Demonstration Report | Deer Lodge July 2024
Little towns deserve love too.
Most people would consider any municipality in Montana a “little town”, but for us Deer Lodge is very much a nice little town. At a little under 10k population with only one major road through it, it is the kind of place where you will find real Montanans dwelling.
Many activists would ignore places like Deer Lodge. The relatively low population density makes for far fewer passers-by, and reactions from these areas don’t tend to light the whole state afire with media buzz. Even locals often ask, “Why are you here?”, incredulous that anyone would care enough to come speak with those who live in such a small place.
But even a tiny demonstration in such a cozy town will be the talk of that town for days to come. The left-skewed reactions you get from liberal civic centers disappears in favor of more down-to-earth rural mindsets. And since small towns are far more closely networked, tugging on a few strings there will resonate further than in the sprawling metropolis.
The Demonstration
We planned out this demo for Sunday, July 21st, 2024. This demo pulled double-duty for our growing chapter, serving as both a standard banner hold as well as recruiting first-ventures for several of our participants. Allowing our brave participants to dip their toes right into the fray so soon after their enthusiasm leads them to us has proven to earn us our best recruits overall.
One advantage of small town demonstrations is that there are only so many places where a demonstration would make sense in a town with only one major road off the nearby highway. Our arrival location nestled well into a secluded spot, and we had only a short walk to make it to the corner of our choosing.
We knew that a Sunday demonstration on the corner of closed shops and banks would be rather traffic-light overall. Unlike the rush of Helena traffic gushing nonstop like our last demonstration, Deer Lodge’s main road saw only a trickle of vehicles throughout. Plenty of breathing room for our newer participants, and plenty of time to observe and adjust as needed to fit our circumstances.
While that all proved true, what traffic we did get was more interactive and positive than we expected. Within a few minutes of setting up our display we had Deer Lodge’s attention. Drivers going past often shared their opinions silently from their vehicles, as if to preserve the tranquility on that sleepy Sunday! But those silent smiles and thumbs-up easily outnumbered those who put up the wrong digit in passing.
Still others took the time to round the block and stop nearby to walk up to our display. Again, the number of people we got stopping by to talk directly with us on such a hard-to-park area was a pleasant surprise. Luckily we had brought enough brochures and materials to equip the townsfolk with our thorough research, but with nearly everyone taking one who came along we would have soon run out.
And what a fascinating grab-bag of negative responses we received! On the one hand we got to enjoy the usual passing warbling from car windows that we always hear – “Take off the masks!” “But all lives matter!”, insights that only a screen-licking lemming could wisely come up with. But others embodied the truly bizarre perspectives of a mindless Cuckservative, unable to even recognize the deep ironies pouring from their flapping mouths.
A prime example of this, a man who channeled the spirit of a sack of potatoes, heaved himself up to our line in a huff. Apparently dumbfounded by the words, “White Lives Matter”, he garbled out his protests.
“This is a fuckin’ joke!” he said, with all the eloquence of a tippler wandering out from a nearby bar. Oh but he didn’t drink, certainly not he angrily insisted, and his ball of a belly certainly attested to his careful consumption habits. He affirmed his lack of concern about his ancestry with a flippant, “My grandparents? I don’t give a fuck about my grandparents.” But he was quick to assure the terrible racists before him of his good boy Liberal streak:
“Listen,” he said, “I like niggers.”
Thattaboy, Mr. Tater. You sure showed us racists up!
Finally he pointed across the street to our protest’s doom – an approaching police officer! He then shuffled off, confident that the officer he so-well knew would pull out the nightstick and slap on the cuffs. Oh the officer knew our potato-adjacent acquaintance alright. He waved him off with a tired assurance that he, the officer, could handle a bit of civic peacekeeping at least as well as our rotund friend.
The interaction was pleasant enough. What began somewhat standoffish soon relaxed for everyone, and as expected once we displayed our composure and peaceable intent the officer nodded and assured us our rights would not be infringed. We all agreed that the world would be a better place if all peoples would advocate for the best-interests of their own, and parted on a cordial handshake.
Another hilarious interaction came from a very confused Boomer in a truck who just had to share a piece of his mind – and by his mind I mean his programming. He drove to the curb and shouted, “You-you’re Antifa! Get out of here, Antifa!”
