In an urgent and informative conversation, concerned German citizen Hans-Peter Tischler steps forward to report that a German news channel run by journalist Hans-Joachim Muller recently interviewed (on September 27) for the second time a high-ranking member of the Russian Duma or Parliament, Jewgeni A. Fyodorow, who has revealed the momentous news that Russia is peace-treatying with Germany and extends support to Germany, in a challenging time period when Angela Merkel as Director of the private corporation BRD (or FRG) incorporated in Delaware, USA with Vatican & Israel kingpins pulling the strings continues to play Government Leader and NATO rustles war games on the Eastern Front.
According to statements made by this member of the Russian Duma, a peace treaty would essentially herald the end of 75 years of war, never terminated, after World War II’s supposed close in 1945, against Germany.
In Newsbreak 89, Hans relates some of the history behind Germany’s long abuse by the Vatican and the Allied countries of Britain, France, USA from before the First World War heading back to the time of Napoleon and the Battle of Versailles when Germany was the sole sovereign empire not under the control of the Pope in 1871, a situation the Vatican and its banker henchmen sought to terminate with the funding of both sides of World War I with full intent to bankrupt and destroy Germany.
The Second World War then continued the destruction of Germany, with Hitler, a foreign agent of the Allies and banking families of the Schiffs, Warbergs, Rothschilds essentially running a false flag war and dictatorial take over of Europe while much false information about the Holocaust has been set loose in the world and the “official” close of that war saw the United Nations formed with Germany named as sole enemy—in effect, isolating and targeting Germany as enemy of the entire world of nations joining hands under the aegis of the United Nations.
Meanwhile, it is also true, suggests Hans, that that war never really ended even in 1945 and continues today in morphed form with corporate governments becoming the aggressors and all of humanity the enemy.
As a consequence of the 102-year long targeted subjugation of Germany since 1918, the entire sovereign nation of Germany has been abjectly enslaved, its sovereign empire dashed down, its powerful cultural soul layered over by the false-nation construct of the private corporation BRD with Angela Merkel at its head, to this day requiring payments from the sweat and labor of the German taxpayer to the Allies, and causing for Germans a painful and self-abnegating disassociation with their past and history as the Allies have painted it.
Hans relates that the current scenario—as being played out by the banker-crew, Vatican, and allied power structure–appears to be the desired conversion of Europe into a Muslim Sharia state, with similar intended for the USA—a combined transformation and subjugation of the Western and Christian peoples of Europe and USA, while China with its communist practices and inbuilt ideation of suppression of individual power is to be allowed to gain ascendancy. However, Hans suggests, it appears that Presidents Trump, Putin, and Xi have been working behind the scenes to prevent this from happening.
In this reading, which resembles the Q reading: While the war still rages overground, COVID-19, unleashed on the world by the one-world-government-of-communist-totalitarianism crowd is being used to engineer shutdowns, remove people from streets and confine them to their homes in efforts to protect them. Deeper spiritual wars are also being fought, in DUMBS, where it appears older darker forces reside, commandeering anti-human actions among the One-world-government crowd, such as child abuse, atrocities against babies, human sacrifice, and cannibalism: these horrors are being fought with by the “Whitehats” in our militaries, supposedly.
No doubt the truth of all these matters will be known in a few months’ time.
For now, says Hans, it is important to hold on to the idea and thought of success from our end, to send the ripples of our intention for world peace, harmony, and victory over the dark and sinister forces ranged against humanity worldwide, to welcome the vision of people holding hands and dancing in a meadow in sunlight as imminent, in opposition to bleak visions of forced vaccine mandates, Georgia Guidestone genocide of billions, bioweapons, FEMA camps, enslavement, and forever subjugation to the cabal running-crimes-for-further-centuries on all of us.
It’s a 26, 000-year cycle and their time has come to an end, he says. The Mayan calendar date of 2012 marked that end, and we are now already in the new age–replete with zero point energy, electromagnetic levitation, and EMF healing to replace deadly Pharma drugs just around the corner–while still needing to stamp out the criminal encroachments of the incorporations and their AI and techno-enslavements, which they imagine will bring them absolute power and full-spectrum-body-and-soul-control over all humanity.
The great news currently is that Germany is being rescued and revived, that the old sovereign German empire is poised to rise again, its peoples made free, its already-established Constitution and people-favoring laws (debtors, for instance, can never have their property confiscated, as is the case in UK, US, elsewhere currently) in place already to offer blueprint to other nations breaking free of the corporate structure and returning to their true power as peoples working with each other and not against each other (as is the case currently with corporate governments battling against their own citizens as enemy combatants, felons, federal property, and dead entities under the fictitious constructs of the Trading With the Enemy Act and the Birth-Certificate-Registration activities).
This freeing of Germany—and the world—begins with this momentous act of honor by the Russian Duma in extending the hand of peace to Germany and raising her out of the false-flag mire of forever-enmity engineered by the crooked Vatican, central-banker-and-Rothschild lot, Crown corporation, Allies, and bullying British Empire.
Here is the conversation in German and Russian between Hans-Joachim Muller and Jewgeni Feodorow:
Here is the rough transcript in translation of that conversation:
More on the background, context, and significance of this information can be found at recent articles at The Everyday Concerned Citizen:
The enemy states clause is a passage in Articles 53 and 107 as well as a half-sentence in Article 77 of the Charter (or Statute) of the United Nations (UNC), according to which coercive measures could be imposed on enemy states of World War II by the signatory states without special authorization by the UN Security Council, if the enemy states should again pursue an aggressive policy. This also includes military interventions. Article 53 defines as “enemy states” those states that were the enemy of a signatory state of the UN Charter during World War II (i.e. primarily Germany and Japan – more precisely, the German Reich and the Japanese Empire).
The enemy state clause plays no role in today’s international politics. According to the prevailing opinion in the science of international law, it is (long ago) obsolete.
The Hague Land Warfare Convention (HLKO) is the annex to the second Hague Agreement of 1899 “concerning the Laws and Customs of Land Warfare”, which was adopted during the First Peace Conference in The Hague. In 1907, the Hague Agreement was adopted again as the fourth Hague Agreement in a slightly amended version at the follow-up conference. It is the most important of the Hague Conventions that came into being within the framework of these conferences and thus, alongside the Geneva Conventions, an essential part of international humanitarian law. In the event of war, the Hague Land Warfare Convention contains provisions on the definition of combatants, the treatment of prisoners of war, restrictions on the choice of means of warfare, the protection of certain buildings and facilities of social and societal importance, the treatment of spies, capitulations and ceasefire agreements, and the conduct of an occupying power in an occupied territory. In dealing with injured and sick soldiers, the Hague Land Warfare Convention refers to the first Geneva Convention in the versions of 1864 and 1906.
The main text of the associated convention comprises five (1899) and nine (1907) articles, in which, among other procedural aspects, applicability and implementation are regulated. The Hague Land Warfare Convention as an appendix to the treaty is much more comprehensive, with 60 (1899) and 56 (1907) articles respectively, and contains the provisions on the laws and customs of land warfare. Contracting party of the version of 1899 became 51 states, the version of 1907 38 states joined. A total of 53 countries have joined at least one of the two versions. The depositary of all Hague Conventions is the Netherlands.
The Hague Land Warfare Convention continues to be valid contract law for the contracting parties and their successor states in their relations with each other. Furthermore, its principles have been regarded as customary international law for several decades. They are therefore also binding on states and non-state parties to conflicts that have not explicitly acceded to the Convention. Furthermore, essential parts of the Hague Convention on International Land Warfare have been expanded and specified in the four Geneva Conventions of 1949, their two Additional Protocols of 1977 and the Hague Convention for the Protection of Cultural Property in the Event of Armed Conflict of 1954. The Hague Convention on the Protection of Cultural Property in Armed Conflicts of 1954. In addition to its significance under customary law, the Hague Land Warfare Convention is thus also the historical starting point for essential contractual elements of contemporary international humanitarian law.
RAE (Report, Analysis, Op-ed) | Ramola D | Sep 26, 2020
This past week, in court at Old Bailey in London, during the ongoing extradition-to-US hearings, world-renowned journalist and Wikileaks founder Julian Assange’s psychiatrist, Professor Michael Kopelman revealed on Sep 22 that Julian had reported hearing abusive persecutory voices in his head while also experiencing a nose-dive into depression, to the point of having suicidal feelings and reaching out to a suicide hotline, The Samaritans.
The voices which Julian reported while in solitary confinement said things to him such as “You are dust” “You are dead” “We’re coming to get you.” In addition Julian has reported other auditory hallucinations such as music.
Julian Assange has been in a maximum-security prison at Belmarsh since April 2019 (when he was evicted from the Ecuadorian Embassy after seven years there), where he’s been held in solitary for long periods of time and endured multiple indignities including being denied access to his lawyers at various times. Last year in September, his father, John Shipton visited him in prison and reported conditions were harsh, that Julian’s treatment was “sordid and hysterical,” that he was being held in solitary for up to 23 hours a day, and subjected to intensive (known) surveillance which included laser microphones and video cameras, even in toilets. Nils Melzer, UN Special Rapporteur for Torture,who visited Julian in May 2019 stated that Julian was being subjected to full-blown psychological torture inclusive of the slanderous mobbing, defamation, and denial of coverage accorded him by mainstream media.
