I arrived in a largely non-White neighborhood and made my way down the street. I noticed several heads poking out of the third floor windows and two security guards manning the front door under the giant letters CASAPOUND mounted on the side of the building. I was greeted with the customary forearm grip that serves as a handshake among members of the organization.
Sébastien greeted me by the stairwell and walked me upstairs to the packed meeting room where Italian men and women were energetically conversing amongst themselves. All of them looked like cool, healthy, approachable people. The men sported short haircuts or shaved heads while the women mostly had long hair. Everyone appeared to be in good spirits and were intimately familiar with one another. Fascist literature lined the bookshelves. Sébastien introduced me to a half dozen members and then took me out into the hall to explain a few things.
For those who are unaware, the CasaPound headquarters is not only for coordinating activism, but actually houses families who are struggling and can’t afford to pay for their own homes. The building is being squatted in illegally, but CasaPound has so strongly asserted their dominance over it that the police simply leave them alone. He pointed to a poster with several rows of photographed faces – martyrs. “He was shot, he was stabbed – these two were burned alive . . .”
He took me up two more floors, and we stopped in the conference room where a member was recording a radio show in one corner and several female members were conversing amongst themselves in the other. The young man doing the radio show noticed me and we exchanged Roman salutes. Next, Sébastien took me to the sixth story roof. With the Baroque majesty of Piazza Venezia illuminated in the distance, Sébastien gave me his take on White Nationalism as it exists in the United States.
Sébastien said, and I will paraphrase here: “We have meetings every day, we put up flyers every day! We were three guys advertising rock shows and getting people together. Now we’re everywhere and what have you guys got? In America, you’re still talking about Vikings and Norse gods online because someone’s ancestor set foot into Sweden a hundred years ago and then supposedly had thousands of kids. How many people know the history of their own county?”
As harsh as that might sound, we must admit to ourselves that beyond internet activism, the state of boots on the ground activism in the United States is in need of a monumental thrust forward. That isn’t to say internet activism has not had an effect. It most certainly has altered the narrative in a positive way, but it’s time to take the next step. A good start would be energizing the White Nationalist music scene again. The two prolific Italian fascist bands that are synonymous with CasaPound are ZetaZeroAlfa and Bronson.
Sébastien and I set out for CasaPound’s pub. In Rome, they own numerous properties including the pub, a cafe, a clothing store, a book shop that also sells clothing, CDs, DVDs and videotapes, multiple gyms, an art gallery, three tattoo parlors, as well as a restaurant down the street from the Colosseum. When we arrived at the pub, a security guard greeted Sébastien and opened the door for us. Sébastien informed me that this individual trains many of their fighters for professional competitions and, of course, street battles. Sébastien showed me a video on his phone in which 27 members of CasaPound brawled with riot police over a herd of migrants that were bussed into Rome. In the video, these men courageously stand their ground even after being struck repeatedly by batons and shields. During the same week I spent in Rome, several members of CasaPound had their homes raided for this very same incident and are currently behind bars. Sébastien took a seat near a young woman and her three-year-old son. The boy gleefully ran past our table with a toy plane in his hand. A pair of male and female bartenders served drinks to a group who had a game of cards going on at the table behind mine.
I asked Sébastien what he would do if a gang of Africans appeared at the door. CasaPound is a legal organization, so they technically cannot discriminate against any group. He said that occasionally, when a black person shows up and asks for a drink, they wordlessly give him a tiny plastic to-go cup and wait for him to leave. Apparently, that has worked so far as most non-Europeans know the pub belongs to them and voluntarily do not bother trying to get in. According to Sébastien, being French, he is the only immigrant in CasaPound.
According to Sébastien, CasaPound is far too often misunderstood as a group that wishes to kick out non-Italians. Instead, using black nationalist Kémi Séba as an example, he said that when blacks are made into nationalists who are not dependent on their host nations, they will genuinely want to return to the African nations of their origin. Kémi Séba apparently came upon this mindset after finding common ground with Whites who shared anti-Zionist views. I argued that non-Whites have become too dependent on their host nations to ever — in droves — return to their countries of origin. He said that when he was younger, he witnessed blacks in Burkina Faso trying to make a better life for themselves. I thought to myself that if given the chance, these Africans would simply pack up and leave for Europe, but perhaps this was a unique case.
