Momentous events are occurring in Germany today as awakened Germans prepare for a second immense march in Berlin on Saturday, August 29, when millions of Germans and people worldwide are scheduled to come to Berlin once more to stand up against the insane “Corona Crisis”.
Reports from on the ground in Germany suggest that this notice of German resolve and the widespread international coverage of the marching of “millions, not thousands” (primarily on the Internet, via social media and alt-media) appears to have terrified the German deep state, prompting the Senate of Berlin to prohibit the planned demonstration this Saturday, 29th of August!
UPDATE, August 28, 2020: Breaking news from Germany today: VICTORY FOR THE PEOPLE:
A German court rules that the demonstration tomorrow in Berlin is allowed, and that No Masks will be needed. In other words, the social distancing/mask mandates which the Senate in Berlin and Interior Senator Andreas Giesel demanded will NOT be required. Clearly the courts are ceding to pressure and commonsense and seeking to avert pointless police action to stop people from exercising their natural rights to stand freely in public (without masks, mandates on which precisely they wish to protest, in addition to other lockdown mandates) and march freely together to express their views.
FURTHER: Private sources report that people are already at the US and Russian Embassies and are demanding the German Peace Treaty NOW. This information is sent on from Germany with the words “It is very important that people all over the world understand what is happening just now in BERLIN!” Please share this news widely.
Further understanding of the long-occupied status of Berlin and Germany as a whole by Vatican- and Israel-owned private corporations, and of the declaration of martial law on April 1, 2020 in Germany by the US Ambassador, with speculation on the role of the US Military in possibly freeing Germany from this stranglehold on German sovereignty and freedom is contained in this article by Ronald Gehlken on Defender 2020 and an impending NATO exercise.
Germany Holds the Key to World Peace, & the Dissolving of Warring International Corporations
In essence, German’s sovereignty and freedom has long been compromised –for one hundred years now–by the actions of world powers post World War I. After World War II, the United Nations was formed it appears primarily in opposition to the German Empire, declaring the German Empire the sole enemy to the UN. Subsequently, multiple private corporations associated with the United Nations have unlawfully exploited and subjugated the German people for a century, as described by Mr. Gehlken in his analyses linked above.
For many years however, a quiet intellectual movement has been building in Germany, seeking to restore peace and sovereignty to Germany while seeking also a restoration of world peace through a new and just peace treaty with the Allies to World War I.
Information on that peace movement can be found at this website, which records the work of three gentlemen who activated their community and restored it under the constitution of PRUSSIA 1871. As members of the Prussian Kingdom and the German Empire, they have sent an important letter “to all four allies: USA, Russia, France, and Great Britain.”
Audio links to that letter preserved online in four languages are listed below: (Reports from German peace-leaders suggest that many of the Youtube links to this letter are being censored while the videos themselves are being changed online; these links below should work.)
Call for Help From the German People to President Trump:
Excerpt, Call for Help From the German People to President Trump Video Description:
“For over 100 years Germany has been directly and indirectly occupied. We only have an armed truce but no peace treaty with the western alliances from the First World War. We are therefore not a sovereign country. In 1918 in Brest Litowsk we completed a peace treaty according to international law in relation to the First World War with Russia. However, no peace treaty has been completed with the remaining alliances, namely the United States of America, Great Britain and France. Thus, in our own wonderful homeland others are currently in charge, they also focus on other countries. They do not want that our nations live in harmony and peace with each other.”
Appeal to people worldwide to assist in bringing a peace treaty forward:
Peace Treaty Information Letters Sent to Presidents Trump and Putin on the 75th Anniversary of the End of WWII Have Been Acknowledged
Significantly, a concerned citizen and German patriot reports today that two private letters he has sent, on 9 May 2020, in support of the peace movement in Germany and informing Presidents Vladimir Vladimirovich Putin and Donald John Trump have been acknowledged as received.
These letters, which carry the whole story of Germany’s wrongful subjugation as well as the key Germany holds to World Peace, are posted here below in PDF, in English to President Trump and in German and Russian to President Putin, with his private details removed, since as he says, “It is not about myself – it is about WORLD PEACE!”
