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An Open Letter To Robert F. Kennedy Jr. From A Reader
"At Last, I See A Leader Who Stands Up For The Wee Things, The Tadpoles and The Fish and The Birds and The Soil Microbes, And The Salt Of The Earth People…" By Emily Peyton
I had not reflected on these lyrics since I was 13, in Örebro, Sweden, probably sitting on the sofa in the bleak apartment of Raimo Siltala, my Finnish friend, who played the song over and over, drinking straight vodka, railing against the Swedish welfare state in ways that were over my head, until finally, he fell asleep. I would place a blanket over him, do the dishes, and walk home through the snow. Raimo was 21, and seemed to have no parents, like all the Finns in our neighborhood. Nobody ever talked about the war.
“So, so you think you can tell
Heaven from hell?
Blue skies from pain?
Can you tell a green field
From a cold steel rail?
A smile from a veil?
Do you think you can tell?
“Did they get you to trade
Your heroes for ghosts?
Hot ashes for trees?
Hot air for a cool breeze?
Cold comfort for change?
Did you exchange
A walk-on part in the war
For a leading role in a cage?”
—David Gilmore, Roger Waters
Start with pigeons, WW1 and WW2.
“Cher Ami was a registered Black Check cock carrier pigeon, one of 600 birds owned and flown by the U.S. Army Signal Corps in France during World War I. He delivered twelve important messages within the American sector at Verdun; on his last mission, October 4, 1918, he was shot through the breast and leg by enemy fire but still managed to return to his loft with a message capsule dangling from the wounded leg. The message Cher Ami carried was from Major Charles S. Whittlesey's "Lost Battalion" of the Seventy-seventy Infantry Division that had been isolated from other American forces. The message brought about the relief of the 194 battalion survivors, and they were safe behind American lines shortly after the message was received.
For his heroic service, Cher Ami was awarded the French Croix de Guerre with palm. He was returned to the United States and died at Fort Monmouth, N.J. on June 13, 1919, as a result of his wounds. Cher Ami was later inducted into the Racing Pigeon Hall of Fame in 1931, and received a gold medal from the Organized Bodies of American Pigeon Fanciers in recognition of his extraordinary service during World War I.”
(I wrote a book that was never published called Animals In War for Scholastic, and I learned that DNA tests indicated Cher Ami was female, (Chére Ami, then) but it’s still being debated, after 100 years. The British have annual ceremonies for their War Pigeons, and keep careful track of their rankings in the RAF.)
This is all coming to mind as we all grapple with the seriously uncomfortable possibility that a US candidate for President might care about us.
We are even scolding and flogging one another for daring to hope. The new counter-culture.
The Trump MAGA dream sure didn’t help matters, when it imploded on contact at the first mention of a “corona virus” of zoonotic origin in 2020.
Robert F. Kennedy Jr. brought his extraordinary almost 2 hourlong speech on April 19 in Boston to an important punctuation, and well earned punch, when he said, about the lockdowns: “I blame President Trump.” His point was, no punting to your bureaucrats, your Fauci, Birx, and Lane—you were The President, Mr. Trump, and your only job was to protect this country, from enemies foreign and domestic.
This piece of writing, below, was in the comments section, here. I thought it was beautifully expressed. Before we get to it, I want to say something:
I understand those who can’t hope any more, I have had “hope” crushed more times than I can ever recount, these past 3 surreal decades. I have felt like a fool, moron, and neon idiot, more times than I can recount. For believing in the power of truth to conquer lies. I’ve been called those thing and much worse things, by the legions of besserwissers, who objected to my chronic naïveté, or my love of people they said were fatally flawed, or in some way— in error of All That Was True And Right And Good.
A few milestones of crushed hope:
We thought surely it would come to a screeching halt when (PCR inventor) Kary Mullis used what Thoreau called the “whole strip” of his influence to counter the insanity. Or when this or that politician or law firm took on some slam dunk AZT cases. Definitely when Thabo Mbeki convened a panel of 24 experts to Pretoria in 2000, 12 from each side of the HIV and cause HIV and NOT cause divide.
We were hopeful again when Serge Lang, legendary French mathematician, famous for his truth-perception test for Yale freshmen called “The Huntington Test” began assailing the editors of every major scientific journal with his “files” that documented the psychedelic insanity of all Escher-ian, self-fulfilling “HIV research.” (I have them all, he always sent me copies in the mail.)