Indeed, he stated that Julian Assange had been “systematically slandered to divert attention from the crimes he exposed,” and been so dehumanized by the negative coverage aimed at him by a propagandist press naming him a rapist, a hacker, a Russian spy that the world had failed to notice and decry the base violations of his essential human rights.
The UN Human Rights Office released a statement in November 2019 succeeding that visit by Mr. Melzer which revealed that the UK Government, exposed for governmental misconduct and serious war crimes by the Wikileaks videos and cables, was essentially retaliating, torturing, and persecuting the journalist who exposed them:
The Special Rapporteur and his medical team visited the imprisoned Wikileaks founder in May and reported that he showed “all the symptoms typical for prolonged exposure to psychological torture” and demanded immediate measures for the protection of his health and dignity.
“However, what we have seen from the UK Government is outright contempt for Mr. Assange’s rights and integrity,” Melzer said. “Despite the medical urgency of my appeal, and the seriousness of the alleged violations, the UK has not undertaken any measures of investigation, prevention and redress required under international law.”
Under the Convention against Torture, States must conduct a prompt and impartial investigation wherever there is reasonable ground to believe that an act of torture has been committed. “In a cursory response sent nearly five months after my visit, the UK Government flatly rejected my findings, without indicating any willingness to consider my recommendations, let alone to implement them, or even provide the additional information requested,” the UN expert said.
In May, Mrs. Assange retweeted a statement by Stella Moris, his partner and mother of two young sons, expressing a fear that he may die in jail.
Labour MP John McDonnell has made a statement on Double Down News about the brutality of the treatment of prisoners at Belmarsh and the need for Julian’s persecution by the UK and US governments to be widely publicized:
A recent tweet by Stella Moris detailed just how horrifically Julian Assange is still being treated, as he is brought to court for the hearings:
Dr. Sondra Crosby, who has visited Julian Assange at Belmarsh in October 2019 and January 2020 and at the Ecuadorian embassy earlier in October 2017, testified at the hearing and asserted that he is at “high risk of completing suicide if he were to be extradited” to the United States.
She said Assange suffers from osteoporosis. He would face severe risks to his physical health—in addition to his mental health—if detained or incarcerated in a U.S. facility, given the abysmal state of health care in jails and prisons.
According to Crosby, Assange has concealed the “full extent of his depression and suicide plans” when meeting with prison doctors and mental health specialists. He was worried if he revealed his plans or the “extent of his suicidal ideations” that he “may be put under more surveillance” or face further isolation.
….As detailed in her December 2019 report provided to the court, Assange seemed severely depressed to her. He talked like he was “essentially dead.” He was “tearful” and pleaded “for help.” He spoke about calling an anonymous suicide hotline known as the Samaritans.
By October 2019, “he met all of criteria for major depression,” Crosby testified. “It was profoundly impacting his functioning, and he had thoughts of suicide every day, many times in a day.”
Crosby assessed his physical health and was concerned about what she viewed as symptoms of cardiac disease or anxiety, as well as chronic respiratory infections. Early in the COVID-19 pandemic, Assange’s defense team raised the issue of chronic respiratory infections in an attempt to bail him out of jail. The judge rejected their request.
It is established beyond doubt therefore that Julian Assange has been subjected to an excess of physical as well as psychological torture, that his suffering is real, his feelings of depression observed and understood.
Julian’s auditory hallucinations and suicidal ideations as disclosed by Professor Michael Kopelman were remarked in court reports by Rebecca Vincent from Reporters without Borders, and acknowledged by Stella Moris:
Concern from journalists covering this trial–Shadowproof has published a list here–has centered on Julian’s mental health and psychological well-being, severely compromised by incarceration in a brutal maximum security person, often confined to solitary.
Many observing and following these events in court, however, who are aware that anti-personnel non-lethal weapons and neuroweapons disguised as crowd-control technologies, electronic surveillance, “peace enforcement” and “deterrence,” which are known also to be used covertly in prisons, are in use today worldwide, ask if this is really the whole story. Is it possible there is something else operative here, related to weaponized neuroscience? That the auditory “hallucinations” being reported by Julian, and the plummeting dive into depression he has manifested, replete with suicide ideation, are consequences of neuroweaponry attacks rather than mental health breakdowns brought on by torture?
There has been much disclosure over the years regarding such neuroweapons, which can put voices into heads, as well as modulate feelings, moods, and states of being. Thousands of people have come forward to testify to the reality of auditory signals piped in from the outside, which indeed, they report, include repetitiously abusive voices, pushing negative messages and encouraging self-harm and suicide. Despite the desperate, apostate efforts over the past couple decades by propagandizing and openly-lying DOD/CIA-affiliated press such as The New York Times, Washington Post, Wired, Atlantic, Daily Beast, and other such to suppress the existence of these technologies, variously known to many as military Voice to Skull, or Voice of God weapons, and comprising a number of sonic, optical, and electromagnetic technologies such as bone conductance, the Neurophone, Frey’s microwave hearing, laser light modulation, MRIs, among others, notice of these technologies from Defense and CIA whistleblowers, published patents, and current public-domain neuroscience has indisputably established their existence, use, and “fielding” or deployment.
Dr. Robert Duncan, a military and CIA whistleblower who has spoken at length about state of the art neurotechnology at conferences, workshops, Universities recently discoursed on a variety of neurotechnologies capable of putting voices in heads, creating AI hive-minds and brain nets, neurally influencing thoughts, emotions, and behaviors, and creating No-Touch torture in human brains on a presentation hosted by human rights advocate Deserie Foley, which she presented at Camp Disclosure 2020 along with her own experience of being attacked with some of these neurotechnologies. This is Dr. Robert Duncan’s portion of the presentation, below, offered to this writer by Dr. Duncan for the purposes of this article, for the education and enlightenment of all readers, while Deserie Foley’s full presentation can be found here. (Many thanks also to Deserie for prompting this presentation by Dr. Duncan.)
In a conversation with this writer in February, Dr. Duncan spoke both of how these neuroweapons have come to be developed and deployed, and how there is a great need for exposure and ethical regulation of these weapons, to prevent the kind of harm that now thousands of “Targeted Individuals” being attacked with such neuroweapons are complaining of today:
Other military neuroscientists including Dr. James Giordano of Georgetown University and DARPA have spoken of how all-invasive today’s neuroweapons are (two all-revealing video presentations linked below), while Dr. Richard Alan Miller has published earlier on synthetic telepathy and microwave hearing: Synthetic Telepathy and the Early Mind Wars, by Richard Alan Miller, 2001
The subjects of synthetic telepathy, voices in heads, sounds in heads, and mind-hives have been discussed by many whistleblowers in the community to this writer, please see the many interviews at Ramola D Reports and on this website, including ones with Omnisense/Phillip Walker, Dr. Millicent Black, and Paul Baird of Surveillance Issues. Many have also published testimonials at various websites online, and several have spoken out at conferences and commission meetings such as the President’s Commission for Bioethical Issues cover-up meetings chaired by career academic Amy Gutman in 2011. (Amy Gutman, like the rest of the crew on that panel and at subsequent Office of Human Research Protections panels is abysmally guilty of covering up notice of these non-consensual experimentation crimes and human rights atrocities by reporting victims.) It is at this point an open secret that these neuroweapons are being used unethically on people worldwide, as indeed the US diplomats in Cuba and China also recently experienced and reported, and as thousands in China, Poland, and elsewhere are now reporting openly.
Finally, many who have been targeted with these weapons and who have experienced the inside of the US prison system, such as Todd Giffen and Warren Weisman have reported to this writer that they have experienced being hit with both neurotechnology and microwave weaponry while in jail. Justice documents including some recently released on FOIA request indicate also that new sensors and tracking devices are being tested out and used in US prisons, suggesting that the kind of intrusive surveillance prisoners at high-security prisons are subjected to far exceeds the visible and known surveillance of microphones and video cameras–and could include millimeter-wave heartbeat and heart EMF sensors, MRI scanners, and neuro-imaging/scanning/stimulation technologies. Prison populations in the US have also historically been experimented on by military and Intelligence factions, and it is entirely plausible that prisoners in the UK also are being subjected today to neuro-experimentation without consent.
In a lecture given at a Bases conference a few years ago, Dr. Robert Duncan remarked that these neurotechnologies comprised Offensive Information Warfare neuroweaponry. They are indeed weapons of war and their purpose is destruction.
