Demonstration Report | Missoula Banner Hold | April 2025
Into the Leftist Hive
Springtime. Across the country we have plenty of proles protesting obediently on whatever the television-people told them to protest against. Orange Man, Doge Man, it’s just the flavor of the week in Our Democracy™. Everyone however just wants an excuse to get out of the house into the warming weather and yammer at random people about whatever irks, icks, or intrigues them.
So it would be remiss of WLM Montana to not get out into the fresh springtime air to raise White consciousness about our great race.
WLM Montana Reawakens
The chapter has been on cooldown over winter. As with the turn of the seasons, our participation has waned and waxed anew. One harvest has moved onto seeking new horizons for our fight, and a new crop of participants is getting started in the field. Thus goes the cycle of Nationalist endeavor at this point in our history, gradually seeding the public consciousness with our phrases, ideas, and politics.
It takes a lot of guts to declare anything true anymore. It takes even more to reach out to those fighting for our race, and far more still to stand beside us. But once people get a taste of fieldwork, with all its exhilarating camaraderie and wonderful moments, they always come back for more.
People crave our message. Even anti-Whites cannot help but shriek about us, expecting their admonishing will stop what is coming. They demand our names, our faces, our necks, thinking that by hurting us they will destroy our ideas utterly.
But these scolding schoolmarms are becoming desperate as the grip of their unseen masters falter on the levers of power. And so they become more desperate, more grasping, more unhinged in an attempt to dominate those damned Nazis! And when they come close enough to Nationalists in their midst, how they howl and scream and stamp, but so often from a very safe distance. The cowards of the crowd cannot stop the message, and even now they are failing to stop even the messengers.
Demonstrations
This is the second demonstration of the season for WLM Montana.
“Wait, second?” says you, “But I, loyal and avid follower of everything WLM Montana, didn’t see a demonstration report before! What gives?”
You’re correct, insightful and studious readers. It’s true, we didn’t cover the last demo here. We didn’t because, truthfully, covering it would take longer than the actual demonstration lasted!
In March, our chapter dispatched a pair of gentlemen to a pedestrian bridge in Missoula, Montana. Though new to the cause and without a whole group to go with, they braved the bridge and presented a banner that read: “Non-White? Non-American!”
It’s a sentiment virtually every American worth the title knows, and frankly most of the world knows it too. Ask anyone to quickly describe your typical American, and they will almost surely paint a picture of a blue-eyed cowboy, or a ruddy-cheeked businessman, or a redneck good ol’ boy, or a dudebro with a blond mop of hair. The whole world knows what a real American is, and so do we – but many Americans dare not say it too loudly!
Well two of our number dared in March. Despite that demonstration being a true flash in the pan, clocking in at a grueling five minutes, man did the local Redditers kvetch about it! You can’t swing a bag in Missoula without hitting half a dozen updooters from that god forsaken circle jerk. But so be it. If the anti-Whites want to complain, who are we to not oblige them?
Even those few minutes gave a multitude of passers-by something to think about. That and the many stickers our men distributed in that city shortly before and after that event. A veritable Easter Egg hunt for all you Missoula locals to go and find! Better yet, feel free to distribute some of your own. The more the merrier.
Even a demonstration as small as that, two people on a bridge, is often enough to get new people reaching out to join. We welcomed new hands aboard, and along with them came new skills, new materials, and new sights on…
Once Again into the Breach
Missoula, again.
Look, five minutes just doesn’t do! We’d already done all the legwork, and in April we doubled our field participants. Everyone was rather curious what kind of reception so pointed a message would bring to one of the greater blue-cysts in our state, especially after so instant a round of impotent complaining the last venture inspired.
This time our intrepid activists brought along a new banner, lovingly hand-stitched and painted with the words, “Deport Every Invader”. It even had grommets. Grommets, ladies and gentlemen! Truly great advances in demonstration technology are taking place in WLM Montana. Most importantly, four of our activists decided to brave the leftist cesspit and relate all the details to our team, and for most it was their first time taking their activism from the URL into the IRL.
Masked up, banner readied, and parking secured, our modest squad marched out to the location. A simple banner hold like this is best done beside a busy intersection. As demonstrated to great effect in 2024’s Helena Protest, such intersections give awesome opportunities for large volumes of people to not just see the banners but stop, gawk, take pictures, and otherwise engage in some manner or another.
Our men arrived onto the corner of Missoula’s busiest road, unfurled their banner, and waved at all the passing cars. For the first hour they got to focus on the vehicular traffic, and delighted in how even the mechanized crowd behaves when confronted with an unexpected message.
Positive or negative, the vast majority of passers-by give you flyby thoughts and gestures. It is difficult for those enmeshed in a herd to deviate at all from the general behaviors occurring within it. The Bandwagon Effect cuts both ways, causing cascades of negativity or positivity in turn when others perceive it happening around them.
