If you have received a card from me and have tried to reach me, regardless of whether you believe you have, you have not. Please read the 3/18/13 update to the latest blog, below, to find out why. Thank you for your time and compassion.

Sunday, March 3, 2013

I Stand Corrected - Perhaps There is Much More to Say: Is My Local State Rep a Fascist Toady?

3/28/13 UPDATE: Happy birthday to me! Well, a few days late – because, on my actual birthday, I was yet again struggling with an unexplained illness. Or rather, an illness for which I had no risk factor and yet came with a multitude of explanation. It began last week like any old cold: an occasional sneeze; then, a horrific sore throat Sunday evening, followed by a headache, lethargy, and, eventually, a fever and nasal and chest congestion. The person I live with had been sick for a week with a much more benign cold, which nevertheless did not prevent him from going to work. He claimed he had caught it from one or another of his family members with whom he had recently visited. At first throat pain, I immediately began taking some leftover Zithromax I had, and I had to beg him to get a script for himself, which he reluctantly did – 2 weeks after he began to get ill, when he claimed to be well over it. These upper respiratory tract infections always happen to me just as I am about to embark on some new project – usually, trying to locate allies – and, for some reason, I seem not to be able to make antibodies to whatever pathogen(s) creates this crud. And he always gets ‘sick’ with a much less benign illness first.


Such is the way of life for a genuine political dissident in the U.S. these days. The covert war in which we are targets is waged with the bioweapons this country has spent more than 70 years ceaselessly developing, despite being a signatory to the Bioweapons Convention Treaty, which is a law like any other – only as good as its ability to be enforced. And we’ve never had UN inspectors in any of our many, many bioweapons research labs.  In a lawsuit brought against the U.S. Department of Defense by the Foundation for Economic Trends, “The Pentagon admits that it is operating 127 chemical and biological warfare sites in the U.S. . . . “The DoD is applying recombinant DNA techniques in research and the production of a range of pathogens and toxins including botulism, anthrax and yellow fever.”  What’s interesting about the botulism research is that it’s culminated in the very popular commercial product Botox, which is 1/300th the strength of botulinum toxin and genetically engineered so that users will never develop antibodies to it. That’s the reason wrinkled rich people can get their Botox injections until the day they die to get rid of their crows’ feet. And if they can do it to botulinum toxin, they can do it to other pathogens, to be sure.

We’ve heard a lot of outcry from the managed left about Obama’s hit list and drone strikes, both actual and potential, against U.S. targets lately, but I can assure you – the covert war for which Obama signed these diktats into ‘laws’ is waged with covert weapons, and nothing is more covert these days than the Lord-only-knows-how-big bioweapons arsenal our covert warfighters have at their disposal.  I am also routinely poisoned with some type of horrific allergen I never knew existed until I began this blog; once, my pepper mill was contaminated, and I saved some of the pepper that was in it. Within a day, it had grown a nasty, black fungus the likes of which I had never seen before. Even freezing it didn’t stop the growth of whatever this contaminant is, and the last time I was hit with it was – ta-dah – just the day before yesterday, the morning of my 51st birthday, which made my actual birthday not a lot of fun, recuperating as I was, after having taken several Benadryl Liquid Gel caps. No – it’s not going to be a drone that gets me; if it’s not one of the fast-acting cancers our government has developed, such as pancreatic cancer, it’ll be some other type of pathogenic systemic overload.

Such is the way of life for a genuine political dissident of the U.S. these days.

3/21/13 UPDATE:  Ah - the second full day of Spring.  And the terrorism campaign continues.  Today, the subwoofer noise torture began promptly at 6:00 a.m. and lasted for an hour and a half.  I don't know why - perhaps because it's so commonplace by now - but it didn't bother me all that much, even though it was certainly loud enough to wake all the other people in the building, had they been real neighbors instead of other agent provocateurs bivouacking occasionally in the other apartments to make the illusion of our Potemkin village seem authentic.  By far the most disturbing of these has to be the woman across the hall, whose mailbox says she lives there with two of her grown children and her daughter's children - in a 1-bedroom apartment with less than 400 square feet.  I say she is the most disturbing not because she, herself, is a graceless hypocrite - implied that I was a manipulative maneater like Eve the one time I was afraid I had been too loud and went to apologize to her for it.  No - it's because of the way she uses children in the persecution campaign into which she has been dragooned.  For four years, her 'grandson' has been taught to run, screaming at the top of his lungs, up and down the hall, whether it's 11:00 o'clock at night, or 6:00 o'clock in the morning.  Screaming.  And if it's not his screaming that can be heard ringing through the upper floors of the apartment building on the occasions when they're in 'residence,' it's the woman who claims to be his mother, berating and threatening him at the top of her lungs.  I'm certain it's no coincidence that these provocateurs are a race different than my own; attorney Brian Glick noted in his 1989 book, War at Home:  Covert Action Against U.S. Activists and What We Can Do About It, "In the past, the FBI had to rely mainly on informers or local police infiltrators because it had very few Black, Latin, or female agents, and its strict dress and grooming code left white male agents unable to look like activists.  As a modern 'equal opportunity employer,' today's FBI has fewer such limitations.  (As of 1988, however, its agents were still only 4 percent Black, 4 percent Hispanic, and 9 percent female, and members of all three groups had sued the Bureau because of employment discrimination.99)."  (So. End Press, p. 41)  Of course, it's no longer merely the FBI that's running provocateurs these days; thanks to deregulation and privatization, any contractor, or subcontractor can run terror campaigns and be shielded from detection while at the same time operate with impunity; whatever cult this woman may belong to may very well be supported with "faith-based" funding from her church to do so, for all I know.  While I find it hard to listen to the abuse this child and his sister are subjected to because I, too, was subjected to the capricious violence of a rage-a-holic parent as a child (a fact I've often wondered whether was the basis for the design of this particular persecution, since it does trigger some lingering PTSD in me), what I find even more despicable is their training these children to become violent, racist, antisocial beings.  Of the 2 interactions I've had with this young man, 1 was to give him a picture book which I thought would entertain him long enough for his 'grandmother' to discipline him with understanding and care; the other was when I politely asked her if she couldn't importune the children to be a little more quiet because I was convalescing - and he told me that he didn't like me. He couldn't have been more than 6 then, and it really broke my heart, seeing how twisted his mind had been made against someone he didn't even know, someone who had only been kind to him, at such a young age.  Child soldiers don't exist only in Mogadishu; they're being trained right here, in PSYOPs, by those who are supposed to protect and nurture them.  Really very disgusting.  Of course, I'll be called a racist for insisting all children be treated with loving kindness, told I simply don't understand the 'culture.'  But who's the real racist here?  Child abuse is no culture's value, and these children are being abused.  (And I can say that, even though my degree in cognitive development and early childhood education isn't from that perennial defense contractor/creator of PSYOPs, Harvard.)