The psychologists, psychiatrists, physicians and others working to provide Julian Assange healthcare and advocacy today are advised therefore to seriously consider and examine this possibility–and not look facilely to psychiatry and psychoactive drugs for answers and remedies. Many hundreds of people neuro-targeted non-consensually by the unethical Military-Intelligence behemoth already languish in mental asylums, Psych wards, and misdiagnosed hellholes of “schizophrenia, paranoia, schizoid disorder” labels, lives taken down by psychiatric miscreancy, forced onto disability, disbelieved by families, made penniless, jobless, and homeless. They too are victims of war crimes by a ruthless military-industrial-Intelligence-academe complex gone mad with greed and control, using neurotechnology to destroy lives, shut down dissent, and manage populations.
Neuroscientists watching the Assange hearings probably understand very well, as Dr. Duncan does, that Julian Assange also may be such a war crime victim, that his mind may be being hacked by the very war criminals his journalism has exposed.
It is an indisputable breach of neuro privacy and extreme violation of human rights, bodily autonomy, and neuro sovereignty to have one’s brain so monitored, scanned, and interfered with, and while mental health teams may focus exclusively on conditions of incarceration leading to “psychosis” and suicide ideation, they must know that the neuroweapons now exist to destroy, degrade, influence, and harm people’s healthy, happy minds. Of course, neuroweaponry used on Julian’s brain, if that is the case, and microwave weaponry used on his body, if that is the case (giving rise to many illnesses, as described by Dr. Sondra Crosby, symptoms of all of which can be induced by anti-personnel directed energy weapons, as reported by victims and scientists) both make the case for his immediate removal from Belmarsh prison and return to his home and family: they will establish he is being tortured with neuroweaponry and DEWs, as many other targets of the ire of the ruthless and criminal Deep State and war industry today are. This is Remote Rendition and Remote-Access Torture from a distance, as the writer and human rights advocate Cassandra has pointed out, in her article on El-Masri’s statement calling out the CIA’s Extraordinary Rendition he experienced; victims of neurotechnology war crimes today are essentially victims of Remote Rendition and Remote-Access Bio-Hacking and Neuro-Hacking Torture.
People worldwide watching these events and reading about them stand silently and remotely in support of Julian Assange while everyday, outside the court, people congregate to support Julian and push for his release.
In a surprise late-breaking video broadcast published a few minutes ago online at his channel, :Russell-Jay: Gould has made the announcement that he is coming forward this 2020 Presidential election as Postmaster-General-of-the-World, Commander-in-Chief, and Chief-Judge, very much in the interests of preserving America and protecting Americans from the possibility of foreign troops entering and taking over the country–fears many have entertained as the globalist push for New World Order communism, along with authoritarian tyranny, has been steadily observed on the rise worldwide.
:Russell opens his announcement with a reminder of his court-martialing of George W. Bush and Dick Cheney (covered in several recent interviews), during the closure of which he says he reminded George Bush as he was leaving office in 2008 that there would be no Presidential elections unless he himself was in it, and won it, in his titular standing as last man standing, holder of the Title 4 flag, and treasurer of the US, “to help the citizens of this country come out of the financial chaos they were in.”
With that in mind, he says, he and :David-Wynn: Miller sued the Federal Elections Commission in June 2012, syntaxed elections applications and found them fraudulent (written in “fictitious grammar”, thereby conveying deceptive messages), and then, acting as whistleblowers, apprised the elections commissions in all 50 states, US Military, world banking system, and world postal systems of the grammar-fraud in elections applications. The campaign he and :David: Wynn-Miller prepared back then was called the Di-Rectors-Party, unknown to the general public, known only to a small minority, an “original contractor for the people, the People’s Party.”
“I syntaxed the laws in all 50 states… and it was a copious task, took several elections to go through all the mechanics of it….in 2016, we also had the Di.rectors Party Campaign…we gave closure on the style of the syntax and the disqualification of the Federal Elections Commission as well as all 50 states, as well as the electoral college votes for the US House and Senate.”
:Russell-Jay: Gould, :Breaking-News on the Elections: Coming-Forward
He also describes how he filed a contract to shut down the capacity of the House and Senate of US Congress to function as a corporation or to pass laws, and shows evidence of the Govt Printing Office cognition of this filing.
The continuing fraud of a US corporate government which has continued to maintain the facade of correctness while operating outside guidelines (the Constitution, which comprised guidelines for the US bankruptcy, ended with the close of the US bankruptcy in 1999) has led to much fraud, as evidenced, he says, in the election of Barry Soetoro, a Kenyan citizen by birth who is known to most as Barack Obama–this is why he, as President “did not have to be from this country because there were no guidelines for the President.”
Public Closure on Coming-Forward
“Because of the great controversies that will be created in the 2020 Election, the forms and the guidelines will be going to the Supreme Court where I am Chief Judge. As Chief Judge I have the credentials and the foothold because I have pierced the corporate veil in the tails of the estates with the bills of the lading with all 50 states — what that means in a brief summary is: all 50 states as well as all territories–Guam, Puerto Rico, Virgin Islands, Marshall Islands– were given closure that the Presidential elections were fake, that the rules that they used to enforce their concepts of voting on the people, those were all fraudulently conveyed under fictitious grammar, all 50 states and territories were given notice as well as the treasury systems of the world and the postal systems of the world.”
“…Because I am Commander-in-Chief, I am now giving public closure to the military of the world as well as the US Marines, Navy, Air Force, Coast Guard and Army, that I am coming forward, in the 2020 elections, as a neutral function, to make sure that the security not only of our great lands and our financial system, but the security of our people is left intact, that no foreign troops are authorized to transport their vessels into our great land, and simultaneously the militaries of the world as well as the militaries of this great country will be giving me the safeguard that’s necessary, and anyone that gets in my face you will deal directly with a Commander-in-Chief’s will — Corporation Case RR385460312 US: Mankind-Domain-Performance. Those of you listening to this transmission will know what that means. The National Security Code is RR294568221US. I have Cosmic and Majestics securities clearance codes here too but I am not going to give those on-air.”
Russell-Jay: Gould, :Breaking-News on the Elections: Coming-Forward
Anticipating Chaos & Confusion: Truth Wins
Anticipating that the 2020 elections will be attended by chaos and subsequent litigation by the court system to confuse the people, :Russell-Jay: Gould emotionally assures America and the world that he is now here, and prepared to “safeguard this country, safeguard the people, and safeguard correctness, because Truth wins.”
First Step in the Quantum-Banking-System is Live-Life-Claims
:Russell also describes the end of the Birth Certificate system with the end of the US bankruptcy and the end of the US Inc. corporate government in 1999, and offers more on what people need to do to stop engaging in modalities of enslavement with this birth-certificate system. Live-life-claims have been discussed in articles earlier, here (Restoration of America), as well as here (New Global-Quantum-Banking).
A recent letter to members of the quantum-community, in quantum-grammar, also described the importance of live-life-claims, the first step to establishing one’s standing prior to making any other claims:
: NOTE FROM THE CHIEF, : Hello-Quantum-Patriots,
For the first-step in the QUANTUM-BANKING-SYSTEM IS with the CLAIM-LIFE-BIRTH-CONTRACT of your journey, but, WHY?
In the year-~1999, UNITED STATES INC. &: UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, Came-out of a third &: final: INTERNATIONAL BANKRUPTCY, Which, You-will-learn-on in the FILM: LAST-FLAG-STANDING.COM.
For the consequences of that third &: final: INTERNATIONAL BANKRUPTCY-ENDING, Creates-scenarios, that, Every-Citizen,WASN’T-READY-FOR &: NEVER-KNEW! For these scenarios of the ENDING-AUTHORIZATIONS ARE with the corporate-structures of the FORMER: UNITED STATES INC. &: UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, Such as the ENDING-BIRTH-CERTIFICATE-SYSTEM of the UNITED STATES INC. &: UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.
: Since, EVERY-CITIZEN IS, STILL-participating with their BIRTH-CERTIFICATE in the structuring with every construct of their lives, Such as their schooling, driver’s-license, passport, social-security, businesses, wills, [re]tirement-funds, homes, courts &: banks, CAUSING-OWN-HARVEST &: PEOPLES’-SLAVERY in our Great-Land. For this consequence-closure: BIRTH-CERTIFICATE-PARTICIPATION of the PEOPLES’-Contracts: UNITED STATES INC. &: UNITED STATES OF AMERICAIS with each child, woman, man &: Citizen of the PEOPLES’-SLAVERY.
For this new-knowledge in your life IS with the main-volition of the article’s-question: WHY, SOLUTION: CLAIM-LIFE-BIRTH-CONTRACT.
: So with the CLAIM-LIFE-BIRTH-CONTRACT as this Nativity-PositionIS with the new-structuring of your life’s-contracts with the granting-capacity of a statement with a claim by the NEW-CLAIM-LIFE-BIRTH-CONTRACT-CLAIMANT.
For the CLAIM-LIFE-BIRTH-CONTRACT of the claiming: birth-location, birth-date, birth-parents, claimant’s-current-bio-metrics, foreign-port-navigations &: fee-freight-payments IS with the NEW-CLAIM-LIFE-BIRTH-CONTRACT-CLAIMANT in this STARTING-QUANTUM-BANKING-SYSTEM-TREATY.