But that is the amusing part about vehicle traffic: Positive responses come as loud honks, and negative responses come as quietly raised digits. Activists will note that enthusiastic honking begets more enthusiastic honking. When others hear happy honks, they become more primed to honk in turn. Because support expresses itself much more loudly than dissent on the road, support becomes easier to cultivate among passers-by, and builds into clusters of positivity more easily than rubbernecks shrieking from their windows.
That is what our team observed again even in the heavily anti-White streets of Missoula. Wispy wails and few-digit salutes came as par for the course, but the loud honks and fist-pumping thumbs up overshadowed them. Even within a few vehicles we saw bemusing splits in opinion between passengers. Interesting conversations were surely going to ensue!
The Locals Approach
The first hour passed with pleasant waving. It is funny how giving a friendly wave and thumbs-up to one vehicle seems to spur others to be recognized by the strange masked men and get their very own thumbs-up and nods. Crowds love waves and nods.
The second hour saw an influx of pedestrians, and another expression of the Bandwagon Effect manifested. For the first hour no one stopped to talk with our team, despite the location including a conveniently empty parking lot right behind. But once a few forerunners stop and engage, more find it easier to stop too. And so, they accumulate.
Their first approach was from a White man and an older Asian woman holding hands. The man was a veteran, very mild in manner and tone. The older woman was someone close to him, but the nature of their relationship was unclear. The man spoke, voicing his concerns politely to our spokesman, who handled his rebuff to our message in exemplary manner as essentially paraphrased below:
Indeed, we were proclaiming a stern message: “Deport Every Invader”. It is our right and duty as American nationals, as White men and women, to assert our claim over our own lands lest they be further stripped from us. We do know it is quite the cudgel of a phrase lacking in nuance, but it’s a 4’x5’ banner – how much nuance should we try to fit on so small a space?
No, the banner is a conversation-starter, not the entire argument. We want a country that is by Americans, for Americans, and of Americans as our founders envisioned and created for our people. To desire and pursue this is not evil, nor must come at the expense of any other fundamentally. But if we must repress against the incursions of opportunists seeking to pillage from us, we will do so with a clear conscience.
Over the past century a great erosion against the foundational elements of America, Americans themselves, has taken place. Our identity as a people has been muddled and confused, and those trying to distangle the confusion by stating the obvious truth that Americans are White are labeled monsters. These are the gambits of a genocide, perpetrated on our kin who have blessed this world with wonders, freedoms, and technologies beyond prior comprehension. Whites are surely worth advocating for.
We don’t require hatred to assert our existence as a flesh and blood people, any more than any other people require hatred to do the same for themselves. But in the defense of what we cherish and love and are, we will no longer be content to stay silent or pass on with barely a whimper. We will stand and we will speak, even if some may oppose our message or hate our people for it.
Yes, some people will need to go home – home, not into a gulag or ghetto or grave, but home. Far away, to lands their own peoples conquered and inhabit, lands that all call theirs for better or worse. It is more than generous to those who have taken advantage of our good and kindly natures. This is our home, and so many of these aliens peoples have abused our hospitality for the last time.
So the spirit of discussion went. The veteran learned that the activist he spoke to was also a veteran, who also lost friends and compatriots in the maw of foreign wars at the behest of Israel. He couldn’t help but agree in the heart-rending waste of such sacrifices. The veteran disagreed on some points, but that this country was suffering from a cold invasion from utterly incompatible peoples was unmistakable even to him. Surely he hesitated about racial matters due to whatever close relationship he had with his Asian companion, and that is understandable but does not negate the perils manifesting before us all.
Unfortunately, right as a few moments of realization were dawning for the veteran, another challenger appeared. Blustering right up into the midst of the ongoing conversation, the guy asked the most astute of all questions WLM gets to hear: “What’s with the masks!?” The veteran and his companion silently moved away at that point, so our men had to make due with whoever this next guy was…
Apparently he was very, very interested in masks. Maaaaaaasks.
Not conversation, no, he had no time for that. He couldn’t understand anything our activists were saying through their masks he said, despite responding to everything they had to say. No, he hadn’t the time to join the demonstration, despite proclaiming he knew all about the JQ and all of our race’s current miseries. He simply had no time to stand with WLM. He was too busy to show our men how to really do activism.
But what he did have time for was arguing for fifteen minutes straight about how activists needed to take off their masks. That he had time aplenty for, and would have had even more if our speaker continued to engage with him on the matter.