3/19/13 UPDATE: Turns out, yesterday was a two-fer - not one, but two fire drills, the last conducted at 8:45 PM, which took the fire department across the street 20 minutes to respond to, and only after someone had called them.


This, on the same day that Chris Hedges wrote in "Truthdig.com" about the exact same type of torture inflicted on those incarcerated in our real, not virtual, prisons. Someone should tell him he needs to defend those of us who are not criminals but still subjected to our police state and its covert war nevertheless.  It is we, after all, who are the legatees of our nation's endless covert war against civil rights activists and social reformers, and, as Ghandi wisely noted, the level of freedom a government claims for its people ought not to be judged by the freedom of the average person, but the freedom given to its political dissidents.  You are not free.

3/18/13 UPDATE
This week, I decided to re-double my efforts to contact potential allies.  These efforts were, of course, met with like-wise oppressive ferocity, as you can see from this and the last update; our bi-weekly fire drill came at 8:00 a.m., and, as usual, I was the only resident in the building to scramble out into the 23-degree weather.None of my other ‘neighbors’ seemed too concerned about being burned to death, as though they knew, somehow, that there was no fire (you’d think our fire department would have better things to do than to participate in this type of terrorism, but apparently, they comply willingly with the charade that our building has a nuisance fire alarm, which the city seems unconcerned about fixing, because they’ve been seconded under the ‘Patriot’ Act to wage covert warfare against decent people).I began my week by visiting the offices of a purported civil rights attorney, whose work has included prisoner’s rights.I was followed there by a man wearing a gray fleece pullover – and law-enforcement issue navy blue slacks –and followed from there to the train station by the same man, who sidled up next to me at the crosswalk next to the station; they love to let you know you’re being watched because if you tell anyone, you prove what they will later assert to discredit you – that you’re paranoid. The provocateur who started this latest battle, in fact, gleefully sneered at me, when I went to his apartment to ask him to turn down his ‘music,’ “See you next time,” assuring me that provocation is what he is all about, and letting me know that he could torture me as much as he wanted with impunity. Would that that were the only weird thing to have happened that morning.

When I entered the attorney’s office, I was greeted by a young man at the reception desk.I introduced myself and asked to make an appointment for a consultation with the attorney.There was one man in the room with us, sitting directly across from this young man. The young man introduced himself – gave me the name of an attorney who, I later learned from checking Martindale Hubble’s website, practices at a much larger commercial M&A law firm around the corner – and explained that he didn’t keep the calendar of the attorney I wished to see, but offered to take some information from me for him to contact me. I followed him into an office.

The young man – let’s call him ‘Tom’ – began by asking the nature of my problem.  I said it would best be described as civil rights, specifically, COINTELPRO.  I asked him if he was familiar with it, and he said no.  I explained as briefly as I could the history of our government persecuting its political dissidents with COINTELPRO, specifically, PSYOPs, including the use of instruments of torture and terrorism.  I said that I had been targeted in my home with noise torture devices, among others.He then asked, “Now, what makes you think the city is torturing you in your tiny little apartment?”And I had to reply, of course, “I don’t think the city is torturing me; these are weapons that were given to local law enforcement by Janet Reno’s justice department, in a plan conceived by George H.W. Bush, and you can read the case history of it on the Justice Department’s website.”I hadn’t thought to mention that Victoria Snellgrove isn’t hasn’t been the only victim of this militarization of local law enforcement; Tom had said he hadn’t much time and I was trying to be succinct – until it became clear that Tom was not who or what he appeared to be.I gathered my coat and scarf and rose to leave.“You understand I’m just trying to constrain the issue as best I can for attorney X . . .” he mumbled.“Yes – you said you hadn’t much time, so I’ll make it even easier for you. I’ve ‘constrained’ it even more for you.”I left the letter explaining who I am and the problems with which I was seeking help resolving with him, along with the first 50 pages of the essay I have been working on for the past 2-1/2 years about the covert war in which we are all potential targets or covert warfighters.I thanked Tom and told him I would call on the attorney later in the week to see how he might help me.

I thought it best to phone Tom on my way home to let him know that I had been followed, in case something happened to me along the way, but my earliest opportunity to do so was on the train, going over the salt and pepper bridge.I apologized for not being able to hear him; I had just enough time before the train entered the tunnel to tell him about the cop that had followed me and assure him that I wasn’t asking for the attorney to help me fight this covert war alone – just looking for guidance and some references, if he, himself, couldn’t help me.

I think that’s probably the most appropriate road to take from here on out – nominating proxies to act on my behalf to gather potential allies.  The laws that have been passed to prevent political dissidents like myself from having contact with others – prohibiting people from talking with those of us who’ve been deemed ‘terrorists’ as provision in the Patriot Act provide – are aimed at isolating us, and, therefore, must be confronted head-on.It’s a terrible position in which to place others in, especially, those from whom you hope to gain assistance, I know.But I’ve given up feeling uneasy about doing this since I am not the one who set up this perverse system, which has a lengthy, pre-War on Terror history in our government’s arsenal.I’ll not feel guilty for needing help, nor sorry about asking for it.If I do nothing to create justice for myself and others like me, you will one day find yourself in my position, and no one wants that.