Meanwhile, this patriot reports that “Germans are getting more and more awake about the real situation. It is believed there will be millions in Berlin this Saturday. It’s all over the Internet what this is about, and the real patriots are asking the people to walk down to the Embassies of the USA and the Russian Federation and ask for a peace treaty!”
Many thanks to all whose work and dedication to world peace and sovereignty for Germany have contributed to this report.
Translation & Reprint of Post by Ronald Gehlken by German Patriot | Ramola D |August 12, 2020
We’ve all been cheered lately by images of the tremendous protest in Berlin against repressive Corona lockdown restrictions, which mainstream media has sought to underplay in terms of the numbers, but which several credible sources on the ground in Berlin have estimated to be 1.3 million.
Image sent from Germany, Comparison between Loveparade of 2001 reported by German media ZDF/ARD as 1 million, while the August 1 Corona Demonstration rally reported by police to be “800,000 to 1.3 million ,with 2-3 million in vicinity” (NexusNewsfeed.com, Rally in Berlin) was deliberately under-reported by ZDF/ARD as 20,000
Image screenshot from video posted at NexusNewsfeed.com/https://youtu.be/gKuGWFeQCN4/Rally in Berlin!
Now comes further, eye-opening information from Germany regarding a state of martial law that has existed in Germany for most of the last century, that has been re-declared, and about German government (like the US Government) actually being a series of private corporations (owned by the Vatican and Israel), whose crimes against the people will soon be exposed and publicly addressed. This information comes from a publication by Ronald Gehlken, translated and sent on to me last night by a friend in Germany, who asked that this information be shared widely.
Please feel free to repost this information at your media sites and blogs, please share widely.
In support of this information I found the following online (the document posted below, Explanation of the Current Legal Situation in BRiD, in German):
Ronald Ghelken | Explanation of the Current Legal Situation in BRiD
For a clear understanding of the legal situation: Germany has been militarily fully occupied again since March 13, 2020, the so-called BRiD government was deposed on April 3, 2020. On April 1st, 2020, the US Ambassador Grenell proclaimed martial law. Due to the already existing corona panic and other very important circumstances, this has just not been announced to the public.
Presumably, the US armed forces of the military government S.H.A.E.F. reached their target strength by April 10th, 2020 to begin the mass arrests. And there will be mass arrests in the truest sense of the word!
Our false judges and public prosecutors should actually know, due to their law degree, that their missing signature on all criminal letters they have initiated has no meaning at all – no signature = no liability is completely nonsensical. Even if they had signed everything according to 126 BGB (Federal Code), that would be their smallest problem. (remark: so called government preliminary proceedings, warnings etc. are not signed with signature)
They know their real problem themselves, of course, but I would like to point out once again that I and now millions of Germans are also very familiar with the real problems.
Until July 17th, 1990 the so-called courts were still criminal branches of the criminally established company Federal Republic of Germany.
Nothing, absolutely nothing, had any legal validity, not even valid law was possible.
For this reason, with the federal reorganization laws in 2006, 2007 and 2010, the entire legal situation of the Federal Republic of Germany was repealed until retrospectively in 1956 and declared null and void. According to Article 133 of the Basic Law (Grundgesetz – GG), the FRG (BRD), as a private administration, has entered into the rights and obligations of the administrative areas (not the federal states). There have never been any sovereign rights and powers.
Then there was the judgment of the Federal Constitutional Court on July 25, 2012, with which the private company Federal Republic of Germany (FRG – BRD) was completely withdrawn from all legitimacy for government activities and legislation until retrospectively until 1956.
On October 3rd, 1990 the private administrative unit of the Federal Republic of Germany was dissolved. In fact, however, the dissolution already took place on July 17th, 1990 through the deletion of Art. 23 GG – scope of application.
Israel (B’nai B’rith) and the Vatican then immediately founded a new private company in Washington DC called – BundesRepublik in Deutschland/Federal Republic in Germany (BRiD). – The corrupt politicians of the deep state (fascism) naturally liked to play along. The new private company with almost the same name – Federal Republic of Germany – continued the criminal game completely seamlessly. For safety reasons and for reasons of liability, the newly founded BRiD then withdrew to the confiscated US territory – Berlin. The BRiD “ruled” legally from abroad!
