# 1409
Is The 'Turner Diaries' Becoming REALITY?
I’ll never forget that terrible day: November 9, 1989. They knocked on my door at five in the morning. I was completely unsuspecting as I got up to see who it was.
I opened the door, and four Negroes came pushing into the apartment before I could stop them. One was carrying a baseball bat, and two had long kitchen knives thrust into their belts. The one with the bat shoved me back into a corner and stood guard over me with his bat raised in a threatening position while the other three began ransacking my apartment.
My first thought was that they were robbers. Robberies of this sort had become all too common since the Cohen Act, with groups of Blacks forcing their way into White homes to rob and rape, knowing that even if their victims had guns they probably would not dare use them.
Then the one who was guarding me flashed some kind of card and informed me that he and his accomplices were “special deputies” (Obama’s Civilian Security forces?) for the Northern Virginia Human Relations Council (Same as Obama’s Civilian National Security Force). They were searching for firearms, he said.
I couldn’t believe it. It just couldn’t be happening. Then I saw that they were wearing strips of green cloth tied around their left arms. As they dumped the contents of drawers on the floor and pulled luggage from the closet, they were ignoring things that robbers wouldn’t have passed up: my brand-new electric razor, a valuable gold pocket watch, a milk bottle full of dimes. They were looking for firearms!
I opened the door, and four Negroes came pushing into the apartment before I could stop them. One was carrying a baseball bat, and two had long kitchen knives thrust into their belts. The one with the bat shoved me back into a corner and stood guard over me with his bat raised in a threatening position while the other three began ransacking my apartment.
My first thought was that they were robbers. Robberies of this sort had become all too common since the Cohen Act, with groups of Blacks forcing their way into White homes to rob and rape, knowing that even if their victims had guns they probably would not dare use them.
Then the one who was guarding me flashed some kind of card and informed me that he and his accomplices were “special deputies” (Obama’s Civilian Security forces?) for the Northern Virginia Human Relations Council (Same as Obama’s Civilian National Security Force). They were searching for firearms, he said.
I couldn’t believe it. It just couldn’t be happening. Then I saw that they were wearing strips of green cloth tied around their left arms. As they dumped the contents of drawers on the floor and pulled luggage from the closet, they were ignoring things that robbers wouldn’t have passed up: my brand-new electric razor, a valuable gold pocket watch, a milk bottle full of dimes. They were looking for firearms!
Another man walked into my apartment. He was a Caucasian, though with an unusually dark complexion. He also wore a green armband, and he carried an attaché case and a clipboard.
The Blacks greeted him deferentially and reported the negative result of their search: “No guns here, Mr. Tepper.”
Tepper ran his finger down the list of names and apartment numbers on his clipboard until he came to mine. He frowned. “This is a bad one,” he said. “He has a racist record. Been cited by the Council twice. And he owned eight firearms which were never turned in.”
Tepper opened his attaché case and took out a small, black object about the size of a pack of cigarettes which was attachéd by a long cord to an electronic instrument in the case. He began moving the black object in long sweeps back and forth over the walls, while the attaché case emitted a dull, rumbling noise. The rumble rose in pitch as the gadget approached the light switch, but Tepper convinced himself that the change was caused by the metal junction box and conduit buried in the wall. He continued his methodical sweep.
Tepper opened his attaché case and took out a small, black object about the size of a pack of cigarettes which was attachéd by a long cord to an electronic instrument in the case. He began moving the black object in long sweeps back and forth over the walls, while the attaché case emitted a dull, rumbling noise. The rumble rose in pitch as the gadget approached the light switch, but Tepper convinced himself that the change was caused by the metal junction box and conduit buried in the wall. He continued his methodical sweep.
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