Red-Browns on the March

2,591 words

It was a Friday night when I stepped off the L train into Williamsburg. I lit a cigarette and scanned the scene. The streets were crawling with hippies, hipsters, SWPLs, and bugmen, each one on their way to a reefer party or a “free love” orgy or a found film festival or whatever the hell degenerates do on nights like this. Williamsburg is one of the whitest places in New York City, but I didn’t feel any more at home among these freaks than I do in Harlem. But I wasn’t in Williamsburg on a social call. I was here on business.

I was set to meet my Red-Brown Alliance contact, a top-level Brooklyn podcaster codenamed “Vladimir.” As I approached his apartment complex, the smell of weed and soy came into my nose and became stronger the closer I got. The sound of bongos playing got louder with each footstep. For a second, I thought about turning around and going home. What was I doing? When I became a White Nationalist, I never dreamed that in a few years, I would be allying with Communists against the neoliberal establishment – but here I was. The things I do for the white race . . .

When I approached the front door of the apartment complex, it was being guarded by two members of Atomwaffen who had been brought in by the Red-Brown Alliance to handle security. I said to the less insane looking one of the guards, “Tell Vladimir that Heinrich is here to see him.”

“Heinrich?” the kid asks.

“He’ll know.”

The kid scurried into the building. A couple of minutes later, he came out and says, “All right. Follow me.” I was led into the apartment building and taken up to a seventh-floor apartment. As the door opened, a plume of weed smoke came pouring into the hallway. I walked past a drum circle that was assembled in the living room and into a backroom office, where Vladimir was sitting behind his desk.

“Ah, Comrade Heinrich!” he said. “Always a pleasure to see you!”

“I told you not to call me that.”

“What, Heinrich? But that is your Red-Brown Alliance codename, is it not?”

“No. ‘Comrade’. You know I don’t like that commie talk.”

Vladimir laughed. “Oh, I am sorry. My sincerest apologies. Would you like a joint? Hit of acid? We have edibles if you prefer those.” I waved him off.

I took a seat in front of Vladimir and noticed the copy of James Mason’s Siege sitting on his desk. “Reading Siege, huh?”

Vladimir picked it up and said, “Ah, yes. Siege. Funny little book. Seeing that us class-reductionist Communists and you fascists are going to be working together from now on, I thought it might be helpful to get some insight into how you chaps think. I assume that you have read Siege?”

I pulled out a cigarette and lit it. “Nah. I was waiting for the movie version to come out. So why did you bring me here, Vlad?”

“Ah, that is one thing I like about you fascists. Always direct and to the point. Well, I understand that you were intending to write an article for Counter-Currents about the March for Medicare for All event in New York City.”

“Who told you that?” I asked.

“I have my sources.”

My mind raced as I tried to recall all the people I had told, but before I could complete my list, Vladimir continued. “Before you go, there is something that I would like to show you.”

Vladimir opened a drawer in his desk and retrieved some papers which he then spread across his desk. I stood up from my chair and leaned over. Scanning the papers, they appeared to be covered in screenshots of Antifa tweets.

I sat back down in my chair and took a drag from my cigarette. “So?” I asked.

Vladimir looked at me with an uncharacteristically serious look on his face, as serious as an irony-poisoned commie was capable of. “So, what do you think?”

“I think we have a mole.”

“Precisely!” Vladimir exclaimed. “If this Red-Brown Alliance is to succeed, it’s imperative that it remains completely secret! And yet here we see that Antifa are entirely aware of our plans!” Vladimir shook his head. “What is it with you fascists? Always shooting your mouths off!”

I leaned over and stubbed my cigarette out in the gold-plated ashtray on Vladimir’s desk. “Now, wait a minute.” I said. “How do you know the leak came from our side? It could have been one of your guys. Maybe it was the Big Lady.” The Big Lady was Gwen Snyder, an elite Red-Brown Alliance operative who had managed to infiltrate the highest levels of Antifa. I’d always suspected that she had been a double agent all long.

“Don’t be foolish, Heinrich,” Vladimir said. “Whoever is responsible is not important at the moment. What is important is that Antifa have become aware that our planned Medicare for All Marches are a ruse, that they are in fact fronts for the ceremonial completion of the Red-Brown Alliance. As you know, each of these marches will end with one from each of our camps, one Communist and one fascist, signing a contract in their own blood binding class reductionists and fascists together. Forever!”

