Hateland (33 page)

The foot of the article was decorated with a drawing of a gallows and the words, 'IT AIN'T OVER TILL THE FAT MAN SWINGS'.

     Disillusionment at discovering they'd been led by a man who was simultaneously grassing them up must have provoked some soul-searching. For in the same issue, someone wrote a very perceptive assessment of the whole Nazi scene. The article - apart from its nods to the good old days of the Third Reich - could have appeared in the anti-fascist
Searchlight
magazine. Unsigned and titled, 'They ain't alright just because they're white', it read:

I've been involved in the so-called 'right-wing' for a number of years now, but when I step back and look at our so-called Movement, especially more recently, I can't help saying to myself, 'Why am I surrounded by so many "misfits"?' I'm sure that, if you are honest, you would have to agree with me.

The writer said that most of the so-called 'right-wingers' around today wouldn't have been fit to dig latrine pits for the Waffen SS, yet they claimed to represent the white race and declared themselves to be 'the so-called vanguard'.

The problem now is that since the war the pro-white groups have been desperate for the numbers and will accept absolutely anyone just because they're white and call themselves racists. It doesn't matter what sort of lowlife they are as long as they are 'our way'. Obviously, not everyone is scum in our movement, so let's take a look at the sort of people attracted to it.

1. The genuine idealists: these are few and far between. It's refreshing when you meet people who genuinely believe in the cause and are normal decent people.
   

2. The cowards: these unfortunately make up the bulk of the 'right-wing'. Blokes who are nothing by themselves, join up to be part of a gang, give it the right large one when they are at a nationalist event, sticking the boot in when the numbers are on our side, but in reality are the sort of blokes who would watch a couple of spades push in front of them in a queue and do nothing about it, just look away. You all know the sort: without the beer for 'Dutch courage', they're nothing.
   

3. The inadequates and losers: again, the 'right' is full of these types. They join because no one else will have them. They don't fit in with any 'normal' groups of people, so they turn to the group that accepts anyone - the 'right-wing' - where they have instant friends and drinking buddies and, because there are so many other inadequates, they fit in perfectly.
   

4. The faggots: because of the nature of the Movement, which is comprised of a lot of young blokes, queers tend to be attracted to it for devious reasons.
   

5. The sickos and weirdos: these are the sort of freaks who believe in the Hitler = Evil equation that is spread by the media, and because they want to be 'evil' they latch on to us. These types are usually involved in 'Satanism', cults, paedophilia, you name it. Luckily, these are small in number, but always prove to be the most embarrassing when they are exposed in the press and we are all tarred with the same brush. These types aren't National Socialists: if they hadn't infiltrated the 'right-wing' they would be in some sort of cult. Our enemies love deviants such as these, often encouraging them to join us.
   

6. The drunken bums: these sort of blokes are in their element in the 'right-wing' because most of it is just a big drinking club.
   

So there it is. You may not want to hear it, but it's true. The 'right-wing' accepts ANYONE - it has NO standards. We set ourselves up as though we're better than everyone else and talk about the general population as though they're scum and we are somehow above them. Well, the truth is that percentage-wise we most probably have ten times the number of scumbags in our movement than exist in the so-called 'non-racist' general population.

The writer said 'the Movement' had either to clean up its act and introduce some standards or carry on being a freak show for society to laugh at.

Personally, I don't want it to be the latter and I doubt if you do. So, it's up to the decent activists to give the freak show a wide berth and clean up our movement - dump the misfits, let 'em join the NSM!

The NSM was the 'National Socialist Movement', which had become the refuge for the wing of CI8 that remained loyal to Charlie Sargent. It had about eight members, including Sargent's brother Steve. It described itself as 'the political wing of Combat 18'. In fact, it had been formed originally by another fruitcake of my vague acquaintance called David Myatt, who was an unusual Nazi in that he had a posh accent, a long ginger beard, pebble glasses and a tweed flat-cap.

