"Catcher in the Reich: My Account of my Experience in Charlottesville," by Matt Parrott
My heart sank and my adrenaline dumped when our formation marching toward Lee Park slowed to a crawl and then a stop, and then I heard yelling at the front of the line. My prediction going in was that since the National Guard and a smorgasbord of law enforcement communities had dispatched hundreds of officers to restore order, that this would be orderly and civilized, like Pikeville.
I was dead wrong. They weren't there to keep the peace, but to stoke anarchy, ...an outcome the ideological "anarchists" soon came to regret.
In Pikeville, the police had plenty of time to plan and prepare. The police had accurate estimates for crowd size and strength on both sides. There were no surprises and the event was completed with no injuries, with both sides feeling that law enforcement had protected their right to express themselves. Surely, they wouldn't gamble or get "clever" about a rally of this magnitude.
Charlottesville had plenty of lead time and accurate stats going in, as well. But the City of Charlottesville and the governor wanted to achieve what the mayor of Pikeville and the governor of Kentucky didn't. They set us up for a massacre. They dutifully stood back, smug in the fact we would be defeated, humiliated, and dispersed by the single greatest mob of antifa radicals in American history. Knowing the raw logistics, and realizing upon entry what the police were doing, I confess that I also assumed we were going to end up butchered and broken. Those were the simple event logistics.
Southerners don't calculate odds the way we Yankees do, and the League of the South were directly in front of us in the line. With a full-throated rebel yell, the League broke through the wall of degenerates and TradWorker managed to enter the Lee Park venue itself while they were largely still reeling. Michael Tubbs, an especially imposing League organizer towered over and pushed through the antifa like a Tyrannosaurus among raptors as league fighters with shields put their training to work.
Cesar Hess, a Regional Coordinator of ours who’s an experienced combat veteran, worked with the League, NSM, and other Nationalist Front groups to help create two shield walls. One was at the stairwell and one was to the right of the stairwell. This was the area designated for the fight by the officers, who intentionally left it entirely unprotected and unsupervised. Our men were clearly less armed than theirs and it showed. They blasted pepper spray like a startled squid every time we pushed them back, launched their little smoke and stink bombs, and even began propelling their own urine and feces at our men when their munitions ran low.
While most of the Identity Evropa men were occupied on other fronts, they sent a detachment of fighters to assist us and to relay intelligence to Jason Kessler and other organizers. They offered more fighters, but we had our positions amply covered. I ended up investing most of my time during the fighting diving into the brawl to extract men who had been disabled by pepper spray to lead them to our several medic teams for treatment.
We had guys get pepper sprayed, get treated, and dive back into the fight, only to be pepper sprayed and treated again, then dive back into the fight! While Cesar’s TradWorker, Schoep’s NSM, and Dr. Michael Hill’s League men stuck with a relatively organized plan to define and secure the event perimeter, the Outlaw Hammerskins wove around through the antifa crowd like they were invincible. With the exception of some pretty nasty flesh wounds they treated themselves (then re-entered the fight), they pretty much proved invincible out there.
While milling through the brawl, I spotted Daryl Lamont Jenkins. After he recognized me and called me out, a half-smile and a knowing look in his eyes confirmed that he was also bewildered. He’s also been at this game for a very long time and he knew that this event was going wildly off course. Moments later, an aging transvestite--I won’t dignify this deranged broad-shouldered man in ill-fitting women’s clothing as a full tranny--got up in my face and started yelling at me threatening to dox and expose me. I was far more afraid of his rotting teeth and clumsily applied clown makeup than being outed as a nationalist.
As a full confession, I didn’t land a single blow against an antifa the entire event. I have in the past, and it feels great. But I felt that there was a shield wall and the first priority was simply getting men far better at fighting than myself who had been temporarily blinded or bowled over behind the wall to recover.
That we all (united!) decisively won the fight isn’t spin. It isn’t an angle. Even excepting the automotive incident and the police helicopter Chris Cantwell shot down, antifa received dozens of ambulatory injuries while only a couple of our men required more than mere first aid on the scene. Signer’s third world thug government worked hand in glove with the antifa and police to corner our dramatically outnumbered men for a beatdown on primetime television, and their defeat became a primetime spectacle.
I have no idea how long we were fighting. Time slows down. I’m guessing we were there about an hour before the antifa had become so discouraged and frightened that they were crying out for the police to help them. Our men remained on our permitted premises, so help only meant one thing: helping them break our defensive line. I was walking a fighter back to the medics when I heard the police announce over the megaphone that it was now an “unlawful assembly” and that everybody was to disperse.