So here’s what I’m going to do.

I’m going to keep passing out cards, asking for help finding safe housing, civil rights’ representation (c’mon people, the Supreme Court ruled in 2009 that contractors and subcontractors in the War on Terror could be sued in qui tam –whistleblower – lawsuits for the torture they inflict on their targets, and I am certainly a verifiable tortured target), and other support.But instead of putting my name and phone number as a contact for myself, since I’m not allowed to receive calls (when I first began to hand out these cards, I started receiving repeated calls that simply have dead air and then a recording, saying, “Good-bye.”When I try to reverse search their owners, I get messages saying my request timed out, even after mere seconds of making it.), I’m going to put the name and phone number of a community member whose reputed vocation it is to help others.Not sure who it will be – a doctor, a lawyer, a priest, rabbi, or minister, or all of the above– but it will be someone whose life’s work is, reputedly, to help the defenseless.Of course, the problem becomes planning.Since nothing I do isn’t unknown to the police state, this forces me to act precisely the way PSYOPs campaigns dictate – impulsively – which makes me look exactly as covert warfighters wish me to appear:unstable, and therefore, subject to incarceration in a psych ward.Be that as it may, my hope is that those who make the effort to visit this site educate themselves so they understand this is the way the covert war is being fought. And then, let the chips fall where they may:I will apprise them of my need for help, direct them to this blog so they can learn with what it is I need help, and then let them decide for themselves if they will be decent human beings, or like the vast majority of disinterested Germans in Nazi Germany, complicit (or worse –collaborators with our nakedly fascist government and its police state by working with its minions).

I’m not sure, at the moment, whether or not I’m going to publicize this list of potential allies; anonymity does have its benefits, even if it’s only a surmised and not actual anonymity, which, as you can see from reading this blog, none of us has anyway.I don’t expect many people will view themselves as fascist collaborators if/when they help oppress and persecute people like me; they’ve been propagandized thoroughly to believe that they’re “patriots,” when, in fact, they’re nothing more than dupes and tools, if they act to support this vile police state, even by turning their backs on its victims (or, more rightly, because of their turning their backs) – such as the ACLU, the National Lawyer’s Guild, the Center for Constitutional Rights, the AFSC, the UUSC, and Amnesty International have all done.That’s right – I’ve approached and asked them all, sometimes, repeatedly, for help, and received nothing but contempt from them. I know full well the frustration Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., felt when he observed, “It is not the actions of our enemies that we will remember but the silence of our friends” just before he created the Southern Christian Leadership Conference. Other targets deserve to know what they’ll find, if they’re attempting to trod an ultimately fruitless path.

Then, at some future time, I’ll re-visit these potential allies to see what’s transpired – what offers of ‘help’ have surfaced, legitimate, or other – and follow up on them.Be sure to check back to see what happens because, barring my incarceration or death from one or another of the many bioassaults I routinely suffer, I will be posting on my progress.

And – don’t forget –all of this is because I have the audacity to merely try to speak out about being reified in our government’s heinous bioresearch programs to create all the types of AIDS it has, just as untold hundreds of thousands, perhaps even millions, were during the atomic era research projects, and the still untold number of victims of the Tuskegee Syphilis Study. They had to find a way to keep our growing numbers silent somehow. Covert war? Mission accomplished.

3/14/13 UPDATE: Today's Terrorist Ambush
Happened about 11:00 this morning. A collaborator with our fascist city's "Special Services" department, and a fascist cop, showed up at my door - even though I didn't buzz them into my building - claiming the police 'were concerned about me" - so concerned, apparently, they thought tortious infliction of emotional distress by forcing their way into my apartment building and creating a nuisance by banging on my door (and addressing me by some other name than my own) was worth the risk. Creating committed women out of social refocuses and activists has long been the means police in this country have terrorized and dispatched 'inconvenient women whim they have no other means of locking up because their behavior is lawful. Look at what they did to Alice Paul and her fellow suffragettes! I informed this 'woman' her presence was not welcome here, that's why I hadn't buzzed her into the building, and when the cop began interrupting her tiresome theatre performance, I reiterated that he had no reason to be here since I had not done anything illegal, like make the harassing phone calls his colleague erroneously claimed I had made in his previous ambush. I can't remember who said it, but it's as true today as it ever was: no woman who's ever made a difference has ever been called anything but crazy.

Happy women's history month!

Sheesh - where's a civil rights attorney in Boston when you need one?
3/9/13 UPDATE: Well, it's been quite a week. The day after I posted the previous update, we had another fire drill - promptly at 9:00 PM, just as I was sitting down to do my meditation practice. At least the fire department showed up this time. Nearly a half dozen times last year, when the fire alarm went off, they never even bothered to show up. Once, I walked across the avenue to my fire station and asked if they were going to come over and check out the fire alarm. I was told to call the building management so they could shut it off -- which is against the law; only they are allowed to shut off fire alarms -- and then I was told to call the nuisance fire alarm hotline to report it. That shouldn't surprise anyone; I went to the local chapter of Citizen Corps. and discovered that my city's fire chief is an auxillay captain. Citizen Corps. says this is its mission: "The mission of Citizen Corps is to harness the power of every individual through education, training, and volunteer service to make communities safer, stronger, and better prepared to respond to the threats of terrorism, crime, public health issues, and disasters of all kinds." Police departments have long worked with the military to persecute political dissidents, as you can see from reading this website, and since the Patriot Act was signed, quasi-private organizations such as Citizen Corps, manned by purported civil servants, do the same thing, thanks to provisions of the The Patriot Act, the NDAA, and other policies of the Department of Defense. My 'neighbor' told me he had been accepted to the training program for the fire department when we gathered in the snowy early morning hours of yet another fire drill. "I passed the test," he said, eyes gleaming. I asked him at the following fire drill when he was to begin his training, and he couldn't even tell me where he'd be studying. Methinks it was some other type of test he 'passed' than to be admitted to the fire department training program, though no citizens name, curiously, appear on the Citizen Corps. local chapter roster under "citizen" members. Very curious.
3/8/13 UPDATE: International Women's Day
Brought more harassment from my 'neighbors:' door buzzer ringing continually at 5:50 PM, followed by the stomping up the stairs of people entering the apartment under mine. I guess they must be reading my blog.  Would be nice to be allowed to move, but are there any other property owners who aren't sociopaths and terrorists?