From July 18, 1990, all the dissolved branches of the former FRG (BRD) converted their criminal offices into private company structures as stock corporations. Registered and registered in the United States, Delaware, as a mailbox company.
It was only since 1993, when the postcodes were changed from 4 to 5 digits, that almost 47,000
US mailbox companies, which pretend to be authorities, offices, cities and municipalities, have at least one postal address on German soil.
The buildings that are operated by all these US companies as offices and authorities are completely illegal on German soil, they do not have more than one postal address (post office box).
The district court of BUXTEHUDE (city) has absolutely nothing to do with the district court of STADE or the district court of ZEVEN, these are 3 completely different, independent joint- stock companies with different owners. It’s like Mc Donalds and Burger King, both sell the same product but have completely different owners. And this is how it looks with all courts, authorities, POLICE, cities, municipalities, etc. Each of these approx. 47,000 company is an independent, private US stock corporation that only has a postal address on German soil.
Basically this is completely logical, since 1914 – the declaration of an emergency (martial law) the state – German Empire from 1871 – and everything that goes with it has been frozen. Until the state of emergency is lifted, everything remains as it was in 1914 according to international law.
No new state can be added, no one can grant sovereign rights or powers, changes to laws and civil status rights are impossible. That is why the forgeries of Merkel (German chancellor) 2010 and those of Schröder (German chancellor) play no role at all.
This is not even about contract law, about UCC / Admiralty Law, not even that they are allowed to apply on German soil. It doesn’t even matter that the BGB and the StPO (StrafProzessOrdnung – code of criminal procedure), among other things, have been completely withdrawn from them along with the entire legal basis, without which private law is not even possible.
The private firms, the employers of these bogus officials i.e. the company – „AMTSGERICHT BUXTEHUDE“ (district court BUXTEHUDE) – just exists through a postal address, a PO box on German soil. The illegal operation of a company i. e. Buxtehude District Court corresponds to the operation of an illegal, criminal organization.
The only connection between the criminal organization Amtsgericht Buxtehude and the
“Abroad” (Berlin) based, criminal company Federal Republic in Germany AG
is that the BRiD is the main shareholder of the local court Buxtehude with 52%. I have already described this in detail in various articles and broken it down.
The courts i. e. condemn dead things = jur. PERSONS – and then demand that the person accept liability for this dead thing created by the “COURT”. Everything is based on fraud, on German soil these frauds are even the most serious war crimes committed by German, paid collaborators without a contract or legal basis.
None of these judges or public prosecutors (inside) can prove any legitimation, jur. it is a marauding hordes under martial law. Indeed, we have been under martial law since 1914 to this day.
In addition to the martial law of the “German Reich“, the US armed forces also proclaimed martial law on April 1, 2020 for their occupation since March 13, 2020.
Just by the way, on German soil since 1848 Pauls Kirchen – Verfassung (Pauls church constitution) respectively since 1871 the imperial constitution there has not been a juristic PERSON any more.
The constitutions are in full force from 1914 to the present day due to the emergency laws. With the Romanus Pontifex of June 21st, 2011 the jur. PERSON dissolved by the Vatican. The Vatican itself was dissolved on December 25, 2012 by the OPPT Act. Only existed as a company – wholesalers for electrical appliances. The world is really crazy.
The lawyers should actually be aware that this is not about signing any judgments, tax claims or anything else. To this day, all employees of these almost 47,000 companies have exercised the function of occupying the German Reich against payment. Robbed, looted, terrorized etc. for the Vatican and Israel, the owners of the FRG (BRiD).
Missing signatures are ridiculous, this is now about looting in an occupied war zone under martial law, high treason, collaboration, aiding and abetting the genocide of the German people.
They are plundering private persons who are not even allowed to use private law / commercial law.
How did Seehofer (German minister) say publicly on December 16, 2018 on television?
There is currently no order – there is no contract – there is no law – “I could never have imagined that I would have to justify myself during my political career as Prime Minister of Bavaria if I intend to turn the rule of law from head to feet ….”
They had to announce it publicly and how can it be any different at Seehofer, only with mendacious chatter about a “state”, “constitutional state”, which has not existed here since 1918.
