Compromise Kills

American Dissident Voices broadcast of 1 March, 2025

by Kevin Alfred Strom

I HAVE UNUSUAL TASTES in reading. I have never cared about reading “the latest thing” that “everyone” is so interested in. Most such books are worthless, and forgotten in a fortnight. I do strive to understand the world I am living in and partly responsible for — the world which my children will inherit. This quest for understanding leads me to both new books and old ones. On my desk is a new one on real economics (not the type they teach in System schools), Jeff Booth’s The Price of Tomorrow, which promises to be every bit as rewarding and mind-expanding as Clifford Hugh Douglas’s Social Credit was to me (and to Ezra Pound) in that field. But today I am reading I Can Go Home Again by Arthur Gray Powell.

I first ran across the extremely obscure 1943 book I Can Go Home Again, written by the now almost-forgotten Georgia jurist and elected official Arthur Gray Powell, while I was doing my almost endless research into the Leo Frank case. Powell makes some very wrong-headed and certainly incorrect statements about the case in the book, but that’s not what held my interest once I had the book in my hands. What was valuable for me was Powell’s close look at the South, and the Old America in general, particularly as regards racial matters. I’ve read a lot of it, and I look forward to reading the rest. Powell was a part of the educated White Southern elite. He was born in 1873, during so-called “Reconstruction,” and he grew up during the tumultuous period when Whites in the South were taking back control of their states from the outsiders, exploiters, and insane racial egalitarians who had established illegal dictatorships there after the horrific Civil War and its even more horrific aftermath. He lived until 1951, just a few years before my birth, and so experienced World War 2 and the Roosevelt/Jewish/Communist revolution that ultimately destroyed the Old America. He’s a good writer and led a most interesting life. And, like most people in most times, he was a compromiser.

He began as a fighter for morality and for protecting his people against the abuses of multiracial “democracy.” One practice that corrupt southern Whites learned from the fake “democracy” of Reconstruction was the practice of paying Negroes to vote in mass numbers to get corrupt candidates elected. (This kind of corruption wasn’t reserved to the South, of course. Many big American cities were run in this way. See the facts surrounding Edgar Allan Poe’s death in Baltimore in 1849 if you want a particularly sad example. And it wasn’t restricted to using just Negroes, either — often alcoholic street people or other parts of the urban rabble were “voted” by brazenly rounding them up from their hidey-holes and haunts, even using megaphones and omnibuses, and promising them booze, women, or a couple silver quarters to go to the polling stations and “do their civic duty.”)

Judge Powell describes an incident around the turn of the century in which liquor vendors conspired with crooked politicians to import Blacks into his town in order to elect a ticket that would loosen up the town’s liquor laws; and he also tells us what young men in his set did about it. Listen:

Under [the local town charter] any person qualified to vote in the county elections was qualified to vote in the town elections, if he lived in the town; and no length of residence in the town was required. A day or so before the election, a horde of Negroes from the country farms would be collected by the saloon group, moved into town and crowded into shanties provided for that purpose. When the election day came, they claimed citizenship in the town and voted. Promptly thereafter they moved back to the farms….

The young Powell and his group wanted to clean up the town, end drunkenness, and stop corruption. They engaged with the best men of the town, including a Dr. Strong, to head a reform ticket.

We approached Dr. Strong, and he agreed to head our ticket, as mayor, with four others we could count on as councilmen. Dr. Strong was a quiet, reserved, old gentleman. However, he had a brother living in the country, who was a member of the ‘“Colomokee Nine.”

The Colomokee Nine was an organization that existed in the Colomokee District with the purpose of preventing Negroes from voting in that district. The name was derived from the fact that at one election there the members had appeared at the precinct in baseball suits, and each of them carried a baseball bat. They used for the ball the head of any Negro who tried to vote. When Dr. Strong’s candidacy was announced, his brother in the Colomokee Nine volunteered the services of his team to attend the election.

The polls opened at seven o’clock. By six-thirty scores of country Negroes could be seen huddled around fires built on the public square, guarded by the town marshals and several deputies. The Colomokee Nine were in the courthouse, standing in the corridor into which the voters had to come to cast their ballots. With them was another brother of Dr. Strong, Mr. DuPont Strong, one of the finest specimens of physical manhood I ever saw.

There were no registration lists, but if a would-be voter offered his ballot, any citizen could challenge his right to vote, whereupon the managers would question him under oath as to his qualifications. I had been selected to do the challenging. As the polls were opened, the march of the Negroes began toward the courthouse. A little Negro, named Ed Ryals, who as we all knew lived with his mother three miles from town, was the first to approach the balloting place and offer to vote. I promptly challenged. When he was sworn and asked if he resided within the corporate limits of Blakely, he answered, “Yaz, suh!”