Armchair Generals like this guy abound. Always quick to criticism and advice, but always far away from the front lines. From their lofty headquarters at home, well-provisioned with chips and beer, they will tell you exactly how a real activist should act. Replete with advice yet never demonstrating an ounce of it, they are another type you’ll occasionally find wagging a cheese-dusted finger in the faces of actual activists while lecturing on the finer points of bravery.
Once he proclaimed that our Revolutionary forefathers made their opinions known without disguises, our activists rejoined him with how the Boston Tea Party was likewise done without an ounce of disguise or subterfuge. They totally didn’t dress up as Amerindians, paint their faces, and raid a ship in the dead of night where their enemies couldn’t identify and punish them.
He didn’t have much to say about that, and departed after our men bid him good luck in holding his own demonstration next weekend. Certainly the General will show WLM up any day now.
But the chain of interactions was now firmly established, and the Bandwagon Effect was bringing in more. A backwards-hatted guy nearly interrupted the General’s debriefing, his brow knitted and mental cogs slowly turning. No doubt he was irritated on behalf of his own minuscule companion, a Squatamalan of some variety with snarky things to squeak about. No one paid the goblina much attention, dipping beneath the fields of vision of most there, but she was lurking. Seething. Invading spaces and conversations that not even the other pedestrians appreciated.
Others began aggregating too. The first attempt at counter-protest signage was raised by a standoffish, bearded lout. His sign read, “This is what TYRANNY looks like!”, drawn with a faint pencil on recycled signboard hefted up with not one but two handles.
Man, our guys sure felt outclassed by ambiguous illegibilities scrawled across repurposed cardboard. Was he the tyrant? Or enforcing a border is tyranny? They tried to invite him over to decode his cryptic scribbles, only to receive some sputtering insults that had him inching even further away. Two-Hands didn’t get a single honk that day, but was sure to occasionally yell from a very safe distance from the demonstration.
From his direction came another strangely familiar contender: Old Fat Man Who Hates Shirts. Yes indeed there is some kind of compulsion that grips rotund Boomers in the face of CNN dissenters. That is the urge to get red in the face and strip in defiance.
No, we don’t know why they do this. Old man tiddies and sagging beer bellies are bemusing but not intimidating. It is well known that you can get angry lefties to embarrass themselves in a variety of funny ways if only you communicate to them in the moment of their rage that you don’t want to see them act stupidly. Like Marti Gras without the beads. But old fat men skip right to the stripping without any prompting at all.
Thankfully Old Fat Man Who Hates Shirts had a wife who implored her corpulent consort to put his damn shirt back on, which he obediently did and retired to filming from a distance. Good on you, Old Fat Guy’s Smarter Wife! We at WLM Montana applaud your tried-and-true nagging, refined to a razor’s edge over so many years of taming your hoggish husband. May you keep that shirt on him for many more years to come.
Probably the most persistent fellow snuck in from the opposite direction as the others, begging for attention. At first our guys thought he might be a reporter, as this scraggly-bearded guy had the same sort of arrogant, sneaky bearing that younger journalists fresh from the college playpen often have. Immediately he started asking for names, which earned him blank stares from our masked men.
How shocked he was at such an affront to common courtesy! He prattled on some first name that no one cared to remember, and then launched into his coup de grace: “Hey, I’m an American aren’t I?”
Little did our team know that beneath this suspicious blond’s forgettable name was another name, a much more Hispanic kind of name. Guereireiz the Gangly. Or something. Our spokesman forgot his last name.
But he thrilled in his clever gambit of being “mistaken” as a White guy. “I’m not White, my name is Gereierez! That’s not an American name, or White, but you guys thought I was White!”
He was so proud of his name that he even showed his driver’s license to one of our participants, who was so thoroughly unimpressed by Gumborez’s ploy that he too forgot the guy’s name.
But Gammonez would not be denied. You see, he was a post-graduate geneticist! Yes, this man studied genomes, a field right in line with our interests as White Lives Matter. And he, a leftist fresh from the induction fields of a liberal arts college, proclaimed that races and nations don’t exist.
Oh I’m sure that master’s degree in test-tubing inflated his ego just a tad, and maybe a tad too much for the conversation that ensued. Because to his challenge of whether he was White or not came a simple answer: Lets look at your genealogy to find out.
Names are not necessarily indicators of racial type, only proxies. His father was likely a Castizo or Spaniard given his surname and his phenotype, and what admixture he had could range from a quarter to virtually none depending on his genetics. Some argue about exactly where the genetic lines are in classifying the emergent national type we call “American”, but most would agree that if his father was virtually all Spaniard it wouldn’t constitute a great barrier to being understood at least as compatible with the overall American national type of predominantly Western/Northern European descent.
Our geneticist however didn’t like all this talk of genes though. Goombarez began asserting nations are just constructs made up by arbitrary borders. He was informed that the very word nation comes from the Latin word natio, sharing the same root as natal, meaning birth, bloodline, tribe, and a biological people. Nations are closely – genetically – related peoples.