3/4/13 UPDATE: Instead of receiving the follow-up call from my local state rep. she assured me I would, this morning, at 10:45, some people I had not buzzed into the building and were not expecting knocked on my door -- persistently, for the better part of 10 minutes. I didn't answer the door this time; the building management has my phone number and can reach me if it needs to, so I know it couldn't possibly have been them. And then a number I didn't know came up on my cell phone, and when I reverse searched it, White Pages said it belonged to someone living in my city and that I could have the name of the person for $1.99. I input my cell number to receive the info by text - and was told my request timed out, over and over and over again. I tried looking it up this way from a desktop computer at the library - and got the same 'error' messages. Well, didn't some AT&T executive testify in court a few years ago that the phone company is just another branch of the government? Just another very curious ambush.
ORIGINAL POST

     I am routinely terrorized with various types sound torture in my home.  This is what agent provocateurs do – and the reason they do the type of torture they do is because it’s torture from a distance; there are no waterboards, no briefs from corrupt U.S. attorneys general authorizing the torture.  It’s just your word against the word of those in your close proximity that engage in this torture-from-a-distance persecution.  On Christmas day, for example, just as I was sitting down to eat, I got burned by a directed-energy weapon – one of those so-called less-than-lethal weapons Janet Reno’s justice department thought local police, and consequently, all their subcontractors now, ought to have – on my shoulder, which was directed from the apartment across the hall through the wall our apartments share.

Usually, I’m able to withstand this torture without reacting, but tonight, I was tired, and easily provoked from having sustained sleep deprivation for more than a month. This evening’s mission started at 7:30 precisely and consisted of amplified sub-woofer bass sounds, pseudo-techno pop, and both an amplified male and amplified female voice.  The former are the types of sound shown to cause pneumothorax.(1)  Tonight, it came, as usual, from the apartment underneath mine, which is inhabited at times by some of the same people that variously inhabit the apartment across from the hall from mine, who like to run back and forth between the apartments through the back hallway, which is in the middle of my less than 384 sq. ft. abode.  At its peak, the noise torture reached 105 decibels on my decibel app.  Fifty-five decibels is the noise level of a busy office, according to the app.

     I called my new local state rep because, in the past when I’ve been assaulted – once, right in front of a city police officer – and I’ve asked for help from the police they have done nothing other than abuse me further. The one time I called to complain about the noise coming from the next door at midnight, the officer claimed not to hear it – though it was clearly emanating through the room. The police woman who witnessed my assault in my former bank refused to file a report on the matter when I asked her to do so, even though I had obtained the name, address, and phone number of the man who assaulted me from the clerk that waited on him.

     When my local state rep answered her phone I asked – several times – if she had time to speak with me since I was calling her at her home at 8:10 in the evening. She assured me, though she was putting her kids to sleep, she did. She asked me for a quick synopsis of what it was I wanted to speak with her about. I assured her it was a complicated issue and asked if she wouldn’t rather speak with me the following day, a Saturday. She said she wouldn’t be able to do so until Monday and that she’d like to know briefly why I was calling.

     I told her about the campaign of persecution to which I had been subjected, about the sound torture to which I was being subjected even as we spoke, and why – that I am a political dissident, though I am not a terrorist. She agreed it was a complicated issue – and asked me if the local state rep she had replaced in the last election had known about it; I told her those working for her predecessor didn’t want anything to do with me and made sure I was easily rebuffed by her (who simply passed the buck by referring me to others who also refused to help me). I told her that someone from whom I once sought help after being assaulted on the MBTA assured me he had been told by the city police that I was “the complaining sort of woman,” as if that meant I had no right to equal protection under the law. I explained that I didn’t call the police for help because the police had given me plenty of reason not to trust them. Then, she took my name, address and phone number.

     Twenty minutes later, a man identifying himself as a city police officer showed up at my door. He rang the buzzer for my apartment, and I didn’t answer because I wasn’t expecting anyone. Every now and then, the terrorists charged with tormenting me like to ring the doorbell just to annoy me. He kept ringing, and apparently rang someone else in the building, who let him in. I answered the door after he kept knocking and knocking on it, and his first words weren’t, “We’ve had a report of a noise complaint.” No. Instead, it was the decidedly smart alecky comment, “I understand you’ve been making some phone calls this evening,” as though I had no right to use a phone, let alone contact my local state rep, and in any case, owed him an explanation about my phone use.

     I told him that I had, indeed, called my local state rep and not the police because every time I went to the police for help all they did was abuse me. I told him it was clear the police worked with the Pentagon to persecute its targets, its political dissidents, as they always have, and that his real business was downstairs, with the noise terrorists. I opened the door and motioned for him to come inside and investigate, since the sound was clearly and evidently resounding through the apartment. My decibel app was open and recording the noise, and I wanted him to see what it had recorded. It had been so loud, it had caused a motion operated toy mouse to move around my cat’s toy box, and rattle wine glasses in a rack on the wall until they chimed. At one point – the point I thought I may be in physical danger – two miniature sonic booms resounded off the walls in the hallway, “pop, pop.” Instead, he refused to come in and gave me a veiled threat concerning the committal of my person to a mental institution: “How are you feeling this evening,” this snarky little brat taunted.(2)  I replied, “That’s really none of your business. Your business is downstairs, at the least. But thanks for stopping by.” After I closed and locked the door, he continued to pound on it for several minutes, and then he interviewed my other ‘neighbors’ across the hall – apparently, friends of his, given the warm way they were catching up with each other – before leaving.