I lit another cigarette. “All right. So what does this have to do with me?”

Vladimir smiled again. “Always direct. I guess that’s what they call German efficiency. Well, as I said, it is of the utmost importance that our Red-Brown Alliance remain completely secret. And people are afraid that if you show up to a Medicare For All event looking all based and redpilled, it would completely give the game away.”

I took a drag from my cigarette and let out a leisurely exhale. “Don’t worry about that, Vlad. I was planning to go disguised as a normie.”

Vladimir laughed. “You? A normie? But look at your physiognomy! No one would believe that you—“

I cut him off.  “Look, I’ve been practicing my normie face.” I contorted my face.

“Sure,” Vladimir said with a chuckle. “Very normie. Very convincing. I dare say that you almost look . . . What’s the word? Ah, yes. ‘Cringe.’ So there is nothing I can do to dissuade you from going to the march?”

“No.”

“I anticipated that you would say that.” Vladimir reached into a desk drawer and took out an envelope. “Since you are going there, I would like to ask a favor of you. I would like you to take this letter with you to the march. Once there, you will be contacted by another Red-Brown Alliance agent. You will give the letter to her. Her codename is Eva. She is one of yours.”

“A fascist?”

“Yes. She will be wearing a red hat.”

“Why not just e-mail her?”

“Considering that there is a leak, we have to assume the worst. We must assume that all our online communications are compromised. For the time being, we are sending communications the old-fashioned way: paper and pen.”

I stood up, took the envelope, and started walking toward the door. As I grabbed the doorknob, Vladimir called, “Oh, Heinrich!”

I turned around. “What?”

“Do try to hide your power level.”

As I walked back to the subway station, I kept thinking about a fat fed named Heimbach. A month ago, someone infiltrated the March for Medicare for All’s Slack account and tricked the graphic designer into making a fake flyer featuring former White Nationalist, current anti-racism activist, and probable federal informant, Matt Heimbach, as a keynote speaker. Antifa have been claiming this was done by fascists in order to solidify a Red-Brown Alliance – which makes total sense. Sabotaging your ally’s events by associating them with traitors to your movement who are likely federal assets is the whole point of alliances.

Last week, Heimbach resurfaced again by giving an interview to the outlet, Newsy. The headline read: “Extremist Heimbach to Relaunch Hate Group, Says He Supports Violence.” Heimbach is back and as fat as ever – only this time, he is calling for targeted assassinations of rich people.One can not help but notice the choreography at work:

2018: Matt Heimbach burns his last bridges with the Alt Right.

2020: Matt Heimbach announces that he is no longer a White Nationalist and is now a class-first socialist.

June 2021: Class-first socialists start to organize a series of rallies advocating for universal healthcare. Someone infiltrates their Slack account and tricks their graphic designer into making a flyer with Heimbach’s face on it. Class-first socialists are now associated with Matt Heimbach.

July 2021. Matt Heimbach comes out of nowhere to give an interview where he publicly advocates for acts of terrorism.

I have been sounding the alarm bell for a while that with the White Nationalists threat neutralized for the time being, the “unwoke” class-reductionist socialists would be next on the establishment’s chopping block. I did wonder how exactly our overlords would go about persecuting people who are not racists, and in fact I believe that race is entirely irrelevant.

Now I have my answer. Class-first socialists can now be linked to someone who has gone on public record as advocating for terrorism.

On Saturday morning, I arrived at Washington Square East. There were about two hundred healthcare enthusiasts converged in a small area. There was a gaggle of them welcoming newcomers with a comically-oversized banner that read, “Put Some Kind Bud In the Stimulus Budget.” It didn’t make much sense. I guess it had something to do with weed (everything does when it comes to these commie types). But what that had to do with the stimulus budget, I’m not sure.

Nearby was a hippy playing the piano. Despite his disheveled appearance, this hippie had “rich kid” written all over him. A total class tourist. In between songs, he told the crowd that if they wanted to, they could tip him via Venmo. I suddenly felt an overwhelming desire to punch him. I feel the urge to punch all hippies, but this guy even more so.

If a street performer is going to ask for money, they should at least try to make it look like they need it. It would be one thing if he was just banging on a pawn shop Casio, but he was playing on a full concert piano.