For this CLAIM-LIFE-BIRTH-CONTRACT in this Nativity-PositionIS with the new-structuring of your life’s-contracts with the schooling, driver’s-license, passport, social-security, businesses, wills, [re]tirement-funds, homes, courts &: banks of each child, woman, man &: Citizen with this SELF-GOVERNING &: CITIZENS’-CONTROL in our Great-Land.
For your First-Step in the Getting: CLAIM-LIFE-BIRTH-CONTRACT IS with the next-newsletter, which, will-give: website, where-you-can-get-your: CLAIM-LIFE-BIRTH-CONTRACT.
With this Honor: POSTMASTER-GENERAL OF OUR WORLD &: QUANTUM-BANKING-SYSTEM-SOLITARY-OWNER/CREATOR: Russell-Jay: Gould.
: Thank-you. : Team-Quantum.
To sign up for the newsletter and learn quantum-grammar, please visit the :Quantum-Community website: forthequantum
To stay tuned for further information, announcements, and broadcasts, please subscribe at the Youtube channel, :Russell-Jay: Gould.
:Rachel-Dara: Prince, Filmmaker, Interviews :Russell-Jay: Gould For a Documentary Film
This story was written many years ago, after bombs dropped on Gaza at the end of 2008 and into and past the New Year, when whole families were killed, when apartment complexes were demolished, when children taking refuge in UN schools and compounds were targeted for evisceration, when phosphor bombs and depleted uranium were reported in the news, when Israel said it was the fault of Hamas, when Obama said the “security of Israel” was “sacrosanct.”
Richard Falk, former UN Special Rapporteur for Palestinian Human Rights wrote then, in July 2014, while once again the international community of governments did nothing to sanction or stop Israel: “As with earlier massive Israeli military operations carried out against the people of Gaza 2008-2009, and 2012, the defenceless Gazan population is again being cruelly victimised. If an adversary of the West was behaving as Israel has since July 8, it would be branded an aggressor whose leaders would likely be held accountable before the International Criminal Court (ICC) or some other tribunal with the authority to prosecute persons accused of international crimes which have distressed the US government and its allies.”
During that summer, award-winning novelist Ru Freeman (author of A Disobedient Girl, On Sal Mal Lane) began work on an extraordinary anthology of writings, poetry and prose, non-fiction and fiction from American writers communicating in a group on Facebook and others she knew or contacted, on the subject of Israel and Palestine.
As she wrote later in her foreword to Extraordinary Rendition, published in 2015 by Oregon Books, where this story was first published in very partial excerpt:
“The impetus to ask a group of writers to reflect on the ongoing assault on the thin and shifting borders of Palestine, and the people who are confined to that tenuous landscape, became impossible to set aside in the face of the 2014 assault on Gaza, an assault in which Israel claimed it hit 5,226 targets within the 139 square miles that constitute Gaza, and one which left 2,104 Palestinians killed, including 495 children, and 10,626 injured, many critically. Parallel to the bombing of Gaza was the simultaneous incursion into Palestinian neighborhoods in the West Bank which went unmentioned in the American press. It resulted in the largest land-grab by Israel since 1948, with the seizure of $3.5 million worth of Palestinian property within and surrounding Jerusalem. In the face of such numbers, and the fact that we as Americans, willingly or not, fund the perpetration of such violence through our taxes, but more so by our silence, I felt that we needed to confront the reality that Cunard articulated in 1937: it is impossible any longer to take no side.”
Ru Freeman, Foreword, Extraordinary Rendition: (American) Writers on Palestine
Image from Twitter/Nov 14, 2019
In the last few days from November 12 to the present date, the 15th, news has trickled in through the silence of larger media about the bombs being dropped on defenseless families, about whole families killed, about babies and children and youth being murdered again in Gaza. Many have woken today to the pointless horrors of war, to the one-sided nature of the attacks on Gaza, where those who seek even minimally to defend Gaza are made impotent by the ferocity and disproportionality of the force used against them.
Image from Twitter/Nov 13, 2019
I received news of the Gaza bombings this week from Twitter, from various sources, a few vital ones below.
I am as saddened, as disheartened as all of us witnessing these massacres or hearing about them from continents away, while our own Western governments pour money and ammunition and protective policy support into the bottomless pit of Israel’s budget for bombs to kill babies and their mothers and fathers. I have some thoughts on what could be done, internationally, to address these actions by Israel, to stop this carnage–I will publish them shortly.
For today, I offer my story “Constant Comfort” in full, dedicated to the people in Gaza–rejected by many literary magazines in the USA, no doubt because many have a strong Israeli or Zionist supremacist faction installed in-house, as much of US literary and news publishing unfortunately does, I have learned–and part of a collection of stories on war and children I hope to complete soon. (Publishers are welcome to contact me for this collection if interested: firstname.lastname@example.org.)
I send my prayers to the people in Gaza: May this incredible siege on your lives come to an end. May Israel’s Occupation and targeting end soon. May people worldwide wake up and take significant action. Millions of us worldwide who care about humanity send our love.
Daniyah was sucking a sweet red cherry lollipop when the ceiling caved in on her, the weight of several stories of concrete, brick, mortar, and steel whistling down to avalanche on her skull, so her hand involuntarily released the lollipop stick and her lungs, choking with fine grey dust, released the world. A breath had passed, maybe two, in which, believing she was still alive, she had raised her lollipop hand to the back of her skull where the wrenched concrete slab which had once held up a bedroom wall had impacted, and incomprehensible wads of tissue and blood leaked onto her fingers, and dripped into the tender spaces between her fingers. She withdrew her hand, marveling at the stickiness of life, the ease with which parts of the body could crack blindly open, spill their most secret contents, even the youthful crimson glaze streaming out of her five-year-old self thick with its own burden of wants and unwants, long threads of memories, viscous friendships, slow pools of regret.
The Bomb had arrived like a freight train, a tornado, a cataract, from deep inside a fighter jet. She had heard it ripping through the cauldron of space just above their building in Gaza, hissing its intent as it tore open the walls. For comfort, she had been sitting on her sister Aaliyah’s bed.
Beyond the sound, beyond the ungainly explosion of brick and concrete in large, unmanageable confetti all around her, streamers of ash rose like cirrus and floated. Now she noticed she was still sitting on the bed although the room entire had been demolished. Debris had torqued her feet inextricably into a devil’s arabesque. Ash still rose. It feathered the shattered brick, stopped up childish nostrils, climbed the torn-open curtains, sought out the glottis of every child and settled inside the moist alveoli of childish lungs.
Come to the Ball
Her sister Aaliyah had been reading a book, lying on her back in bed, flipping through pages of illustrations: fairies with tall butterfly-edged wings, fairies with pixie caps, fairies rising out of flowers, their legs stemmed and petalled, their thighs subsumed in bright corollas. Laboriously, words being sounded: She whispered to him, it was permitted, he could come to the ball. Aaliyah held inside her mouth like an unbreachable crevasse a learning disability which had once held her back in school. Words she could not pronounce pirouetted inside her. Words whose meaning eluded her flickered like constellations visible on rare occasion through blowing cloud. Some phrases and juxtapositions flummoxed her. Often she slipped into verbal transpositions and transgressions lucid only to those, like herself, who could not read in straight lines, word upon word. Because of these matters, she had only recently learned how to read in ways that could infallibly disperse inside her the certain seeds of story. This, astonishingly, had excited her to the point of undiminished hunger. Now all she wanted to do, in between eating, sleeping and going to school, was read.
Seven-year-old Aaliyah was reading when the Bomb tore through the upper stories of the building and exploded in a fireball that set fifty-six rooms above them ablaze, collapsed hundreds of walls, shattered windows, and tossed numerous body parts and dreams along with lullabies for infants, fabric from curtains and clothing, house pets, once-enclosed bricks, and just-made evening dinners into the pulverized air. The book was dragged from her hands, as were her hands from herself. Parts of her limbs scorched and melted, parts of her limbs disintegrated. Her eyes, still scanning a line of text, followed the exit of her unclad feet through the newly-exploded window, into the night-lit air, into the shuddering vibration. Black smoke and white ash plumed abruptly around her, obscuring vision. Coughing, she leaned forward to tilt a cup of bedside water to her mouth, her reachings with a phantom hand suddenly visible even to herself. Bone stood out white inside a shell of macerated flesh scorched to coal on the skin. Burning dreams from floors above fell with building debris on her desecrated limbs. In the whitening that ensued, of skin, lungs, and breath, a part of her still floated on butterfly wings, wrapped in diaphanous silks and glittering with rare crystalline stones, toward a fairy ball in an enchanted forest. Other parts of her reached for parts forever gone with an unregistering insistence.
A long time ago, their thirty-seven-year-old father, asked by a visiting Dutch journalist, what his children meant to him—he had five of them then, and the sixth on the way—said, tentatively (he was a shy man, unwilling to draw attention to himself) in his usual, retreating way: they were a constant comfort to him and his wife. They were the creation of family succeeding the death of his own parents. Children, he explained, were the meaning of home.