     I left a message and wrote an email to the director of the National Lawyer’s Guild. I seriously doubt she received either, but in any case, I haven’t heard from her. I don’t expect I ever shall; this was the second time I tried to reach her since the Boston office of the National Lawyer’s Guild declined to help me.

     I was awakened at 7:00 AM this morning by the same amplified sub-woofer sound torture, albeit at a much lower decibel – just loud enough to hear, and sensible to shock the eardrums.

     Now, I know the mayhem the secret police in this police state create with telecommunications. One of their tried-and-true tactics, back before synthetic technology could mimic a person’s voice (or interrupt, or relay phone calls to dead lines, or minions of the state) was to impersonate activists in organizations working for their civil rights, such as the women’s movement, to call one another and concoct arguments among them, causing rifts and schisms that ultimately led to the disintegration of the group.(3)  And, of course, we all know from watching movies such as There’s Something About Mary how easy it is for the average busy body to buy eavesdropping equipment; my tormentors have long made it known to me that they listen to everything that happens in my home by repeating back to me fragments of conversations I’ve had in private telephone conversations – often, the most technically oriented or personally relevant bits.  So I don’t want to impugn my local state rep.’s credibility by claiming it was she who called the police on me for simply seeking her representation in a difficult situation.  “Officer Abredo” was so unprofessional, in fact, that I thought at first he wasn’t even the police officer he was pretending to be, despite his uniform, badge and walkie-talkie.  “He may be as illegitimate as George Zimmerman,”(4) I thought – just another sub- sub- sub- contractor with quasi authority to persecute whomever he pleases. But the person with whom I share my apartment saw a city police cruiser in front of our apartment building while Officer Abredo was here, as he was coming home from work, which makes me wonder why this PSYOP, clearly aimed at threatening me with imprisonment through commitment in a mental institution, was conducted mere days after I mailed to the state rep who is seeking to replace John Kerry in the senate not the donation for his campaign for which he had solicited me, but, instead, my declaration that I was committed to fighting the fascists that control our government, who have closed American society and made it a police state. It was on a business card I hand out on occasion for this blog, and on the back was a description of one of the many MK-ULTRA campaigns they’ve waged against me. It read:

“There is only one reason a veterinarian would tell one of his clients the reason her cat’s integument had a moth-eaten appearance was because its tongue is so rough it pulls the fur out, and that is to discredit her to anyone to whom she repeated such a ludicrous statement, which no veterinarian familiar with parasite infestation would make. That means such a ‘veterinarian’ is really a covert warfighter conducting PSYOP on the law-abiding, non-extremist, non-terrorist cat owner – which makes him a fascist toady psychological terrorist. (I suppose this may explain why the person answering the phone of the actual vet had a voice like James Earl Jones, and the person who showed up pretending to be said vet sounded like Jose Carreras.) If you do the same, that makes you the same. If you don’t, you should be outraged your government pits people like you against other non-terrorist Americans. And you should resist them.”

     They always make me pay for merely trying to speak out and tell the truth about my bioenslavement.

     I’ve tried many times over the past 24 years to leave the home where I have been persecuted – to rent an apartment and to buy property – but always, I am thwarted.  There was the time the mortgage lender offered me a mortgage at 4.5% DPR – that’s daily percentage rate, not annual – which isn’t, strictly speaking, predatory lending because, of course, I didn’t purchase the loan (I have no doubt the bank's appraiser would never have approved such a loan, just as I have no doubt I wasn't given a genuine mortgage product to purchase because this 'mortgage lender' simply wanted to rebuff me without taking any direct, possibly discriminatory action - and so he did).  Today’s shenanigans were little different.  I don’t know who it was I spoke with when I called a realtor about an apartment I saw listed on craigslist, but, while he did say the apartment was still available, he also said that the management was closed for the weekend and not showing the apartment, which made no sense to me at all, since it had just been posted on Craigslist the day before, just in time for the busy real estate weekend.  He simply said he’d call them on Monday – by which time, I’m sure, the apartment will be let.  Clearly, I’m to be kept in this virtual battlefield to be tortured no matter what.  I have serious doubts that I even spoke to the realtor who posted this apartment listing, and wouldn’t you, if you were me?

     So, if you think you don’t live in a closed police state operated at the behest of the most powerful fascists in the history of either fascism, or history itself, think again, my friend.  This has been a long time coming and is very firmly established and entrenched.  And it will, eventually, happen to you, too, no matter whose ‘side’ you think you’re on.

--------------
(1)  Reuters:  “Music Fans, Beware the Big Bass,” www.wired.com, Med-Tech:  Health, September 2, 2004  (http://www.wired.com/medtech/health/news/2004/09/64829, accessed August 29, 2012).  Contributors:  “Sonic Weapon,” www.wikipedia.org (http://en.m.wikipedia.wiki/Sonic_weapon#Demonstrated_infrasonic_weapon, accessed March 2, 2012).
(2)     Weinberger, Sharon:  "Report:  Nonlethal Weapons Could Target Brain, Mimic Schizophrenia," www.wired.com February 18, 2008 (http://www.wired.com/dangerroom/2008/02/report-nonletha/ accessed September 24, 2012).
(3)    Glick, Brian:  War at Home:  Covert Action Against U.S. Activists and What We Can Do About It (South End Press, 1989), p. 31.
(4)     Lee, Trymaine:  “George Zimmerman Neighbors Complained About Aggressive Tactics Before Trayvon Martin Killing,” The Huffington Post, (http://www.huffingtonpost.com/mobileweb/2012/03/12/george-zimmerman-trayvon-martin_n_1340358.html, accessed March 2, 2013).