At this point the credentialed Gerrymanderez made a most astonishing claim: National genetics don’t exist. States however, the things that set up arbitrary borders, have genes. If you throw people together in the same proximity, they just become a genetic soup and average out. In fact, nations don’t have any genetics to them, not existing after all like race, but states do. States have genes. State-genes.
It was at this point our team realized the man had his fly unzipped. Not a little way either – completely unzipped. Right out there in the open. Much like his nakedly embarrassing argument praising Big Brother for his very biological existence, he was exposing himself in one of the most fundamentally self-blind ways. Our participants, being gentlemen, tried to rescue Gabagoolez from this most fundamental of errors, but he refused to zip himself up just because the “Nazis” suggested he should.
A more poetic moment about the credentialed lefty and his worldview, there never was.
Geronimo was so thoroughly laughed at that his smug mask began to crack. When his midwittery failed to overcome basic biology lessons, he resorted to trying to body-block the team’s signage. Being a leftist you might imagine he had some advantage in this tactic, but alas he was more twig than fatass. A smarter man would have recruited Old Fat Man Who Hates Shirts to park his corpulence there, but alas that is no job for a big-shot geneticist. A geneticist who asserted that the state creates genes, that genes are just as arbitrary as borders, and that race doesn’t exist.
Good job, Guantanamo. You sure earned those dubious degrees. Now go tell Reddit all about your Neo-Lysenkoism of state-genes. We await your dissertation with zero interest.
By that point the quality of conversation was beginning to degrade. Two-Hands was going back to his truck to pick up something in an attempt to become Three-Hands. Grug and Goblina were lurking about with scowling faces. Old Fat Man’s shirt was undoubtedly getting itchy. Guacamolez was starting to scrape and beg for attention all along the line. A black guy moseyed up with clenched fists, frustrated because he claimed he couldn’t read. And several more were starting to encroach in with more deeply unaesthetic scribble signage.
Our job here was done.
The audience hit critical mass right when the pre-planned time to depart came around. Despite having a whole slew of routes planned for shaking off any clingers-on, no one followed, not on foot or in any vehicle. The exit of our team was simple and clean, and gave them all enough time to go enjoy some lunch together to wrap up a solid demonstration day.
Reddit Revolts, Again
Any action’s success or failure depends on metrics that are wholly within your control. Did you deploy your materials effectively? Did your message reach an acceptable number of onlookers? Did you get your men back in one piece? Do your men want to go out and do it all again next month?
To those questions and more our team was happy to report an all-round success. It was a great first outing for our newly-minted activists, and every one was thrilled with the chance for camaraderie and triumph. Each one held their ground in the face of annoyances, addressed pedestrians patiently and cordially, and all ensured that the message was delivered to thousands of passers-by. In the end the four cameras brought to bear on this demonstration each filmed to their max, and provided rich footage for our monthly demonstration purposes.
That alone is enough cake to well satisfy any WLM activist and whet their appetites for more. But we can enjoy the little cherries on top from online kvetching…
Of course Reddit kvetched. It seems like half of the damn town of Missoula is comprised of Reddit-tier people anymore, so of course WLM is their favorite topic to blather about. Moreso than even their own protests.
Redditors are prime examples of how those who preach and nag about “being love” are absolutely consumed with hatred and vitriol. Nothing pleases the Redditor more than publicly displaying their chapped asses for all the world to updoot. The thin mask of positivity and compassion completely falls away the moment any opportunity to openly hate with impunity presents itself.
That’s part and parcel of life in a dumb subreddit. But what is amusing is how much more heresy is cropping up in these hater orgies. Little specks of actual reasoning, little critiques of the vile hugbox. Oh their karma scores suffer the wrath of the booty-blasted, but still the comments are sprouting up more and more even in the rotten hearts of these leftist cesspools.
And look, it’s Ginko Bilboaz again! He just has to set the record straight that he is not a WLM supporter. And that is absolutely true. He’s totally not our guy. He just takes the best incognito photos at our Missoula appearances.
By all metrics, it was another good demonstration to notch on the WLM Montana belt. A handful of people proclaiming three simple words seeded ideas right in the leftist stronghold of Montana. The power of our convictions and the weight of truth behind them cut through the slime of modern distractions and pierced into the minds of the masses.
The waves that White Lives Matter have made, and all other Nationalist initiatives in the Western world have likewise contributed to, crash daily upon the eyes and ears of our sleepy countrymen. By the efforts of those brave few awakened men and women who choose to become activists in this noble cause, we add further waves to the growing tide.
It is not thought, but action that makes those waves. When will you take the plunge yourself?