In the moment the Bomb hit, their mother, holding the seven-month-old baby, in the room furthest from the one in which the children played, had bent down to rummage beneath the bed for a new blanket for the baby’s crib. Joists crashing around her miraculously shaved a womb-like space surrounding her bent-over body. In this she froze, bent-over. The screech of matter ignited abruptly to oblivion around her cascaded, rippled, echoed. Walls crashed and fell, smoke and ash unwaveringly rose. The baby choked, she coughed, for a moment she held a still-whole hand to a still-whole mouth, deathly afraid for her children’s lives.
An Instant’s Ravaging
The second-youngest, three-year-old Isra, was on the carpet playing with her doll, a gangly mini-skirted Barbie with unruly golden locks, narrow lips, blue eyes, and red Mary-Jane stilettos, combing the knotted hair with a doll-brush, bending the legs sideways and forwards, backwards and back, readying her for school, she said, smoothing down the upturned sequined collar, when, in an instant’s ravaging, concrete confetti from the explosion needled through her spine and out her abdomen, crushing vertebrae, slushing together spinal fluid, blood, muscle, intestine, and intestinal contents in one gory mass that extruded beneath the doll’s golden hair and lay, for a brief moment, steaming before her eyes as the greater mass of the ceiling pounded all over her.
The oldest, Hadiya, was sitting by the window, staring into the deepening dusk, yellow window lights coming on all around them, dim swathe of stars above, dreaming of lean, handsome Fuad, the brother of her friend Mariam, with whom she had recently exchanged a series of letters, tentative and breathless, when she noticed the ominous congealing of sound around them, saw the fighter jet plummet and loosen its dark, silvery load of terror directly above, heard the raw Doppler crunch of its coming and going, and half-rose, shaken from her windowseat, when the end of the world sliced her sideways and with glass and metal she was blown to the center of the room, bleeding profusely from head and neck, legs paralyzed in one instant, and covered the next in the flaming, smoking debris that descended from above and kept on descending.
Her seventeen-year-old body slammed into the second-oldest, Malaika, the sleeping one, who had been sick that day and not ventured to school, curled in a ball on her bed, a single cotton sheet over her fourteen-year-old limbs, which boiled instantly to flame and sealed her skin at roiling temperatures into its fibrous threads, delving deep through layers of epidermis, dermis, muscle, to reach the hidden bone and surge against it. Flame, ash, bone, and shards of metal embedded. The weight of the rooms and objects above thrust onto shoulders, ribs, ankle bones. When she opened her eyes, blinking past the ash coating her lashes, weighting her lids, Malaika believed she had transformed in her dreams into a caterpillar’s tight cocoon, so fully was she encased in ashen, fallen plaster, and brick.
One Moment to the Next
Except for Hadiya, who had, for an instant, observed the blinding arc of terror dislodged from the roaring fighter jet, none of the girls had had an inkling of the enormity of what was about to happen to them. None comprehended what had occurred either, after it happened. The desire to move, from one moment to the next, within one’s own footprints, is rife in all of us. The girls blinked their eyes, touched their heads with shattered fingertips. Aaliyah wished to turn the page. Isra wished to clean the doll’s suddenly bloodied hair. Hadiya longed for Fuad, to reach down and lift her up to her feet. Daniyah wanted the sweet lick of cherry once more on her tongue. Malaika wanted merely to go back to sleep.
Instead, they rose, five slaughtered sisters, holding their parts together, or striving to, Daniyah pushing back the mass of extruded brain and blood as best she could, Isra tucking in stringy layers of intestine, Aaliya grateful for the supernatural lift which obviated the need for limbs, the burned Malaika still able to smooth scraps of burnt skin away from mouth and eyes, Hadiya, floated above the bed with its cover of smoke cloud, still paralyzed but able to see, rotating her head, where they were heading. Stars drifted loosely above. Smoke occluded parts of the night-time sky. Lights in buildings below flickered, went out. Other Bombs were flaring fiery mushroom clouds into the sky. Other balls of smoke rose, other streamers dissipated into the weedy blue of dusk the ashen white of burning phosphorus. Low, violet hills duned to a dim horizon from where artillery shells arced destruction. Missiles flew about them, bodied and silvered, making the air sing. Everywhere, cries could be heard, of people attacked or bereaved, of fear or terror, of unstoppable grief, first plainly, then muffled, as great heights intervened between their bodies and the earth. Date palms and olive trees, for a moment so close, diminished in size steadily until miniscule rivets of green waving timidly from below were all that was left.
Now clouds approached, and more of them, fluffed-up columns and roofs and porticos of silk-shower cloud, endless galloping battalions of styrofoam cloud, stained the colors of battle—blood-red, earth-brown, gunmetal-grey. Cool mist dampened burned skin as swiftly the ascending children pierced layers of soaring cloud, into a sudden vertical sea of calm. Night skies stretched out here, starry and clear. Now they could hear the thrum of the speeding jet, the singular roar of powerful engines already past the sound barrier and booming their shifted velocity into the violet atmosphere. Their bodies lifted naturally toward the sound and dusk-lit metal sight of it, sleek, tearing beauty of the long-nosed jet, the very one which had discharged its artillery over their building, and so easily secured their death.
As she rose, Daniyah felt as if she were floating on sea-green waves on a safe golden beach lit with evening sun. Around her shone white cone shells, narrow spirals of rose-petal augers, softer bluegray coquinas, half-buried in the sugary sand. She made wide arcs with her arms and thrust fingers into the half-damp sand and let the blue heavens pour liquid honey on her skin. She remembered the horses by the water, and the children flying kites, and the sound of laughter. She remembered how often her father would take the children to the beach near Dayr-al-Balah. She tasted sweet nut and honey confections in her mouth, crunch of roasted peanuts, long, strawed sips of fresh mint lemonade. They had often used to picnic on the beach, in the days when it cost less to get there.
She rose from the sand angel she had made and ran forwards, into the water. The feel of it on her feet smooth and foamed, a spread of coolness, like vanilla icecream melting in the mouth. She held her sister Isra’s hand, drew her to the water. Ancient Mediterranean seas rolled long toward them and back, gently in thinning waves and foaming forward in sudden gushes. Long she gazed at their side-by-side buried feet in the sand, tiny bits of shell that hid between their toes, scraps of seaweed that touched their ankles.
Slowly the sun was going down. Everything—sand, water, shells—was glistening a mother-of-pearl pink.
From the sheer glass of his bubble canopy in the speeding F-16, the thirty-eight-year-old IDF pilot, Raphael Even-Zahav gazed steadily into the future: clear navy skies to left and right, starry foam of the Milky Way above, distant surround of coastline, dune, city lights, white memories of clouds below. These long-gone clouds had come already between his past and his future, or so he believed. He was flying at thirty-six thousand feet and climbing. Behind him sat his buddy, thirty-nine-year-old Doran Ben-Ami, with whom he had grown up on the same street in Tel Aviv and with whom he had trained once at flight school. A long time ago, they had been boys together, flying paper houses on strings. Now they were IDF men in fighter planes, several years of frenzied adulthood behind them.
Many things having happened in those years.
Raphael had married, had one child, divorced. A bitter divorce, with his wife refusing joint custody, citing abuse. In the throes of ego and passion, he had hit her once or twice. Raised his voice to her, that was only as much as he had grown up with, from his father. Never hit the child. Didn’t drink that much. Combat pilots had more sense than that. But he’d come home late a couple times, drunk. After the baby, things had wrenched apart between them. She said she had no time to herself, all day at home with the baby. He had laughed. After the baby, he thought, she’d had no time for him. She had gone off to America, to live with her mother in New York. From seeing his baby girl everyday, he saw her once in two or three years. His wife remarried, had other kids. He had never wanted to marry again. He lived in a one-bedroom apartment and changed his girlfriends when they mentioned any possibility of future. Raphael, whose name meant Angel, did not practice being angelic.
Doran was not that much different, although he had not married young, like Raphael. He married in his early thirties and his first child, Aviva whose name meant Springtime, had been mown down at age six by a bunch of drunken men in an oversized SUV on New Year’s Eve, two streets from their home, near a neighbor’s house. He had a second child, she was two then. But the marriage cracked and splintered. Too much grief can paralyze, he learned. His wife became depressed. He stayed out with Raphael in bars. There were nights the two-year-old was not fed, nights he came home to nonstop crying and frantic searching in the refrigerator for something to give the child. It was a relief when his wife’s sister took the child and his wife in to live with her in Haifa.