    I met him once at a paper sale in Brick Lane. I thought he'd mistakenly come to stand on the wrong side of the police barriers, because he looked more like a tree-hugging leftist than an Aryan stormtrooper. Indeed, Adolf regarded him as 'a deviant' and whispered that 'a naive young northerner' such as myself should steer well clear of him. Under no circumstances, said Adolf, should I accept an invitation from him to view his stamp collection. Myatt later resigned from the NSM after an anti-fascist group exposed his links with Satanism. I understand he's since abandoned Nazism - and converted to Islam.

     The same issue of
Strikeforce
carried an article about the so-called 'Mardi Gra' bomber who'd been planting explosive devices at branches of Barclays bank and the supermarket Sainsbury's since late 1994:

Although the 'Organised Crime Group' has proved successful in dealing with groups and organisations thanks to its heavy use of informers and agents, it has up until now failed to stop the lone 'Mardi Gra' bomber. The 'Mardi Gra' bomber is ZOG's nightmare: he is intelligent and capable of making bombs and booby traps; he works ALONE and it seems he is totally autonomous; he strikes at random and without warning.

The article concluded with the observation:

We at
Strikeforce
don't know the 'Mardi Gra' bomber's political orientation, his race or his motives, and we don't condone his attacks on stores where innocent shoppers could be hurt, but we have to agree that he is very effective and his 'modus operandi' is proving to cause ZOG a few problems. Look at the trouble he is causing, yet he is a one-man cell. Imagine if there were fifty White Resistance 'Mardi Gra' Bombers. Think about it!

    So the moral of this story is:

1.     Don't let your granny go shopping in Sainsbury's.
   

2.     LEADERLESS RESISTANCE DOES WORK!
   

In fact, the 'Mardi Gra' bomber was caught in April 1998 while the magazine was at the printer's. He turned out to be a reclusive white man in his 60s called Edgar Pearce. His motivation had been financial, not political. He'd demanded ten million pounds to stop. Pearce was jailed for 21 years in April 1999.

    In that same month, London was terrorised by another 'lone-wolf' bomber. On 17 April, a bomb exploded in Brixton, south London. Shoppers were blasted with hundreds of nails; 42 people were injured. A 4-in. nail embedded itself in the brain of a 23-month-old boy; two people lost eyes.

     When I first heard news of the bomb, I thought Adolf might have planted it. I knew Brixton had no political or military significance for Irish terrorists. But to the far-right, the area represented the black face of Britain. Adolf had been present
14
years earlier when Tony Lecomber's bomb had detonated in his car in nearby Clapham. And I couldn't help but think that Adolf might have had something to do with this one.

    A week later, another bomb exploded in Brick Lane in London's East End, an area with a large Asian population. It injured six. The third and most devastating bomb exploded the following Friday in Soho, the hub of London's gay scene. At the Admiral Duncan pub, two people died instantly, one of them a pregnant woman. A third person died in hospital. A hundred and thirty-nine were injured; four people lost legs. Callers allegedly from Combat 18 and a hitherto unknown group, the White Wolves, claimed responsibility.

    A short time later, the police announced the arrest of a single, 23-year-old London Underground worker from Farnborough in Surrey called David Copeland. At a press conference after his arrest, the police ruled out Copeland's links to the Nazi groups who'd claimed responsibility. Most journalists, who didn't pay close attention to the Metropolitan Police Assistant Commissioner's phrasing, assumed he'd said that Copeland had no links whatsoever to extreme right-wing groups. That was my reading too. In fact, the Assistant Commissioner had only said that Copeland had no links to the groups who'd claimed responsibility for the attacks.

    The police presented him as someone 'working alone for his own motives'. These words seemed to rule out political motives. I didn't believe this. My friends and I had never officially joined any Nazi groups either, but we'd still worked for 'the Movement'. I knew from Copeland's choice of targets that he had to have a fascist background, even if he'd worked alone in devising and carrying out his bombing campaign.

    In the week following the press conference, I rang Adolf. He'd been greatly excited by the bombs and, like me, had guessed immediately that Nazis stood behind them. In fact, Adolf had already heard on the grapevine that Copeland was a member of the National Socialist Movement, the refuge for the discredited Sargent faction of Combat 18, slagged off by the other faction as a dumping ground for 'misfits'.