Friday, January 4, 2013

What's Left to Say?

Like everyone else, I was horrified at the massacre that took place in a Newtown, Connecticut, elementary school December 14th. That morning, I had just returned from yet another anxiety-ridden visit to the vet’s with my Mother’s ‘bequest,’ her sick little calico, and I was attempting to finish up some errands before returning home. In line at CVS the patron behind me sheepishly asked, “What is this country coming to?” I turned to look at what I thought would be an elucidating scene unfolding nearby that had drawn his attention and condemnation, only to find him shaking his head while he was reading his smartphone. He looked up.
“The shooting. In Connecticut,” he explained, minimizing his screen. His eyes watered. “How could it be at an elementary school,” he stammered.

My heart thumped. “Right. Because they’re supposed to happen in high schools. And colleges. And schools for the gifted,” I thought.

“How did it ever come to this,” the man asked again. I didn’t know what to say. We inched further toward the cashier.

“When did it happen,” I asked.

“Nine-thirty, this morning,” he replied. “They’re just evacuating the kids now.” It was about 11:30. I began stacking my purchases on the counter after the woman in front of me finished her transaction. “Morning,” I replied to the clerk, when she greeted me. Silence from my interlocutor. Advil, Benadryl, bacterial wipes – a quick purchase this day, if not an awkward one. “Thanks,” the clerk said, handing me my bag. What to say to the despondent man now? I turned, hoping whatever came out of my mouth wasn’t too trite, or somehow inadequate. But then I realized – not only was I not equal to an eloquence required of this moment, I didn’t have anything to say, because, I knew, so many other talented, sincere, driven, intelligent people had, for years, been saying everything that needed to be said about children exposed to a steady stream of violence in the media they consume, and gun violence, and the public health threat of both. Just then, I didn’t think anyone had anything else particularly relevant to say either, a fear that was confirmed not hours later, when I was listening to a supposed expert on gun violence tell the newscaster interviewing him that “inner-city” gun violence statistics were actually steady, or falling, in most areas of the country. “This didn’t happen in South Central,” I screamed at the TV – so forcefully that I scared even myself.

“They’ve got to do something about all these crazy people with guns now. These things can’t keep up, or we’re all done for,” the man opined.

“Yeah, but will they,” I responded half-heartedly. The man glanced away. “Take care,” I heard myself saying, and I started for the door. Then, it hit me. “Of course they won’t,” I thought. “If there had been any will on the part of politicians, or whomever it is that controls them, to make America safe for all its inhabitants, there’d be a whole lot of things that would be different about our country today, never mind regulating the ownership and possession of firearms more carefully. Firstly, there’d be no such thing as a Vaccine Injury Compensation Act – especially, not one that had to be refunded two years after its initial funding because so many people have been ‘injured’ by contaminated vaccines that all the money intended to reimbursement them for lives they’ll have to live in pain, debilitation, and as non-contributing members of society ran out. Instead, there’d be 24/7 inspection by non-biased international health inspectors in every vaccine production facility in the country; the concept of dual-use technology isn’t limited to atomic weaponry/energy, after all, and our blatant disregard for even our own violated bioweapons prohibitions are both now well-known and well-established as the basis for industries such as biotechnology. Second, health care rationing vis-à-vis ‘health’ maintenance organizations? Are you kidding, in the world’s most technologically advanced and expensive medical infrastructure in the world? If we really wanted every person in America to have the health care they need to make them healthy, productive citizens, we’d pay our doctors the way politicians the last 20 years have been demanding we pay our teachers – by the results they get. After all, if you don’t have your health, you’ve got no life. That’s the only way we’re ever going to get rid of cancer (after the lucrative cancer advocacy and research industries have depleted their sizeable endowments, of course). No – there’d be a whole lot of things different here, if the health and well-being of America’s citizens were the primary interest of the politicians purportedly representing us. And we’ve known that for quite some time – just like we’ve known the reasons children and others with access to firearms choose to kill to solve problems for which they cannot foresee any other solution.” I turned on my heels just as I reached the automatic doors. I saw the man weaving toward them, through the lines of customers at the checkout counter.

“Excuse me,” I started. I had no idea what I was going to say to him, this wretch in so much shock he could hardly finish the simple task of checking out at a store without being overcome by emotion. Looking back, I’m frankly surprised at how coherently I managed to engage him. The passion still lives, I suppose. That’s a good thing.

“You know, there are – and have been – lots and lots of people, working intensively around the issue of violence and how it affects children in this country for many decades, and they’ve researched and told us that things like this are both foreseeable and preventable for almost as long. The problem isn’t that we don’t know why things like these happen; we know all too well. Children exposed to violence will use violence to solve their problems. And the problem doesn’t have one particular factor, the altering of which would stop such things from happening, like gun control. The problem is the political will to change what’s become a preference for a brutal society – and your representative not representing you, if you don’t want that type of society.”

I could have stopped there, but I didn’t. I barely paused to take a breath as the man nodded, before I continued.

“When I was in college I was fortunate enough to study with an expert in the violence that’s pedaled to children in their media and the damage it does to them. She lives right here, in the so-called world’s smartest zip code. I remember her asking me, after I began my teaching practicum in one of the city’s more progressive kindergartens, how I found it, and my trying to explain the perplexing phenomena I was witnessing in some of the children’s dramatic play. ‘I don’t think I was exceptional when I was in kindergarten, but I do remember being able to make up a story that had a beginning, middle and an end,’ I told her. I didn’t know at the time her life’s work was demonstrating how children’s cognitive abilities are undermined when they are routinely bombarded by gratuitous acts of violence – violence that makes no sense, contextually, to stories they watch in their cartoons and programs on TV and video games – and that that diminished capacity for logical thought precludes their ability to posit outcomes other than violence when negotiating challenging situations and encounters with others.”