CasaPound has flown out to Kosovo to defend citizens against American backed rebels and to South Africa to defend Boer farmers against blacks. They also have worked extensively with the Karen people along the border of Myanmar and Thailand, where the Karen have been at war with Myanmar since 1949. According to Sébastien, the Karen, unlike neighboring Thailand, are notable for abstaining completely from drugs, alcohol, and prostitution.
CasaPound’s international approach appears to be the goal of making nations safer and more livable where so-called refugees originate in order to prevent them from leaving in the first place. I was beginning to see why there were those on both the far left and the far right who had a problem with CasaPound. How does a group that wishes to preserve its race and country while also assisting the very same people threatening them find a convenient niche within one side or the other on the political spectrum? The last time this was attempted by fascists, they were defeated in a World War. I asked what would happen if antifa tried entering the bar. Sébastien explained that if someone steps into that pub and slanders Mussolini, they’re getting smacked across the face and being made to clean the bathroom.
The following day, I set out for the Colosseum. The giant construction efforts led by Mussolin’s fascist government had paved the way for complete visibility of the Roman forum on each side, along with wide roads heading to and from the Colosseum, unobstructed by the dilapidated buildings that once stood there. After several walks around the inside of each level of the Colosseum, I went to explore the surrounding area. Eventually, I found myself at a restaurant just outside of Piazza del Popolo. Several more tourist stops later, I returned to the Roman forum for a night tour. It is amazing that one can pay ten euros and literally walk through the ruins of ancient Rome while images and video are projected onto the wall in order to simulate what it would have looked like at the time.
The next morning, I went for a tour at the Vatican museum. I discovered, however, that the new egalitarian Marxist Pope Francis was to speak. What perfect timing, as it was the anniversary of the Second Vatican council and the subject of his nauseating tirade was “establishing better relations” with people outside of the Christian faith — namely Jews and Muslims. No mention of what these two groups could do to better their relations with Christians. Also worth noting is that there were literally cheerleaders, as in groups with pom-poms chanting and doing the wave, situated near the base of the Basilica to cheer on the pope as he arrived. Despite all of this, sitting in St. Peter’s Square surrounded by hundreds of thousands of people, enveloped by the colossal wings of the beautiful Basilica was an incredible feeling.
Unlike the lovely experiences I had at viewing art at both the Uffizi and Galleria dell’Accademia in Florence, the Vatican museum was a nightmare. There were so many people packed into the narrow hallways, you could barely get a look at anything. Also, you are forced to walk through a terrible, seemingly never-ending contemporary art section filled with what looks like crappy children’s drawings before finally reaching the Sistine Chapel and having the opportunity to gaze upon the artistic genius of Michelangelo’s sprawling, magnificent ceiling fresco. As I left the museum, more of those third world street hustlers were holding their hands out — full of ponchos and umbrellas — so close to our faces as guests left the museum, that I could barely make out the street in front of me.
Lo spirito di Roma
I was already impressed by the pub, but soon enough, I was sitting in a trendy cafe with vintage French wine advertisements on the wall and The Police playing faintly on the radio. Sébastien and his wife run this cozy establishment together. A girl was sitting on a couch in the corner reading a book. Sébastien explained that she was “doing her homework,” which meant catching up on fascist literature assigned by the senior members. If she didn’t do the assignment, the other members would know because when they return to headquarters, they are quizzed on what they were supposed to read. If men fail to answer questions related to the assigned literature, they must get down on the floor and do push-ups.
Next stop was Badabing, the CasaPound clothing store. It looked like one of those popular thrift shops you would find in New York or San Francisco, except all of the clothing brands were established by European nationalist groups and the people who work there aren’t pretentious hipsters or cross dressers.