Raphael did not witness the steady rising because his eyes were on the upper skies. But he was the first to notice the motley crowd of figures on the nose of the fighter jet, as the girls sailed onto the smooth curved fuselage and wedged themselves in upon its metal curve. He rubbed his eyes, he had been awake until the wee hours the night before, prey to his latest curse, insomnia. The round, childish figures did not dissolve or disappear. A mirage of paper lanterns, he thought at first. Light reflected into shapes of conch shells. Desert pottery. Dolls. From this he progressed. Not mirages of dolls but dolls themselves? The figures had childish limbs. Children, he saw finally, his mouth inside the oxygen mask agape. Small children. Teenagers. And the masses attached to parts of their heads, stomachs, chests, were body parts, extruded. That was blood, in jagged streams. That was skin, burnt and mixed-in with flesh. That was bone he saw, and brain, and the insides of a person’s guts. That was stiffening and rigor mortis, the waxen look of death.
That was a small group of children, sitting where no-one could sit, forty thousand feet above the earth’s crust, in icy cold, thrust forward at tremendous speed, on the nose of his fighter jet. All dead.
His hands slipped on the throttle then, disbelief pocking holes in him. His entire body, clad in his heavy G-suit, tingled. But he was a combat pilot, trained to take evasive action. Doran, he called. Doran!
Doran, who had been momentarily asleep and dreaming of space travel, white-hot neutron stars, cold burn of space, jerked his head up and saw Aaliyah, reading a book, streaks of red pouring down her forehead. Behind her, stars glittered. Aviva, he whispered. Are you here?
A Vision for a Day
When the Bomb had fallen, its target guided by lasers, its moment of release planned and executed with supreme precision, a small jerk had rocked the aircraft for a small period of time, smaller than a minute. Then the Bomb had plunged, the noise of its going masked by the tremendous thrust of the engine and afterburners. Visually, a large occluding mass of metal became a sleek and noiseless silver shape lit by the rays of the dying sun, a plummeting noiseless bird, a rapid speck, erasure. The jet thundered forward. All things below seeming to happen in slow motion, in a world of no sound, so distant a world, untouched and untouchable by the two motionless bodies in the Bomber jet. The roiling fireball, rounder and larger than any synagogue. The tremendous plumes of smoke. The dust and cloud of explosion. The building flattened. All sealed in a capsule of silence. Over Raphael’s shoulder and below the plane’s landing wheels it hung, jeweled in an upward-arcing container of space, the remote, unfurling Target.
He was a fighter pilot, he did not need to hear the sound or see the explosion. The discharge was smooth, anticipated, on plan. The sight was a bonus, and always surreal, as if it were happening in another dimension. It was a vision for a day, and then to be forgotten. In his career, his cachet of wars, sorties, target airstrikes, he had seen many of them.
But this—what was this?
Do you see it, he asked Doran.
Yes, said Doran, briefly.
He did not know what Doran was seeing. He wanted someone to explain the vision to him. What is it, he fumbled, what are we looking at?
Doran was silent for a long minute.
Beats me, he said, finally.
A Layer of Happiness
Meanwhile, the girls dreamt.
Isra, gathered up in a cloud of pink frosting, was dreaming of birthday cake: fresh pineapple on a bed of cream sandwiched between soft vanilla sponge cake.
Malaika was swimming in shining blue ripples in a lake. Snow geese swooped above her, and swans gracefully bent long necks as they floated.
Their parents were not far. Hadiya, dazzled by textures and colors, was shopping with her mother for her eighteenth birthday, they were hand in hand in a large department store, they were choosing transparent, flyaway scarves. Aaliya, lost in dream, was reading a story to her father, sitting in a wicker chair, rocking on the balcony. A story with unicorns and spiny-tailed dragons and princesses growing long yellow hair.
Every dream had music or singing in it, a layer of happiness. The Wiggles were singing in Isra’s dream, about Dorothy the Dinosaur. Wild birds in Malaika’s.
Suffice to say they tried everything. They thrust vertically up, the positive Gs almost flinging them backward so they were forced to press their legs together, embark on the Hick maneuver, tensing legs, thighs, abdomen, to keep the blood from constricting in their lower parts, and send it back up to the head. They did a roll, an inverted roll, a sashay to the right, left, forward, back, they spiraled, did a spin, a torpedo, a cache of spins.
The girls clung stubbornly to the nose and seemed indeed to find no trouble in doing so.
None wobbled or slipped or dropped.
Each, engaged with her own particular trouble, smoothing a coil of intestine back into place, or reconstructing cerebellum and nerve ends from indiscriminate mass, seemed absorbed, and unconcerned about the plane’s repeated, desperate maneuvers.
Raphael plunged a ninety-degree plunge. Nothing happened, save for the loss of his own equilibrium, a wave of nausea. Then one upward. Positive G again.
He wanted to duck. He wanted to wake up. He wanted, irrepressibly, to clamber out of the cockpit and onto the plane, crawl to the nose, and push them off, even as he felt melancholically certain he could never push them off. He wanted most of all, not to have to look upon them, for the sight of the unlined, ravaged faces, the dripping blood, the silent masks of death, was making him think of things he had never before contemplated nor indeed been asked to. Was this truly the Bomb’s doing? Had these kids come from that ball of flame and coal-colored smoke he had created? He felt tormented, and shook his head, even as he oscillated the plane, climbed steep, banked, turned, plunged, all in an effort to shake them off. He wanted not to think about it. He would not think about it.
Doran, behind him, shouted instructions. He too, wanted the sky clean once more, the nose cleaned off, the children gone. They needed to land, he thought, they needed to get at that nose with a hefty broom.
Behind Daniya’s head, her hair now sticky with blood, her brain tissue recalcitrant in its determined slide downward onto her neck, a trillion stars shone. Distant nebulae cast a faint halo around the tangle of sticky blood, brain, and hair that now jointly adorned her neck. Her body distorted into an unimaginable curve. The burned, mutilated Aaliya painful to look upon. Burnt, her face unrecognizable as human. Eyeholes peering out from a jelly of flesh and skin. One step from the cockpit, legs drawn up, as if in the middle of some gymnastic curl, her feet and ankles nonexistent, the bloodied stumps with raw glimpses of bone—Raphael shivered, looking. The sight of Isra worse: the damaged spine, the central part of her three-year-old body burst open like a flower to reveal the intimate, unflowerlike insides of abdomen, blood pooling in abandon, smooth pool of blood on the steel dark enough to reflect starlight back upward into the black canopy of space. Hadiya could not move. Raphael observed the two halves of her existence—the upper bloodied and broken, the lower bound as we are bound to earth, flopping like a wounded seal on her side, stuck like a harpooned fish. And the burned Malaika, whose sheet, half-welded to her skin, rose like a wing around her, studded with reddest flesh, reddest blood, gray matter of nerves and cells, stringy white muscle, coated with ash and concrete debris.
It was the look of the trusting, questioning child in all their faces, underneath the blood and burning, the soft peach-bloom of child-skin, the tender, growing ungainliness of child-limbs, that proved, in the end, his undoing. Swept on a tide of unprecedented need, Raphael experienced a passionate yearning to see his own eleven-year-old daughter in New York again, touch her soft child-face with his hands, reassure himself she was still alive.
He fumbled with the joystick but hardly knew what he was doing.
The sky pulsed in front like a neutron star. The breath scraping him raw in the throat.
Raphael spoke urgently to Air Control.
He needed to land, he said, Abort Mission. There were other Bombs to be dropped, other Targets to be found. He could not drop them, could not find them. Because he appeared to have some trouble getting his message across to his commanders, he found himself screaming. He could not fly this plane, he screamed, which, across the distant airwaves, arriving in a darkened Control Tower, proved at least materially comprehensible. Less so his second announcement, delivered in tones of high-pitched panic: He could not get rid of the dead children!
Behind him, Doran was seeing once more the crushed face of Aviva, his six-year-old Spring. The pain he had withheld for years, the stowed-away, stepped-on pain, rushed to his head like sudden blood. Aviva, he cried, my Aviva, why did you have to leave us! Memories of her baby-face, her toddler-face, her little-girl face, her pouty, three-year-old “big-girl” face swept through him.
When she was two, she had used to jump and stamp her feet when met with the word “No.” When she was three, she was still sticking out her lower lip when she cried. When she was four, she was singing Honey Honey and Mamma Mia from the Abba movie remake.
She had wanted to be a ballet dancer, a child actress like Shirley Temple, a fighter pilot like Daddy. She had wanted to be a baker of frosted cupcakes, a fashion designer, a model like Mommy. She had wanted to sing like Taylor Swift and act like Marilyn Monroe. She danced without thought at folk music festivals and open-air concerts. She held wildflowers up to her face as if they were the greatest creations on earth. She had wanted to fly to the moon.
And her baby-laugh! He heard once more the crazy, tinkling tones of her baby-laughter the first time he leapt, lion-like, into the room when he had pretended to mimic the animals in Lion King. Her baby-hands, curled comfortably in his. My baby, he wept, oh my baby, where are you now?
Each child on the plane’s placid, speeding nose rose damply into view.
Doran Ben-Ami remembered his angel, and wept.
Now dropping rapidly, the children did not move.