The coming mass arrests have the background to make the Reich capable of acting again. The German employees (occupiers against payment) are not affected in the first move, they will later have to answer before a Reich court martial.
The Federal Republic of Germany (FRG) and also the Federal Republic in Germany (BRiD) have never had anything to do with the German peoples.
•Federal Constitutional Court: Federal Republic of Germany has no right to act for Germany.
•US Secretary of State Mike Pompeo: The Federal Republic of Germany has no right to act for Germany.
•EuGHfMR (European court for human rights) and IGH (international court of justice) on June 8th, 2006: The Federal Republic of Germany does not exist as a state. The Federal Republic of Germany has no national territory. The Federal Republic of Germany has no state people.
S.H.A.E.F. Laws: (Supreme Headquarters Allied Expeditionary Force)The conditions have not allowed it to this day !!!
There is no question of any federal laws here, only federal law = administrative law. And also only jur. PERSONS are managed. Hence the fraud with the PERSONAL ID card.
State and international law could and must never apply the BRD / BRiD administration as it was only a private company that had no sovereign rights and powers. The fact that international law can only be applied by one state anyway, which is why international law does not apply worldwide because all the peoples of this world have been cheated of their rights by their governments.
From 1942 onwards, all countries in the world were turned into private, corrupt and criminal trading companies through high treason by politicians, there are no more states.
There it is clear, repeal of the National Socialist laws since January 30th, 1933
Law No. 2. And what are these false judges and public prosecutors doing, they impose convulsive detention. Serious violations of the S.H.A.E.F. – Legislation, against Control Council laws, against international law, against the Geneva Conventions.
This Basic Law was repealed and deleted on July 17, 1990 by deleting Art. 23 – ambit.
The private, extraterritorial company Federal Republic in Germany with Israeli and Vatican owners then declared this GG to be their constitution.
But that is irrelevant, it is nobody’s business if a purely private company, which has neither a national territory nor a national people, as a state does not exist either, issues a constitution.
And if this corporation (BRiD) is involved in almost 47,000 other private corporations, each with a share of 52%, no criminal act can be recognized.
If these almost 47,000 private companies with their many private employees (collaborators) then rob and loot in a war-occupied area that is under martial law because they believe or make the people believe that this private BRiD is the state and they are civil servants with sovereignty that would be authorized to do so, there are tons of criminal acts, war crimes.
Nobody can present an official agency ID, nobody can present a state certificate of appointment, nobody can prove for which state he works, nobody signs his crimes.
And then claim you didn’t know any of this! ??? It couldn’t be more unbelievable.
A sovereign state is not possible without peace treaties; these peace treaties are to be concluded soon. And then the war crimes are dealt with.
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: email@example.com.)
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.
Excerpted from Press TV, please click over there for the full interview:
Press TV video image
Press TV has interviewed Pam Bailey, with the Euro-Med Monitor of Human Rights from Washington, to ask for her take on the ongoing Israeli atrocities against Palestinians.
What follows is a rough transcription of the interview.
Press TV: Looking at the situation, as we have just said, 90 Palestinians have been killed since October; however, we are not seeing that much of an outrage when it comes to Israeli human rights violations be it through arresting minor Palestinians aged 12 to 14 or be it through the demolition of homes and of course these killings.
Bailey: Well, especially now. You know, now you have got everybody focusing on Paris and bombing Syria and it is sort of working out to Israel’s favor. So no one is paying attention which gives Israel a blank check to do whatever it wants. So Israel is really exploiting the opportunity at this point.
Press TV: Many have pointed out; you know not to diminish anything from the tragedy that took place in Paris, but the reality is that the Palestinians have to live through that horror day in and day out at the hands of the Israeli settlers and forces.
Bailey: Yes absolutely, again not to belittle what you said what happened in Paris is terrible, but you have the Palestinians who have been living through daily direct violence or structural violence for nearly decades now, but at least in Gaza 7 or 8 years. So it has become a daily reality for them and yet the world stage, you know the government leaders, the media and the public seem to swing from crisis to crisis as soon as it gets a little bit less urgent or as soon as another emergency happens…and then you have these used-long crises that were allowed just keep festering.