Sébastien locked up and we walked a few blocks to the CasaPound bookshop: La Testa di Ferro. On the way, a young man silently acknowledged Sébastien with a nod of his head as he passed us. As a general rule, you can’t walk the streets of Rome without seeing at least one person belonging to CasaPound. At La Testa di Ferro, there were loads of books — mainly pertaining to fascism or, more specifically, National Socialism. There were videotapes, DVDs, a large CD selection, and more clothing. Two teenagers — probably seventeen- or eighteen-year-olds — entered the store and the look on their faces spoke volumes. The older CasaPound members were their role models — something to aspire to. The two teenagers looked over at me, I nodded, and we confidentially went to grasp each other’s forearms in greeting.
Sébastien and I returned to the cafe for a bit until the girl I mentioned earlier finished her assigned reading and began packing up her things. Sébastien asked her to take me to the restaurant. He left to continue work at the headquarters while the young girl and I went another way. She was reserved but friendly, and despite my subpar Italian, we had a pleasant conversation as we passed through the nearby park and on to the restaurant. This was a large restaurant with walls decked out in collectables and art from all over Europe. I didn’t realize that the girl who escorted me to the restaurant also worked there. After having disappeared into the back of the restaurant, she returned in uniform, and a male server took my order. I had the sirloin steak on a bed of arugula with shaved parmesan cheese. The meal was fantastic, and I left with a full stomach. When I got to the corner, there was the Colosseum lit up under the night sky. After roughly two weeks of traveling across Italy, my journey ended here. With nothing for the next day scheduled but my flight, I kicked back in my hotel room and reflected on my travels through Liguria, Tuscany, and Lazio.
The Future of White Nationalism in the United States
Sébastien made it clear to me that CasaPound started with just a few people. Something to consider here in the United States is that there being a limited number of racially aware Whites nearby, or even being the only racially aware White person in your neighborhood doesn’t mean that you can’t do something positive for your race. For example, on my way back to the hotel one night in Florence, I reached the Ponte Vecchio, where I began to make my way across the Arno River. Two girls were being harassed by some strange Middle Eastern creep. I could hear the girls repeatedly saying “no.” I approached them from the opposite side of the man, glared at him with contempt, and he walked away without saying a word. Once the man was across the bridge, the girls thanked me, I bid them “buona notte,” and that was it. Of course, things will not always go as smoothly, but if White men could learn to reassert themselves, then the power dynamic would finally revert back to its natural state and non-Whites might not try to impose their will over us.
Another noteworthy trait of CasaPound is that their activism is not a separate entity from their day-to-day lives. It is their day-to-day lives. I seriously doubt the capabilities of a White nationalist organization that does not emulate this model. Activism should not be considered a separate aspect of life. It should simply be instinctive measures taken to secure the existence of our people and a future for White children. It should be a way of life that doesn’t require much thought or talking — just actions. That means potentially distancing yourself from those closest to you.
I can recall my mother once stating, half-jokingly, that I was her “almost” perfect son. I asked if the “almost” was because of my views. She explained that she didn’t want me becoming another statistic, and that “we only have today.” I asked her if I should tell my future son that he “only has today” when he discovers that he inherited a Third World country in which he is a hated minority. Referring to herself and my father, she asked, “What? Were we supposed to do something?” “Yes,” I told her, “you were.”
If there’s one thing that Sébastien taught me that I feel must be fully embraced by White Nationalists in America, it’s what he said while we were sitting in the pub: “Something is not enough. Courage is an exercise.” I’m not sure there is a better way of summarizing the lessons I learned from briefly immersing myself in the world of CasaPound. Civilizations were not built on fear. They were built because people were once courageous enough to take risks in order to create better lives for themselves and their brethren. That means it isn’t enough to say that when the shit hits the fan, we will be ready. Sébastien made a point of criticizing those who wait for “the big day” and seem to be reserving all of their energy for what might be an inevitable race war, insisting instead that racially aware White people be in a perpetual state of action, always working toward making their countries better places to live.
There isn’t a second that can be wasted, and CasaPound knows this. Just as they focus their energy on actively working to better their own lives, we must do the same in our country. If we wish to save ourselves from extinction, then it isn’t a matter of convenience — it is an existential obligation.