Cops started directing our men to break their defensive line so we did so, assuming this was all part of some plan. It was. The plan was for the cops to break our line so that antifa could finally run wild through the park. The cops broke our line and then exited the area altogether. That was their contingency plan in case the antifa couldn’t break our line. That didn’t work either. They fared even worse in an open melee than they did against our shield wall.
Bear in mind while reading this that we were entirely trapped in the park. Fighting was not optional. This was classic self-defense in the most simple and direct manner. The police had deliberately removed our ability to protect ourselves while not offering us protection. As the police began forming into a straight line preparing to vacate the park, I yelled at an officer, “How are we supposed to exit?! How the fuck do we peacefully exit the park?!”
He smiled smugly and pointed in the opposite direction of our entrance, through their barricades, and through a human sea of degenerates open-carrying with open sores. As Cesar is the commanding officer, I asked his permission to go “Charlie.” I handed him my helmet and walked up to the Robert E. Lee monument to stand my ground and occupy my constitutionally protected free speech event space alone. Heimbach, Cesar, and the rest of the leaders were trying to guide our men in the direction the officers ordered, retreating at the behest of the cops who weren’t going to allow us to occupy the space we had firmly secured.
From the base of the statue, I had a beautiful panoramic view of the final minutes of the battle. At this point, the antifa were a terrifying spectre, drenched in their own blood, sweat, tears, and pepper spray. Perhaps they’ll learn some day not to fire that shit when they’re in a standstill melee. Perhaps not. For all their hanging around college campuses, antifa never seem to learn anything.
Most of the antifa had become so discouraged at this point that they had retreated back. Only a handful of their heartiest fighters, positively exhausted, fumbled aimlessly, half-blinded by their own chemical weapons, lashing out at the nationalists who were being forced into them by the encircling riot cops. Andy Nowicki came into focus, looking--in both physiognomy and attire--more like a liberal reporter than an altright sympathizer, yelling at the riot cops and demanding to know why and how they were clearly and directly violating a federal judge’s direct and simple order.
Our men and women were laughing, joking, and beginning to celebrate as the scale and scope of the victory was coming into focus. All of the antifa the entire left could muster were afforded a blank check to beat us to death by the complicit police force of this anti-white local, state, and federal government. For everyone but me, the lethally dangerous job of working through the maze of antifa mobs, police blockades, and contradictory police directions back to their vehicles was just beginning.
I wrote a status update on my Facebook wall, “We will not be replaced.” and then put my phone away. Shortly afterwards, I was zip-tied and led into a wagon which took me to the police department directly beside our parking garage and released. They attempted to have me sign a form promising not to return to the park, which I refused to do. I remained calm and polite, as I’m not there to challenge the physical power of the state. I’m here to expose its corruption and complicity in White Genocide.
The police immediately let me out. I was only a political prisoner for about 20 minutes, not nearly long enough to write my manifesto. Fortunately, the jail was right beside my parking garage and my civil disobedience had earned me a free pass out of the most dangerous part of the whole event. I called up Heimbach to find out where everybody was at and Heimbach explained the nightmare unfolding in a raspy and strained voice. We went out to battle the left’s elderly chainsmoking cat ladies and all went home sounding like them. He explained that “Everybody is lost. Everybody. The police are chasing small groups of both sides in random directions and into blockaded blind alleys.”
I had thought all my adrenaline had been expended already, but the thought of my men being herded into dozens of traps in the narrow streets and alleyways of Charlottesville frightened me all over again. The police all appeared angry, frustrated, and confused as I’ve never seen them before. While I was furious at them at the time, it’s clear that they were the victims of an egregious leadership failure which also imperiled them. They were not able to keep up with the entirely unnecessary chaos they had been ordered to unleash and then ordered to deal with. Police don’t hire on to enact a maniacal politician’s revenge fantasies. They hire on to protect both townies and visitors alike and they were being used.
I fully sympathize with and support the young man who, after finally making it alive to his vehicle, was fully blockaded, swarmed, threatened, and explicitly denied any police protection. Mayor Signer and the officers who obeyed his immoral and unlawful order killed that girl who died in the street after playing her fun little game of mob violence. The liberal political class and the government are shrieking so loudly at me and mine right now precisely because they know they’re guilty, know they’re caught red-handed, and know that the only way through this is to steamroll over us with a nationwide hysteria.