DuPont Strong was just behind me, and, as the Negro gave the answer, he called out, “You are a damned liar,” and with a. mighty swing, struck him under the jaw. I think that little Negro must have sailed through the air ten feet; and when he came down he hit the floor running. Instantly, pistols flashed from hip pockets—from the pockets of the Colomokee Nine on one side of me and from the pockets of the marshals on the other—and there I was right in the line of fire between them, wholly unarmed, as I never carried a weapon.

Not a shot was fired. As the pistols appeared, the Negroes began to run. They ran over themselves and even over a few white men and boys who were in the way. They ran and did not stop running until they were entirely out of town. Even those Negroes who had not yet started to the polls joined the exodus. The suddenness of the stampede and its amusing phases distracted the attention of the armed forces on both sides, and they forgot to shoot one another in their desire to watch the spectacle taking place on the Square and down the streets leading from it. As soon as it was plain that the Negroes were gone, the Colomokee Nine quietly retreated through a back hallway and were gone.

Powell’s ticket won the election, and I suppose that is one way to make multiracial democracy “work.” But it’s hardly permanent. And it’s wide open to legal challenge and life-ruining prosecution, especially when non-Whites are an ever-increasing proportion of the jury pool, a situation that has now become literally terminal for White people in Georgia today. It would never work now. Just for one shining moment was it possible, and Judge Powell saw that moment. Keeping multiracial democracy as society’s basic principle, and using roughs with baseball bats to ameliorate its flaws, is going to be deadly for the race sooner or later, and “later” is now.

But, as I said, Judge Powell was a compromiser at heart. He speaks warmly of his friendship with the ultra-corrupt servant of Jewish interests Governor John Slaton, which should tell you something. Even after describing in his book some of the horrors of Blacks “going berserk” and saying that such Blacks are “wild beast[s] apparently without human instincts” — even after saying that in the racial segregation that still existed in 1943 “lies the preservation of both races” — even almost immediately after describing the total corruption of Negroes and the White crooks who use them, he nevertheless speaks with real emotion of the deep “affection” that all good Whites and all good Blacks in Georgia feel for one another. The clear implication is that he loves, and wishes for the multiracial aspect of Georgia and America to continue. Not a word about what will happen when the non-White birthrate swamps the state that he loves, taking almost all political power away from his children and grandchildren.

And when it comes to “White supremacy,” why, for compromiser Powell (and, I am sure many a million vaguely pro-White Americans), it’s all just a great big “meritocracy,” pretty much the same thing that Elon Musk and Donald Trump and all their Jew and Hindu friends are now pushing on America. Powell says, “The white race is supreme today,
because up to date it has so proved itself,” leaving it totally open for other groups with “more merit” to take over and enslave or exploit or even exterminate his descendants someday if they see fit — as long as they are “winners” with plenty of “merit.” It’s hard not to like good writer and storyteller Powell — but this kind of totally irresponsible compromise and thoughtlessness and betrayal makes me strongly dislike him — and his get-along, “practical,” compromising kind.

Everyone who is married and has children, or who makes business deals, knows that compromise is sometimes necessary if life is to go on. I am not disputing that. The good things in life flow to the practical, and the man who will not budge, ever, often ends as a penniless and bitter hermit in the hills. And those who know this sometimes also believe that being open to compromises is a general principle. It is not. There are some things on which one cannot compromise, because the cost is death or dishonor. Sometimes: racial death.

One cannot compromise on “how many times” Andrew Tate can sexually enslave your daughter. Zero is the only possible number, and one should live — and die if necessary — to enforce that. One also cannot compromise on “how many” media corporations Jews shall be allowed to own in your nation. Again, zero is the only possible number. And — something I have stressed probably hundreds of times in my writings — contrary to what conservatives and populists are saying, zero is also the only tolerable number of non-Whites (which emphatically includes Jews) that should be allowed to reside and own properties in White nations. Any other number besides zero is fatal, if not in your generation, then in the next or the next after that. And we need to be open, insistent, relentless, and absolutely uncompromising about that.

Even if, in our own lifetimes, we fail to establish our uncompromising new order based on that latter principle, our efforts will move society at least some distance in the right direction, much further than it would have moved should we keep silent or agree to the compromises proposed by our enemies and by the weak — and will inspire future generations by example, so they can continue and expand our work. Look at the great life-work of Hitler and the National Socialists. They lost the battle, but the war is far from over. And their great example, and heroic sacrifice, are not forgotten. Their ideals will one day be the basis for a world-changing political and spiritual movement — and religion — whose greatest incarnation so far is William Pierce’s Cosmotheism. It isn’t over.

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