in all directions. But the gas from a rifle bullet cannot escape, except by forcing the bullet out at terrific speed,because it is confined and directed into useful channels.

As long as Maguire and all the rest of his ilk, rich and poor, can give themselves the illusion of fighting the Jews by exploding the pressure inside of them verbally and harmlessly—in all directions—without hurting a single Jew traitor, they keep the all-important pressure from building up sufficiently so that we will get mad enough to fight. The Jews know this and so permit these hundreds and hundreds of harmless little right-wing organizations to spout incessantly and unheeded, behind the Jewish “paper curtain” of silence. These organizations don’t reach any significant number of people outside their own group and when they do, their approach is so feeble and wrong-headed that they recruit only a few odd-balls. They never, never get out into the public, into the streets, in order to reach the masses with an inspiring and driving, masculine movement, which alone can win their hearts!

If just one tenth of the cold cash which has been pouring for decades into such “firecracker” movements were to be contained, directed, and channeled behind an ideological bullet in the form of fighting men with a fighting message, the Jews would stop at nothing to crush and destroy that deadly “bullet.” Even without the large amounts of this figurative gunpowder, but with force and direction, the bullets we have been firing have earned the all-out attack of the Jews—the only sure sign that we are firing something far more effective than the usual right-wing “gas” at them. The Jews know that our brand of sniping will eventually destroy their illegal, tyrannical power. […]

As long as the hordes of tricky little “patriot” societies all over America allow our oppressed and harassed people to blow off the pressure caused by this filthy tyranny once a week in harmless “wind” and “gas,” there will never appear in America that holy and awesome power of aroused masses, the raging fires of social upheaval, which alone have always toppled the greatest tyrants, and for which there is no substitute. There are plenty of people already awake in America, They are afraid and they are frustrated by their inability to do anything about the terrible evil which they see growing.

Mercury Magazine does indeed “inform” a lot of people. But we don’t need any more informed people who won’t stand up and fight to oppose tyranny. Such things as Mercury also keep the “steam pressure” of emotions down in millions of Americans who are already informed and who feel that as long as Mercury is published, “something” is being done. Such Americans are also fooled by the constant advice to “write your congressman,” as if we can somehow petition or talk our way out of tyranny. But worst of all, Mercury, and a thousand other little projects like it, are financial leaks which keep the right-wing bled to death. There simply is no money for the battle, no money for the bullets and powder, because it has all been spent on firecrackers, uniforms, the band, pictures of the enemy, exciting rallies and bed-time stories for the troops.