When the plane halted, an emergency landing on an emergency runway in a remote airport, lights flashing, fire engines thrumming, ambulances at hand, the entire cabinet of the government waiting on the runway, including the prime minister, the media held back by police, news of the situation on the fighter jet having spread already to news rooms, web sites, iPhones, iPads, iPods, Droids, Raphael Even-Zahav and Doran Ben-Ami, dazed, faces wet with tears, able to speak only in jumbled fragments, were led away toward psychologists.
Aircraft maintenance technicians, firemen, police, cabinet members could all now see what they had flown with: on the F-16’s aerodynamic nose, the twitching tableau of five dead girls, unconcerned by observers, striving to stitch themselves together with their own dead hands or memory of hands, absorbed in this.
The plane was hustled into a hangar, select elite from the IDF summoned. Everyone stood back, and the soldiers in a group, with some hesitation, approached the children. One reached out, touched a child, leapt back as if stung or burnt, screaming, They are alive, they are alive! This the others confirmed. Multiple hands reached to touch. The children appeared to be made of flesh, of human blood and bone.
It is not possible, said the members of the cabinet.
These are apparitions, said other members of the cabinet. Chimeras.
Others did not speak, having no explanation.
Feel for yourself, said the soldiers, who had retreated.
Confirm-kill! shouted the top shot in the crew of the elite.
The prime minister sent him a nod, the top gun stepped forward and pointed his weapon at the children. He fired, once, twice, five times, at the tender, bloodied foreheads. There was still movement. He pointed his gun at hearts: once, twice, five times. Still movement. Again he fired, at heads, hearts. Nothing happened. The group of preoccupied children remained oblivious to every new violence.
Because of what they perceived as unnatural, the people in the hangar had, imperceptibly, started to move back from the plane.
The soldier was still firing, compulsively, at the children. One member of the cabinet spoke, his voice like cast lead: Tell him to stop, he said. Tell him it is not possible to kill a dead child.
This plane must be condemned, said a technician, speaking his thoughts aloud.
Where are the pilots? The prime minister called for back-up. Where are the techs? We are not condemning any planes. Arm the jet, he directed. Fly the plane. Make those targets!
Those among the pilots who felt they could fly the plane along with its supernatural cargo came forward. Those among the crowd who had seen the obvious signs of violent death on the children yet could carry the sight inside their craniums and not break, as Raphael and Doran had done, returned to their work.
There is no time to waste, said the commander of the armed forces. We must return to the Bombing.
From another life, that evening, on television, Raphael witnessed the removal of five burned and mutilated bodies from the wreckage of a building. They were the bodies of children, and he did not have to see their faces to recognize them. One father, one mother, and one baby wept and threw themselves on the ground. My children, cried the father. My girls, wept the mother. The father explained what the names of each girl meant, in Arabic. My Daniyah is Close or Near. My Aaliya is Exalted. My Isra is Night Journey. My Hadiya is Gift. My Malaika is Angel.
The bodies were wrapped, over and over in white cloth.
At that moment, Doran spoke to his wife on the telephone, asked for his second child, Meira, whose name, in Hebrew, meant Illuminates.
A father belongs with his child, he said.
Above the city, the F-16 rose, gaining height. The five dead children held on in starlight, blood streamed down their bodies. The new soldiers manning the jet looked through and past them. Then the jet dropped its fresh cargo on the besieged city, another Bomb exploded.
Re-posted with thanks from The Rutherford Institute, an opening excerpt from John Whitehead’s commentary on war for Memorial Day, reminding us about the horrors and many pointless deaths and injuries of war, and offering a list of war films to watch, exploring the psychological, surreal, social, managerial and other aspects of war. (Just commentary below, please visit there for the list.)
Memorializing the Horrors of War with 10 Must-See War Films
By John W. Whitehead
May 27, 2016
“The horror… the horror…”—Apocalypse Now (1979)
“You can’t show war as it really is on the screen, with all the blood and gore. Perhaps it would be better if you could fire real shots over the audience’s head every night, you know, and have actual casualties in the theater.”—Sam Fuller, film director and author
To this end, as I point out in my book Battlefield America: The War on the American People, Americans are fed a steady diet of pro-war propaganda that keeps them content to wave flags with patriotic fervor and less inclined to look too closely at the mounting body counts, the ruined lives, the ravaged countries, the blowback arising from ill-advised targeted-drone killings and bombing campaigns in foreign lands, and the transformation of our own homeland into a warzone.
Nowhere is this double-edged irony more apparent than during military holidays such as Memorial Day, when we get treated to a generous serving of praise and grandstanding by politicians, corporations and others with similarly self-serving motives eager to go on record as being pro-military.
Yet war is a grisly business, a horror of epic proportions. In terms of human carnage alone, war’s devastation is staggering. For example, it is estimated that approximately 231 million people died worldwide during the wars of the 20th century. This figure does not take into account the walking wounded—both physically and psychologically—who “survive” war.
War drives the American police state. The military-industrial complex is the world’s largest employer. War sustains our way of life while killing us at the same time. As Pulitzer Prize-winning war correspondent and author Chris Hedges observes:
War is like a poison. And just as a cancer patient must at times ingest a poison to fight off a disease, so there are times in a society when we must ingest the poison of war to survive. But what we must understand is that just as the disease can kill us, so can the poison. If we don’t understand what war is, how it perverts us, how it corrupts us, how it dehumanizes us, how it ultimately invites us to our own self-annihilation, then we can become the victim of war itself.
War also entertains us with its carnage, its killing fields, its thrills and chills and bloodied battles set to music and memorialized in books, on television, in video games, and in superhero films and blockbuster Hollywood movies financed in part by the military.
War has become a centerpiece of American entertainment culture, most prevalent in war movies.
War movies deal in the extremes of human behavior. The best films address not only destruction on a vast scale but also plumb the depths of humanity’s response to the grotesque horror of war. They present human conflict in its most bizarre conditions—where men and women caught in the perilous straits of death perform feats of noble sacrifice or dig into the dark battalions of cowardice.
War films also provide viewers with a way to vicariously experience combat, but the great ones are not merely vehicles for escapism. Instead, they provide a source of inspiration, while touching upon the fundamental issues at work in wartime scenarios.”
The everyday American knows that the face presented by a warring government to the world is not the real face of who we are, as Americans. We are an awakened, conscientious, and conscious people who cannot anymore condone acts of war and exploitation committed abroad—and at home—in our name, and in the false name of American “Freedom”.
We Must call for the arrest of criminals in high places who continue to commit crimes every day of exploitation, war, injustice, weapons-testing, and experimentation on us. We must call Crime Crime, and not commit it to oblivion, as mainstream media encourages us to do. We must report to the whole world that criminal actions committed by governments in our name and against us do NOT have our consent.
This article documents that since Bill and Hillary Clinton occupied the White House over 23 years ago, ~500 million human beings have died from preventable poverty. So-called “developed nations” have promised to end global poverty since 1969; an accomplishment with technically easy solutions for sustainable human economic needs. These nations’ “leaders” have reneged on all promises to end poverty, public and private, despite an investment of just 0.7% of GNI for ten years that is overwhelmingly supported by those nations’ citizens.
We can calculate the physical volume of 500 million bodies. If we assume an average human dimension of 5 feet tall, average width of 1 foot, and average depth of .5 foot, this average is 2.5 cubic feet, with total of 1.25 billion cubic feet. The dimensions of NYC’s One World Trade Center, the “Freedom Tower,” is 200 x 200 feet with a roof 1,368 feet high. If we just calculate its volume as a rectangular prism, we have a volume of ~55 million cubic feet.
This means the pile of human bodies killed by ongoing preventable poverty is roughly equal in size to 23 “Freedom Towers.”
This is also roughly equal to a new “Freedom Tower” of dead bodies added to this “monument” every year.
Carl Herman is a National Board Certified Teacher of US Government, Economics, and History; also credentialed in Mathematics. He worked with both US political parties over 18 years and two UN Summits with the citizen’s lobby, RESULTS, for US domestic and foreign policy to end poverty. He can be reached at Carl_Herman@post.harvard.edu
Re-posting this video (link below) with thanks, from The Tap Blog. Thanks also to Jean of Co-Creating Our Future on Planet Earth for posting this link.
Terrific, must-listen witness testimony from an independent freelance journalist, Eva Bartlett, post long sojourns in Syria (her first visit was in April 2014), traveling, and speaking to people in various cities and areas devastated by bombing and terrorism. Her intention, she notes, was to listen to what the people in Syria had to say, as opposed to the corporate narrative promulgated by corporate Western media. “As you know the corporate narrative totally ignores the will of the Syrian people, and they take representatives from exile or Saudi-backed representatives as word of the Syrian people.”
“The people in Syria understand that what is happening in Syria is a foreign war (a NATO-alliance war) on Syria designed to topple their government and serve certain agendas, and the agendas of certain neighboring countries such as so-called Israel, and they adamantly support their government, their President, and their Syrian Arab Army.” She goes on to describe the devastation she has witnessed from the terrorism of car-bombings and rocket-launchings in civilian areas in Damascus, Aleppo, and other places, where she says residents are being “punished for not taking the corporate side of this foreign war on Syria.”