The irony was palpable. Confused by the laughter he received he continued to stab out his shaky finger, demanding that we admit we were Antifa because only Antifa wore masks. Disregard, dear reader, all our signs that would melt a Communist’s brain to even look at, because masks = Antifa. Later he switched to calling us Feds from the other side of the road, because why wouldn’t he, and bravely drove around far out of reach of any words that might confuse his Boomer brain.
Our favorite confrontation came from a self-proclaimed expert of the penal system. He wandered up to us with his silent compatriot to chide us about our advocacy for Whites. Naturally he was a self-hating White from Texas who felt his opinions were morally superior because he oversaw inmates at the local prison. When a truck of men cheered for us, he sneered that those were just prisoners and that we should be ashamed for pleasing them so.
We began to understand the eternal hatred that Australians have for their petty tyrant wardens, how little these meager-souled men scoffed with unwarranted disdain for their charges. The men in a truck were more honest and forthright than this moral-midget chiding us. Despite the rest of their flaws and mistakes in life, at least they recognized that Whites should stand up for our own like any other people.
This was a fact this prison-lackey knew, but was embarrassed to encounter. As he prattled on about knowing the statistics of crime, our newest participant noted that he must then be well aware of the racial makeup of the prison population even in Montana – that of an overwhelmingly skewed number of black and brown inmates even in this mostly-White state.
“That… that’s not factual!” the man stammered after a most pregnant pause, convincing not even his compatriot standing beside him. We laughed. The guy didn’t even attempt to defend it, instead pivoting to moral follies for daring to recognize race. We dismissed him back to whatever post he came from, to which he puffed out his chest and declared this was his town and he’d stay there all day!
Not five seconds later, he turned and slumped off back wherever he came from.
We had others who came up who proved far more pleasant overall. One man had his phone at the ready saying, “This is awesome! Fuck yeah I like this. It’s about time someone had the balls to say White lives matter.”
Another man came up with his workman attire, examining our display. We told him that we were here to stand up for our people finally, to which he planted his hands on his hips with a nod.
“I like it,” he said.
He was a Christian and had questions about the racial nature of our message, and luckily one of our participants took to addressing the manifestly racial framework of their shared faith. Though the man didn’t accept that race is extended family and are the neighbors spoken of in the New Testament, our man stuck by his parting retort, “Love Christ first!”
“I love Christ,” our Christian participant replied, “but I also love my family.”
Then, a wild journalist appeared! Out of nowhere a guy crossed the street, snapping pictures along the way until he arrived at our spokesman. We thought he’d drop his recording phone from how badly his hand was shaking. We calmed him down and gave him a fair interview. Sure, some of his questions were a bit leading and twisting towards a nefarious spin, but we answered honestly and give him plenty of material for his editor to reject!
And of course we had a good number of those quiet, positive reactions from those passing by. Smiles and nods, thumbs up and polite small-town honks. Some nice older ladies who stopped to praise us wondered if we were boiling inside our masks and protest gear, but we assured them we’d handled worse. For a cause as important as ours, a little discomfort was well worth opening eyes and sparking conversations.
After more than an hour and a half on that corner, we called our demo to a close. Packing up and heading back went off without a hitch – no clingers-on, no obnoxious bluehairs, and no flying macaroni bowls. How pleasant! We strolled casually back to our meeting spot and headed off, another successful demonstration under our belts. Easy, straightforward activism – the kind any good reader can do if they have the will for it.
Going Forward
Small towns deserve love, and have a lot of love to give. These lower-intensity environments are excellent for new participants in dissident politics, and so often the recipients are excited one way or another to have something interesting show up in town.
Whites want advocacy, and none are more eager to raise their voices and make their interests known than the small-town Whites that media and politicians forgot. Sure they are shocked to find anyone coming into their town, frankly for any reason, but especially with a thought-provoking message.
But in the wake of that shock we will plant the seeds of reason that will, day by day, grow into the thoughts all White men must adopt: America belongs to Americans, and real Americans don’t need hyphens to say what we are.
We are White Lives Matter. Love your People, Love your Race.
Excellent write-up. Informative, inspiring and entertaining. Keep up the good work!