(Bailey:) No one seems to want to deal with the underlying cause and the underlying cause is the occupation and the blockade and I think the world is sort of throwing up their hands. They say it cannot be solved, they say it is because the two sides cannot come on an agreement, no partners for peace, no strong leaders, but the reality is the international community does not have the backbone.
Groundbreaking article from Dr. Preston James at Veterans Today, discussing the emergence lately in the US Military and among officers in the Pentagon High Command of a slowly-awakening consciousness that all wars in the last century, and most poignantly, the recent wars fought by the US in Iraq, Afghanistan, and currently ongoing in Libya, Syria, and elsewhere have been contrived maneuvers by Wall Street bankers and the shadow elite/cabal running the government, to amass personal profit at the expense of enormous loss of life, limb, health, and future of millions of young Americans who have fought in the US Army, and to maintain criminal schemes of drug-running, human trafficking, pedophilia, and organ-trafficking to pad their vast empire of ill-begotten wealth; and that the War of Terror the US has been obsessed with for more than a decade now, post-9/11, was a deliberate construct, built on the horrific, constructed, false-flag event and massive crime that was 9/11. Pointed excerpts below, please click over to Veterans Today for the whole article.
Americans Framed as Domestic Terrorists and Psychotronically Harassed, Gang-Stalked/Secret Police
I especially commend Dr. James for unflinchingly covering the creation of the “domestic terrorist” in this regard, the false labeling of activists and whistleblowers as “Domestic Terrorists” and the subjecting of them to intensive surveillance, organized gangstalking, and psychotronic harassment with microwave weapons, and the rise of a ruthless and violent Secret Police in the US, covered recently here in this article probing DOJ involvement, all subjects of major concern at this site–excerpt below. I also commend the forthrightness in this article, as also many others at Veterans Today, in candidly discussing the nature of the beast we are dealing with–an extremely wealthy Mafia engaging in Nazi actions of repression and totalitarianism against the entire American population, and an organized crime syndicate involving Intel agencies such as the CIA and Mossad running “murder, drug trafficking, pedophilia, human compromise” rackets, all propelled by the practice of very dark Satanist and occult religions involving the unimaginable horrors of child and human sacrifice, including via wars–excerpt below.
Excerpt from early in the article:
“The American masses as well as many Pentagon Officials are now learning how our nation’s highest echelons were infiltrated and hijacked by the Khazarian Mafia and its subordinates the Bush Crime Cabal (aka the BCC) and the Israeli-American “Israeli-first” Dual Citizen Traitors (aka the Zios).
As this hidden truth is now becoming known and obvious to all, it can no longer be denied that High Treason has been committed in the Pentagon’s High Command Structure surround 9-11-01 and all the subsequent wars it triggered. Nor can it be denied that thousands of the best American Soldiers have been needlessly sacrificed, killed, horribly wounded and disabled for nothing but the evil profits of the Banksters and their war contractors.
As you can imagine as this truth sweeps through the Pentagon and the US Military, dissidence and rage grows by the day. And this realization is now spreading throughout the Pentagon at breakneck speed.
The truth that the Pentagon High Command and the US Administration were deeply involved in the attack on America and managed the stand-down on 9-11-01 is so clear cut, so definite, and so compelling that it can no longer be denied by anyone that takes the time to carefully consider that basic evidence.
The Pentagon High Command has worked very hard with the Controlled Major Mass Media (CMMM), the Administration and Congress to contain these terrible deep dark secrets and prevent the American masses and American Military from finding them out. To learn of the specifics of either of these secrets is usually a mind-boggling shock to the system for anyone that finds out, especially the second secret.
The first dark secret is that the Pentagon High Command has been infiltrated and hijacked by the World’s largest Opium Carteland manipulated into helping the CIA and the Mossad, using the DEA and US Customs as cover to become the World’s largest illegal drug traffickers.
The second deep dark secret even more terrible for America if you can imagine that is that the Pentagon High Command assisted the Mossad and the Israeli-American “Israeli-first” Dual Citizens and the US Administration in their attack on America on 9-11-01.”
On People Being Miscast as Domestic Terrorists and Terrorized by the State:
“The decision was made by the top several Policy-Makers who really control the Pentagon and the USG that the only way to continue illegal, unConstitutional, undeclared, perpetual wars was to create a new imaginary enemy that could be redefined at any time.