You’d think I would have said enough by then and would have taken pity on the man, whose face now began to transform into a mask of bewilderment, but, for once, I was able to reach that point of global awareness, that ‘ah-ha’ logical conclusion that puts it altogether in the narrative I was creating extemporaneously.

“And the best way to teach children how to think constructively in logical ways – to teach them to problem solve by positing many alternatives – is in an environment that supports constructive thought, not in the type of classroom that Bill Clinton’s so-called No Child Left Behind drive for standards created, where teachers only teach children how to answer inquires posed to them in a particular way, instead of teaching them to think through possible solutions, if they teach them at all. Information and indoctrination – not education. When you’ve got industry demanding the right to corrupt children’s minds through the media they consume, and you’ve got no outlet for them to learn to think on their own, and they’re bombarded with images of violence, of course, they’re going to choose violence as a solution to their problems. And if it’s not violence with a gun, it’s violence with their words and violence with their fists. It’s bullying. It’s gang activity. It’s what the warmongers running our country want – beasts to do their empire-building bidding when they grow up.  Remember - Ronald Reagan was ecstatic when he learned kids were dumbing themselves down in front of video games because they were learning how to become proficient using joy sticks and would one day be as proficient at remote warfare.”

"Well, it is a complex issue,” the man offered.

“Only because we choose to see it as such,” I replied. “We solved the mysteries of atomic fission and DNA. We could solve both community and domestic violence issues – and world hunger and peace – if we wanted to. But we don’t. Because wealthy people profit from violence. And profit is all that matters to our representatives.”

We had drifted out into the parking lot by then, and I was as anxious to extract myself from what had turned into a soliloquy I had not intended as I believed the man was to be relieved of me. But he just stood there with me, in silence. I relaxed and fished my sunglasses out of my bag.
“I suppose there’s some truth to that,” he mumbled. “It’s undeniable now.”

I ought to have felt elated for the seldom-experienced validation he was giving me, but instead, I just felt deflated. Hollow. Not much of a victory, when you so want to be wrong.
“I don’t want to leave you as depressed as I am about the sorry state of our Congress,” I said. “The woman I was telling you about? She’s got several good books you can get on amazon.com about what I was telling you. I think it’s helpful to focus on the hopeful, and her work offers very practical guidance to counteract all of the negative influences that bear on our children these days. You should read them, and share them, and talk with your social circle about demanding a complex answer to the complex issue of violence perpetrated against and then by children.” I gave him her name, and the title of the book most relevant to our discussion, Who’s Calling the Shots, wished him a better day, and left him.

Later that day, I watched coverage of the shooting on network news. It was the first time I watched network news in I couldn’t say how long; it’s always the same five, largely irrelevant and increasingly inaccurate sound bites interspersed with infotainment garbage, so I don’t ingest it, ordinarily. That’s when I lost it and screamed at the TV, and then I started reading accounts of the shooting on the web, instead of watching the boob tube. And, as I had predicted, I soon discovered that there really wasn’t much different in the content, tone, or volume of pundits’ disquisitions on the Sandy Hook Elementary School massacre than there was in that of the reporting on the Aurora, Colorado, movie theater shooting – the reasons for them, or how to prevent future horrors of a similar nature. It’s always gun control, ‘experts’ tell us.

I casually surveyed HuffPost and Common Dreams over the next few days, and learned that the shooter, Adam Lanza, was a former mild special needs student who had long harbored resentments toward his mother over the time she had spent volunteering in the kindergarten at the school and that it was, ironically, her weapons he used to murder her in her bed before heading off to Sandy Hook.  Among the outcries and finger pointing and excuses I found only two essays worth the time and energy to read – only two essays that had anything of worth to say, or could demonstrate just how intractable the courage deficit is in our leaders. No more poignant essay was penned last month demonstrating this than Simon’s Rock College shooting victim parent and former gun control activist Gregory Gibson’s New York Times piece, “Why America Lets the Killings Continue.”  If anyone should know why, it’s this man.
“My wife and I learned about the Connecticut school shootings on our way home from the cemetery, where we had just finished observing the 20th anniversary of our son’s murder. Our son, Galen, who was 18, and a teacher were killed on December 14, 1992, by a deranged student who went on a shooting rampage at Simon’s Rock College in western Massachusetts.” Gibson tells us how his son, a gifted kid, had thrived at the college, unlike the student who would take his life, and how the event changed his own life by turning him into an avid gun control activist. He wrote a book about the shooting that took his son from him. He attended gun control rallies. He spoke about how he believed we should treat gun violence as a public health issue. He signed petitions and wrote letters. And when he saw that none of it had any impact on the will of politicians to do practical things to curb gun violence – when he saw the massacres get bigger and become more frequent – he gave up. “I came to realize that, in essence, this is the way we in America want things to be. We want our freedom, and we want our firearms, and if we have to endure the occasional school shooting, so be it.” Though I disagree with Gibson about who it is that ‘we’ to whom he refers are, and though I know it is people who kill people, not guns, and that we should look at the way we’ve indoctrinated people to believe they need to use violence to manage their relationships, I do believe he has a point, and that it’s the only point worth remembering: whoever it is that’s in control of America wants America to be a place where gun violence becomes the first and most prolific response to settling our differences. A nation of George Zimmermans – that’s what they want. I became convinced of this fact reading the second essay that piqued my interest that week – this one, by a former politician.

Former Michigan governor and TV commentator Jennifer M. Granholm lays the blame for the proliferation of gun violence at the feet of a weak-willed and greedy Congress: “This gun debate, the fiscal cliff, and frankly all important and difficult issues demand leaders willing to be uncomfortable. Willing to lean into an oncoming storm rather than be blown along with it. The men at Normandy risked their lives for what was right. Our politicians could at least risk their campaign donations.” Our politicians, she wants us to believe, are too intimidated by the gun and defense lobbies. I’m sure she has a point – all politicians pander to those who will keep them seated. But I strongly suggest that there is a much larger power than simple self-interest at work here.