But cooler heads will prevail. Facts will come to light. Video will be examined. The alternative media won’t let this story go the way the hand-in-glove mainstream media wants it to. The ACLU is already closing in on the government’s absurd handling of this event. With the amount of manpower and firepower at their disposal, the Commonwealth of Virginia could have EASILY and EFFORTLESSLY forced both antifa and nationalists to sit on picnic blankets and play patty-cake together. Instead, Mayor Signer and Vice-Mayor Bellamy chose to lead the nationalists into a trap, corner us with the help of the fucking military, and stand by as we were beaten to death.
It didn’t play out like that, but that was clearly the plan.
Driving around looking for lost goys, I spotted Andy Nowicki stumbling along by himself on the side of the highway. I parked and the two Identity Evropa allies who I had also found wandering by themselves alone on the street raced down the street to gather him up. I drove back and forth repeatedly from the parking garage through the city sweeping up comrades and driving them to safety. Like a catcher in the rye, I spent most of my time at both the melee itself and the period afterward frantically racing around trying to account for everybody’s safety.
People can carry on about “unity” all day long. It’s easier said than done, especially as real differences in both style and strategy divide our distinct organizations. When the Marxist degenerates came swarming in, I was glad to have the AltKnight project’s non-white fighters alongside me. I was glad to have people I’ve beefed with in the past helping me carry men who’d been disabled by pepper spray to the medic station. I eagerly picked up every man I could regardless of project affiliation.
Mayor Signer and his co-conspirators royally fucked up more than they could ever realize. But long after the people who’ve been killed by his fuckups are buried and the people who’ve been permanently disabled by his fuckups have learned to live with their debilitating conditions, one fuckup that will live on long afterward is the unity which can only come from being forced through a trial of this magnitude and making it through to the other side. Ironically, the nationalist solidarity and unity Jason Kessler was trying to achieve with this event was achieved by Signer, Bellamy, McAuliffe, and their complicit mainstream media cronies.
I know it wasn’t exactly Dunkirk out there, but I also tire of history snobs pretending that honor, sacrifice, and nobility are all things that belong to different men in different eras than our own. The bruises and wounds our fighters compared back at our sinister supervillain mountaintop retreat were fully authentic, as were the corneal abrasions on my priest’s eyes as he lied in bed all day. Sunday afternoon he finally agreed to go to the hospital after the second day of being unable to open his eyes. Father Matthew Raphael Johnson didn’t receive all of the mainstream media puffery and police protection that the globalist clergy standing in solidarity with antifa received. He wasn’t there for a contrived photo op. He was there for his flock.
The media can try to blame nationalists all day long, but just about anybody short of Mother Theresa herself, memory eternal, is going to fight like hell when they’ve got the fully armed National Guard blocking them from one side and a real life zombie apocalypse of pissed off degenerates with flamethrowers on the other. This weekend, the media narrative has been all about “nazi terrorism,” pretending we shot down the helicopters, drove into people on purpose like White ISIS, and sucker punched innocent anti-racists who were there to passionately yet peacefully demonstrate their principled opposition.
To be awkwardly honest for a brief moment, this situation was structurally unfair to the antifa. Every single similar event had basic police presence which defined basic boundaries on how bad things can get. There’s been an element of theater this whole summer with people on both sides dressing up in wacky costumes and trying to “battle” with all the bravado of a man who the bouncer was holding back. Antifa did mobilize their largest ever assembly, but they arrived to fight for their ideas, ...not fight for their lives. Daryl’s naturally running with his necessary narrative in his cable news appearances, that nazi terrorism has run amok in the New South. But we both know what happened was a spectacular and utterly preventable government leadership failure.
The antifa will likely also be stakeholders in the epic civil liberty lawsuit taking form. So will the journalists, pedestrians, and hopefully even the officers who were unlawfully ordered to host a bum fight for the mayor’s amusement. For a couple hours in Charlottesville, the Signer hosted a bizarre Hunger Games tournament with the hope that he would get to be the man who crushed the altright once and for all. Instead, he lulled America’s antifa subculture into the greatest humiliation in their entire history, notarized the altright’s transition from an Internet subculture to a proven street fighting faction, and got his own people killed and maimed. Hail Victory! Death to the World! And hail each and every last man and woman who fought the federal, state, and local government, the military, and the full force of the radical left, and emerged victorious!
Traditionalist Worker Party