This enemy (“The Terrorists”) must be able to be modified and expanded or refocused at any time to include any nation that they needed to destroy and gain access to their natural resources cheaply. Thus the ideas of the DVD (Fourth Reich or Abwehr) to deploy Gladio-style, False-flag, inside-job engineered synthetic terror were accepted.
But even worse the Khazarian Mafia decided that the definition of what a terrorist is would be expanded to include any American citizen who asked too many questions, was a whistle-blower of any kind, or did not immediately comply with any government or police order.
They proceeded to consolidate all American Law Enforcement into a Khazarian Mafia Secret Police, Homeland Security (DHS) using Pentagon weapons and technology and Israeli anti-terrorist training given for free by the ADL to almost every large Police Department.
Their plan was to merge the American Police, the NSA and the Pentagon with those who were in control of Homeland Security, the Israeli-American “Israeli-first” Dual Citizens which they had direct control over. In this way they could create a master control grid and quickly identify any dissident ant any level, and then label them domestic terrorists to be harassed, psychotronically “corrected”, gang stalked or arrested and imprisoned.”
From the section on Satanism, “the Process”:
“And we now know for certain that every major police department has had an American Intel contact, usually CIA (sometimes other US Intel), with top secret credentials, often a NOC, that runs cover ups. The embedded Intel ops typically run cover-ups for any activities associated with the CIA, including setting up “stand-down” Arkensides (murders made to appear as suicides) to get rid of whistle-blowers and dissidents.
These embedded Intel Agents run cover-ups for the CIA/DEA/Mossad “controlled deliveries” of narcotics for black ops money which are supposed to catch the “Mr. Big drug traffickers” but never do. And they suppress any serious investigations or recognition of the numerous and serious crimes and violence of the Satanic Cult Network known as the “Process”. Obviously these men are Traitors and are functioning as a part of a major RICO crime syndicate.
It is time they are exposed and brought to justice. Anyone committing these crimes using National Security as False cover obviously has lost their soul and humanness if they ever had one in the first place.
The invocation of so-called “National Security” to cover murder, drug trafficking, pedophilia, human compromise is in this case a separate RICO crime in an of itself, besides all the other major felonies involved.
We now know from those that have been close to the World’s largest Satanic Cult called “the Process” that it started out as an MI-6 type operation based on the teaching of John Dee, Aleister Crowley and Alice Bailey. This massive World’s largest cult is based on ancient Baal Worship, child and human sacrifice and deployment of wars and mass death eugenics.
Sadly this Satanic cult “the Process” has been deputized as an agent of US National Security and given complete immunity and protection for all its activities including human sex trafficking, organ trafficking, pedophilia, drug trafficking and various other criminal cult activities.”
Re-blogged, with thanks, from Co-Creating Our Future on Planet Earth. Original Source: Global Research.
I post these articles today because, like many others, I too saw and passed on the terrible videos posted last week on Twitter of young children being shot and killed by Israeli soldiers. There is something terribly wrong in Israel. I am one among many concerned writers whose work is included in the anthology Extraordinary Rendition, (American) Writers on Palestine, edited by Ru Freeman, OR Books, to be released December 2015; my work excerpted there is part of a short story written after the horrific attacks on Gaza in 2008, when I, like many millions of us around the world, reeled in horror at the dropping of bombs on ordinary, peace-loving families, and women, men, and children of every age. Our world has to change. We have to move from a casual orientation toward war to a conscious orientation toward peace. Part of that move has to involve a clear-eyed look at Israel and what the terrible policies of extreme, terrorist militantism there is doing. We need to get past Israeli “exceptionalism” and expose the real truth of what is happening there, in Israel and in Palestine, and these articles listed here give deep insight into what is happening.
Thanks to Jean of Co-Creating Our Future on Planet Earth and Sott.net for re-posting this important article by Jonathan Cook in Middle-East Eye, covering Israel’s role in supplying arms and technology to countries around the world, and in building the industry of “global pacification,” which seems to essentially mean War Against the People, also the title of a new and forthcoming book by Anthropology Professor and head of the Israeli Committee Against House Demolitions, (ICAHD), Jeff Halper, whose analyses are featured here.
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