There can be no question that the first name on that registry of mentally ill people Wayne LaPierre of the National Rifle Association has called for the creation of as a way of preventing future Sandy Hook Elementary School-type shootings should be his very own for suggesting this Nazi-esque proposal and also suggesting that we turn our schools into battlefields by stationing armed soldiers in them, but the fact this monster is given prominent airtime a week to the day of the massacre to make these proposals, when funerals and memorials were being held, and people haven’t even had time to grieve properly, speaks volumes about who has the privilege of freedom of expression in our country. Activists, who for decades have tried to warn us that violence-prone children would be the natural result of letting corporations and others who derive a benefit from our children becoming warriors shape their minds and characters have systematically been removed from positions of influence and prominence through intimidation and the type of covert warfare documented on this website. That’s where those leaders Gov. Granholm decries the dearth of have gone. Followers of Peggy Charren’s Action for Children’s Television were dismayed – to say the least – when she declared an end in 1992 to the advocacy work for which the non-profit group was once famous, after coming out in support of the V chip, the technology that makes parent controls possible in, at the time, future television designs, disappointing supporters who, for years, had been advocating for the regulation of children’s television, understanding that many children – particularly, those whose parents had no choice but to use the TV as a babysitter for their children while they were at work – didn’t have parents with the time or knowledge to program these then-high-tech televisions their parents likely wouldn’t be able to afford so as not to harm them. I remember being in that lecture hall at Harvard Divinity School the day she made that announcement, and there far more audible gasps and whipsawing of heads and alarmed faces than there was the smattering of applause she received that day.  I don’t have to imagine the pressures she likely endured before she exited children’s advocacy – and then received the Presidential Medal of Freedom, interestingly. I’ve heard plenty of tales of the type of harassment and intimidation those activists experienced and experienced it myself.
And, really, what more is there to say? Every aspect of our society is shaped by the values of the warmongers that control our government. Every aspect. Because they have the power to eliminate anyone who isn’t a warmonger. Duh. Warriors. It’s what they do. And it’s easy to see, how we’re all being indoctrinated to live not by humanity’s highest ideals but by our most base instincts, if we just look around: mass media gives us parking, storage, yard, wedding, house, dance, and umpteen other types of ‘war,’ and the most popular video game of all time is World of Warcraft. And those of our religious communities that are wholly complacent are a disgrace. Homophobia that’s reached an insane level of intolerance, with things such as Michigan’s License to Bully law. How anyone with half a brain cannot see the degree to which we are being entreated to become what, incidentally, the Nazis prized as the model citizen, is really quite astounding to me.

When a healthy childhood for every child in America is made improbable, and no one in a position of authority and power bats an eye at the clear violation of human rights represented by the offending customs, institutions, and so-called values that no longer make childhood inviolable and sacred, you know hope is lost – because all of those people in positions of authority and power, all of those so-called tribunes and representatives and leaders, have actually been working to create the state in which we live. There isn’t any other explanation possible for this dearth of courage and leadership than that our leaders aren’t. They don’t care about our children; if they did, Sandy Hook wouldn’t have happened. They get paid to pander to the NRA by crafting legislation that makes it happy, and to look the other way when things such as the Assault Rifle ban expire. And if Jennifer Granholm has a hard time trying to find leaders to fill this void, all she need do is read the pages of this blog to see that those leaders are the ones that the warmongers in control of our country have been systematically eliminating from American society for decades.

Before I finally sat down to write this essay I had no intention of posting another missive to this blog. Every day, like countless millions across the globe, I’m tortured with sleep deprivation, food contamination, bioassaults that leave me with one bout of bronchitis after another for months at a time, and various PSYOP, and every day, I get up, try to go about the business of living and face the day and the minions around me with a measure of equanimity. I know perfectly well that those in charge took to heart industrialist Jay Gould’s observation, “I can always pay one-half of the poor to kill the other half,” and that the people engaged in covert warfare against me and those like me are no different than the Nazi underling, trying to survive the endless nightmare created by Hitler’s cabal of monsters. Though things never change for me in and around my 386 square-foot prison, and radiation weapons fry my head, chest and torso, making me feel as though I’ve just come back from a day at the beach without sunscreen and as though I’ve run a marathon, and causing my intestines to bleed, I know they’re not likely to change because war against decent, caring people is what this country has been about for a long, long time. But then I remembered that even though my lack of freedom means not being able to associate freely with others, and even though I’m not allowed commerce with whomever it is that reads my blog, it’s still worthwhile to remind whomever I can that there was a time when things were not as bad as they are right now in this country – when children didn’t take assault rifles into elementary schools and movie theaters and shoot other children and people. That that time could be resurrected – if they were only willing to use their own freedom to do so, come what may. To remind them that that country doesn’t exist because that country’s leaders no longer exist; they’ve been eliminated - the Paul Wellstones and Ray Carnahans and Paul Tsongases and the Kennedys - and that it is up to them to choose to become the next leaders willing to confront the military dictatorship that has evolved as our country’s premiere agent, remember that people like me are still here, still working as best they can, and still supportive of them even if they can’t see, or hear, or feel our impact. I promise you, if this liberal target of the U.S. war machine had been allowed to create the type of learning environment in which all children felt safe, respected and valued and could learn in peace, instead of being made a bioslave of it, there would be plenty more Paul Wellstones, Ray Carnahans and Paul Tsongases thriving today, no matter how long or short their lives and careers.

And that’s rather the point. The fact I’m not allowed to say things in an impactful context is as much the reason I have nothing left to say as is the fact that it’s all been said before. Now, it’s up to you.