At some point, another guy came forward and laid down underneath the piano. Oh, how quirky. I strongly suspected that this was staged. I took a seat on a bench.

After a short time, a young woman came by. “Would you like to buy a button to help end student loan debt?” I said no. Behind her was a black guy with an effeminate voice explaining to some young hipsters about how the establishment Democrats have all become Republicans. Being black, the hipsters had to pretend that what he was saying was not completely stupid.

Finally, the march got underway. It went from Washington Square down Broadway to City Hall Park. As the crowd walked, there was a black guy with a bullhorn orchestrating chants.

“What do we want?”

“MEDICARE FOR ALL!”

“When do we want it?”

“NOW!”

“And if we don’t get it?”

“SHUT IT DOWN!”

There were some other chants of “Drop dead, Bezos” and “Fuck Joe Biden.” Also something about billionaires.

At one point, the procession passed a group of blacks. One of them saw someone holding a sign about marijuana legalization and started yelling to his friends, “Ah, shit! Them niggas want weed! Them niggas want weed! You see that? Them niggas want weed!”

When we got to City Hall Park, it turned out the black guy with the bullhorn was the Master of Ceremonies for the day. A black socialist? Maybe. He struck me as a grifter. At one point, he mispronounced the name of the keynote speaker, Susan Sarandon, calling her Susan “sair-in-din.” The dude legitimately did not know who Susan Sarandon is. I’ll admit that I sometimes get Susan Sarandon mixed up with Sigourney Weaver, but I at least know how to say her name correctly.

There was a series of speeches about Medicare interspersed with the occasional speaker talking about weed. I was incredibly bored. I guess healthcare is an important topic and all, but it is an incredibly unsexy one. There was no meta-narrative. It would have been a more interesting event if they had just gone full commie and said, “We are at war with the capitalist class! We have to overthrow these capitalist tyrants or else we will all be slaves!” Maybe I’ve become too desensitized, but I need some fire and brimstone. Instead, all I got was, “Blah blah, Covid deaths, blah blah, could have been prevented, blah blah, Medicare for All.”

My heart sank when the MC took the stage and told us that there was going to be an intermission. Dear God. We were only halfway through. During intermission, there was a parade of singers who gave one sub-karaoke performance after another. Then they had a band that was actually pretty good.

After that, there were more speeches about healthcare. They had a drag queen speaker, which I think is now mandatory at all public political events.

There was also a speech by Katie Halper, who was recently exposed by Antifa as a top agent in the Red-Brown Alliance.

We really need to find that mole. They are giving away all of our secrets.

I don’t know if Katie Halper was physically present or if she gave a pre-recorded speech. I heard her voice, but I couldn’t see her on the stage. But then again, I was at the back, and maybe she’s short.

Just then, a tall, thin blonde woman in a MAGA hat approached me. “Are you Heinrich?”

“I am. And you must be Eva.”

“Correct. I believe you have something for me.”

I handed her the letter Vladimir had given me. She opened the envelope, read the letter quickly, and then put it away in her purse.

The final speaker was Susan Sarandon. She gave the only speech that I was capable of paying attention to all the way through. It was about healthcare.

The event finally, mercifully ended. I started walking towards the subway when Eva approached me. “Heinrich, perhaps you would like to join me for a glass of wine in my hotel room?”

I don’t normally like to mix business with pleasure, but I thought, why not? I was in a sociable mood.

Once we reached her hotel room, immediately after closing the door behind her, she reached into her purse, pulled out a 9mm handgun, and pointed it right at my chest. “It’s the end of the line for you, Mr. LeBlanc. The Red-Brown Alliance will no longer be requiring your services.”

“Do what you have to do,” I said. “But I thought you might like to know that it’s bad luck to kill a man while your shoelaces are untied.”

Eva looked down at her feet. With lightning-fast speed, I grabbed the gun with my left hand and with my right landed an uppercut under her chin. She was knocked out cold.

I picked up Eva’s purse and retrieved the letter I gave her. Unfolding it, it read, “Eva, you are to kill the man who gave you this letter. Once that is done, contact me for further instructions. Vlad.”

Vladimir had set me up. I knew this Red-Brown Alliance was a bad idea. Never trust a Communist.

*  *  *

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