     I hadn't forgotten Sargent's threat to me in the editorial of
The Order
or that he'd posted my photo both on the Internet and on the magazine's cover. I remembered his words, 'Not so clever now, are you!' I thought, 'We'll see who's fucking clever. I'll have the last - and longest - laugh.'

    Although Copeland had been working alone, without help from his NSM comrades, I knew those comrades would be delighted at what he'd done. By hoaxing Copeland, the new National Socialist hero, I hoped to remove a little bit of their delight - and get a little bit of revenge in the process. I decided in that moment that David Copeland would become the target of my next letter-writing campaign.

    Over the years, and quite by accident, I'd developed an unusual sideline in writing to 'nonces' - the sex murderers of women and children - usually in a bid to get them to confess to crimes they'd denied. I'd had some extraordinary success.

    I'd written to the Yorkshire Ripper posing as a blonde barmaid called 'Belinda Cannon'. Over a few months, he'd answered every question I'd asked him - from his favourite colour to why he'd wanted to commit mass murder, signing his letters 'with big juicy hugs'.

    Parallel to my correspondence with Sutcliffe, I'd also written to another nonce, Richard Blenkey, who'd been charged with sexually assaulting and strangling a seven-year-old boy. Our correspondence had lasted a year. Initially, he'd said he intended pleading not guilty. Then, remarkably, three weeks before his trial he confessed to me in a letter that he had indeed murdered the boy. The prosecution produced the letters at the trial - and Blenkey immediately pleaded guilty. He got a life sentence with a recommendation he serve at least 20 years. The father of the victim publicly thanked me for having saved the family the ordeal of a trial from which the murderer might easily have walked to freedom.

    I was named in national newspapers as the person who'd 'forced a child-killer to confess'. By the time of Copeland's bombing campaign, I'd had similar success with another child-killer.

    Now it was Copeland's turn. The main purpose of my hoax would be to coax from him details that might damage him at his trial. And getting one over on Sargent and the NSM would serve as an added bonus.

    When I wrote my first letter, I knew nothing more about him than what I'd gleaned from the media - single, 23-year-old London Underground worker from Surrey. In addition, as he'd bombed a mostly gay pub, I assumed he might be heterosexual, though perhaps not a practising one, as it had been reported that he didn't have a girlfriend. I decided to supply him with the female company he obviously lacked.

    I didn't need the police's description of him as a 'loner' to know he'd turn out to be a bit of a loser. Inevitably, there'd be some serious disturbance in his background, something that had probably destroyed his childhood. Inevitably, also, whatever had wounded him as a child would have left him with a deep-seated grievance against the world - and the belief he had the right to hit back violently.

    I had to create a female character who'd appeal to him. I drew on my experience of what tended to make young Nazis tick. Far-right magazines sometimes featured photos of blonde women wearing stockings, suspenders and Waffen SS regalia. They'd often be bound, gagged or in some other way restrained, that is, vulnerable and helpless. I knew my character had to be young, attractive and, most important, vulnerable. In her vulnerability, she wouldn't be a threat to him. He could feel in control.

    I settled for a slim, blonde secretary called Patsy Scanlon, a naively curious 20-year-old English rose. I created her name from my mother's maiden name, Scanlon, and my own first, albeit abandoned, Christian name, Patrick, the name of my hated father which I'd dropped when old enough to choose. 'Patsy' is also an American slang word for a sucker.

    I always tried to tailor my letters to suit the tastes of my targets. Usually, I'd start with a barely formed character, then wait to see how my 'penfriends' responded. What did they want? A lover? A friend? The character would be moulded, chameleon-like, to become whatever the target required.

    I knew I had to write the letters in a way that forced him to do the talking. That way, nobody could later accuse me of entrapment. I wanted him to brag about planting the bombs and to detail his Nazi beliefs and background - something the police had seemingly failed to unearth.