“My main intention is to bear witness and to transmit what Syrians tell me, what they want the world outside to know of what is actually happening here.” Later she notes that the Government of Syria is not starving civilian populations in various cities, as reported in mainstream news, it is the terrorists who are doing so, the Government is in fact making food and power supplies available to the people. She is aware that corporate media are spinning a completely different narrative, and reports what she has seen on the ground that contradicts this corporate media narrative. The Government is also not gunning down unarmed protesters, as has been reported in mainstream media, she says; she recommends news analysis by Professor Tim Anderson on this subject, which documents and refutes these reports as lies.
In answering listeners’ queries, she also notes that human rights groups in the UK are being used as front groups to quite possibly send more arms to the terrorists who are waging war on the Syrian civilian population, and who are obtaining funds from deceived UK residents. She notes the manipulated death of Serena Shims, possibly by Turkish Intelligence; Serena Shims was the young television journalist who was documenting the flow of weapons via Turkey into Syria–other reports since then, she says, have noted this flow of weapons into Syria, also across the large Iraq border. Additionally Western planes have, more than five times, “accidentally” dropped supplies into terrorist faction camps, who range beyond Daesh to many groups, she notes.
This is an absolutely eye-opening interview with information unavailable in current mainstream media news that makes its way to the US. You can find updates and information on Eva Bartlett’s blog, including links to more news resources at her post on this interview.
Much gratitude to Eva Bartlett for her unflinching reportage, her delivery of the truth of what she has witnessed, and her courage in letting the truth about Syrian reality stand against deceiving corporate Western narratives that seek to, as she notes, reinforce and promote imperialist and Zionist, war-mongering agendas. Her voice and conviction are inspiring, and will, I can only hope, ignite more of us to stand up and speak out in courage within our own fields of experience and influence, for what is right, for peace, and for justice.
Ken O’Keefe, former Marine now human rights activist and outspoken on all issues that count is vocal about how important it is for each of us to drop cynicism, world-weariness, apathy, resignation, and take a stand–the future of humanity and our planet depends on us transcending obstacles in our path and speaking out and taking action to expose and end it. He spells out how the news from mainstream media inundates us each day with such overwhelming amounts of bad news that we–especially the intelligent and educated among us, it seems–escape easily into disassociation from reality and cynicism, which unfortunately becomes consent to the reality that is presented to us–“to the insane cycle of destruction and more war.” Paraphrasing loosely, “Whereas it’s us, we dreamers–or whatever they want to call us–who represent the ultimate threat to those who control this reality.” He iterates how important it is to drop cynicism, to explore the news and the world for ourselves, to demand a better reality. “If we can envision it, we can make a better world.”
I was inspired, as are probably millions of others, watching him speak, because he expresses what many of us think today. It Is up to us. Those of us who have been entrained into obedience, passivity, quiet, and inaction–by not merely the norms of our society but by the current surveillance and police state we are living in, worldwide, and also by illegitimate gag orders or National Security Letters from an illegitimate state which is acting openly to suppress dissent and opening fraudulent investigations on thousands of innocent civilians and veterans and activists, in hopes of co-opting communities and dividing communities and silencing protest–especially may want to watch this. We are most definitely at a tipping point today.
We need to each of us see that we’re inexorably heading toward more militarization, more surveillance, more policing, and more stripping of rights and liberties, and that an attitude today of keeping your head down and doing what the “government” asks–whether via National Security Letter or community-policing or anything else they say is good for us– is only serving to 1) facilitate the oppressors and 2) hasten the onset of full-blown totalitarianism. Drawing back and “choosing” not to participate–while in actuality participating by acquiescence to State programs of societal control–is nothing but giving consent to oppression.
Are you witness today to corruption…? To over-reach and abuse of secrecy powers in an Intelligence agency…? Are you aware of systemic fraud in your industry–which affects the lives of other people..? Perhaps it’s time to speak out. Please watch Ken’s speech in this 7.5 minute video from World Citizens Solutions, which is prefaced by a run-down of where we are in the world today and why we need to take a stand.
Also please visit his WorldCitizen.Solutions fundraiser page on Indiegogo and read about/help fund his new campaign to make a better world. (Another brief video there on changing the world, ending war, with inspiring words from various activists, including Sacha Stone and Ole Dammegaard, Samantha Bachman, Max Igan.) From what they say, it sounds like this campaign is about creating a new paradigm for global existence where our taxes won’t go toward funding wars, death, and destruction. Wouldn’t that be a brave new world!
Excerpt from campaign page:
Ken O’Keefe and his team are currently developing a legal and social strategic initiative that will have profound effects on releasing humanity from its current paradigm. It’s time to stand up for what you know is right. It’s time for your voice to be heard. The time is now.
Stand for those who have no voice, for those who are set to inherit what we leave behind, for our children and their children. Make a stand for real peace and real transformation. Be part of this growing movement of change and ensure a peaceful future for those you love.
We are all France. Apparently. Though we are never all Lebanon or Syria or Iraq for some reason. Or a long, long list of additional places.
We are led to believe that U.S. wars are not tolerated and cheered because of the color or culture of the people being bombed and occupied. But let a relatively tiny number of people be murdered in a white, Christian, Western-European land, with a pro-war government, and suddenly sympathy is the order of the day.
“This is not just an attack on the French people, it is an attack on human decency and all things that we hold dear,” says U.S. Senator Lindsey Graham. I’m not sure I hold ALL the same things dear as the senator, but for the most part I think he’s exactly right and that sympathy damn well ought to be the order of the day following a horrific mass killing in France.
I just think the same should apply to everywhere else on earth as well. The majority of deaths in all recent wars are civilian. The majority of civilians are not hard to sympathize with once superficial barriers are overcome. Yet, the U.S. media never seems to declare deaths in Yemen or Pakistan or Palestine to be attacks on our common humanity.
I included “pro-war government” as a qualification above, because I can recall a time, way back in 2003, when I was the one shouting “We are all France,” and pro-war advocates in the United States were demonizing France for its refusal to support a looming and guaranteed to be catastrophic and counterproductive U.S. war. France sympathized with U.S. deaths on 911, but counseled sanity, decency, and honesty in response. The U.S. told France to go to hell and renamed french fries in Congressional office buildings.
Now, 14 years into a global war on terror that reliably produces more terror, France is an enthusiastic invader, plunderer, bomber, and propagator of hateful bigotry. France also sells billions of dollars of weaponry to lovely little bastions of equality and liberty like Saudi Arabia, carefully ignoring Saudis’ funding of anti-Western terrorist groups.
Please visit the source link above or the original source, Washington’s Blog, for the whole tragic story and commentary by the author, David Swanson.
“Occasionally a particular variety of horror serves to catch people’s attention. The boy in the photo at right has been sentenced to be crucified. His crime was participation in a pro-democracy rally. Now he will have done to him what the Pope’s religion says was done to Jesus Christ. He won’t be smiling blissfully like a Christ on a crucifix either. He will suffer immense pain and torment, and then die.
Who would do this? Why, Saudi Arabia, of course. And who is Saudi Arabia’s chief ally, weapons provider, and oil customer? Why, the United States Congress.”
“Saudi Arabia is dropping bombs, including U.S.-made cluster bombs, on Yemen, slaughtering children by the hundreds. Saudi Arabia is brutalizing the people of Bahrain, not to mention the people of Saudi Arabia. Saudi Arabians are funding ISIS and other murderers in the region. Are all of these murders acceptable even if the crucifixion isn’t? Or can we seize this opportunity to build opposition to all murder? Or might we if the Pope mentions it to Congress?
On Tuesday the Senate Armed Services Committee brought in David Petraeus to testify yet again on how to escalate more wars. Petraeus recently proposed arming al Qaeda. Senator John McCain gave Petraeus credit on Tuesday for extending the Iraq war from 2007 to 2011. Petraeus noted that the whole region is in horrible turmoil. Nobody made any connection between the U.S. wars on Iraq and Libya that have created that turmoil and the results. Nobody questioned the wisdom of using more war to try to repair the damage of war.
Well, a few of us did. The wonderful CodePink was there as always. I was there with a sign that said “Arm al Qaeda? Reagan tried that.”
The mad men who run the U.S. government have reached the point of re-arming the enemies of enemies whose blowback first drove them to radically escalate the global murder of innocent people in the name of opposing terrorism while increasing it.
Free Keene’s web site/A peace-liberty-voluntarism project pursuing and promoting peaceful living in Free Keene, New Hampshire
Free State Project
Free State Project’s website/A Liberty in our Lifetime project in New Hampshire, pursuing liberty, community, and peaceful living
New Earth Project
New Earth Project website/Open platform to unite humanity and create initiatives to support the emergence of absolute freedom and sovereign creative expression for all
Public Intelligence Blog
Blog for Earth Intelligence Network, Phi Beta Iota the Public Intelligence Blog/Promotes hybrid transparent governance, collective intelligence, true cost economics, and whole systems understanding