HIV research proved immortal while the mighty Serge himself eventually succumbed to despair, in 2006. As did, eventually, Liam Scheff, and Christine Maggiore, in her way.
It was nothing except sheer violence, crushing blows, deadly propagandistic mockery and bullying, every single day, year in, year out. Magnificent minds were reduced to detested clowns in the media’s distortion mirrors. As soon as a person questioned this weird inverted deity they called “HIV” they were “discredited” denialist worms, to be crushed and removed, for the safety of Good Society. One began to wonder, on low oxygen days, if one was actually crazy. Oh, there are so many examples.
Lynn Margulis lent her luminous voice to the battle pretty early, but she was reduced to somebody who “used to be married to Carl Sagan.” (I see it the other way around.) In 1988, Barbara McClintock told me (in a faint over over the phone) that she agreed with Peter Duesberg. He had arranged the call—I had no idea then, who she was. We had a few Nobel laureates, including Walter Gilbert, and titans of “virology” like Harry Rubin.
All reduced to the never explained phenomenon of formerly esteemed scientists who overnight went crazy and decided to become thoroughly discredited, homicidally so.
I’m depressing myself writing this.
Do you never worry that my head will explode? Do you think I don’t want to sometimes gives up all hope? My closest friend Rob Drescher was slowly murdered, his career terminally ended, for one single episode of the show he produced at ABC, that featured Peter Duesberg and myself. Should I delete that sentence, since you don’t know what exactly I am talking about? Maybe we should reduce all of history to the No Virus dialectic, and to hell with all these people. Rob called Perth Group’s no proof HIV exists writings “the holy shit vortex.”
We always thought we were one broadcast interview away from bringing the whole murderous regime to its knees.
Do I wish I had talked him out of it? I do. We underestimated the enemy by an incalculable margin. Their ruthlessness was infinite, and relentless. Only they could, and must, exist, in a world without any of our voices; To this they felt supremely entitled. Why should they have to co-exist with AIDS deniers?
They resembled the Twilight Zone boy Anthony, who wished people with unclean thoughts “to the cornfield,” and poof, they vanished.
Tomas Tranströmer, as some of you have heard me quote before (whose collection The Truth Barrier our name is borrowed from) wrote this incredible stanza:
A poet visits a rich man and says to himself:
“You live well; The slum must be within you.” (That makes me think of Bill Gates.)
He also wrote the tag line that’s on our flag: “We lean toward freedom. So say the white sails.”
And then there was my close Swedish friend Peter Olsen, always quotable, who said once “You don’t have a chance. Take it.” That made me laugh, before I stopped laughing for about 12 years.
What Vladimir Bukovsky came to call “The Anaconda,” which is his version of what Catherine Austin Fitts calls “Mr. Global,” always turned up to strangle our foolish “hope,” leaving us to sweep up the broken glass. Always, the only outcome to every challenge to the madness, no matter who it came from, was a bloody beating.
By 2008, none of us made a sound: It was a silent battlefield, and we had lost the war, hopelessly, and utterly, but not for being wrong.
That a Mr. Robert F. Kennedy Jr. would come along in 2021 and raise the dead body of the killed truth with a book that was read by over a million people, was unthinkable.
All hope had been abandoned for 13 years. All our beautiful conferences, meetings, exchanges—all fell silent. The war had raged by then, for 21 years.
The media apparatus could and did destroy everything anybody came up with, ranging from the sane and rational all the way to the beautiful, by way of sheer jet-black mockery. AIDS Inc. would never be deprived of its kills, nor of its endless self-glorifications.
Everything was hopeless.
But the human spirit is a beautiful thing, and like Cher Ami, it flies straight up through a hail of bullets, holding its truth cargo, dangling to a nearly severed leg. What chance did Cher Ami have? Two pigeons has been shot down before him. (Or her.)
How exhausted do you think Robert F. Kennedy Jr. must be, compared to you or me or any of us? How does somebody convert losses on the scale he has experienced to determination? (And I know the Kennedys are staunchly opposed to self-pity in all forms.)
I loved every line of his speech. I thought it was a near miraculous 2 hours of oratory, entirely unscripted, yet somehow, perfectly woven. Everything was addressed just as it should be, including the things nobody ever addresses in American public life. He was funny and real.
One of my favorite parts came toward the end when he addressed his skeletons, so numerous, he said, they could elect a King if they could vote. (I think that’s what he said.) I had the thought to create posters with drawings of skeletons that say: “We are Bobby Kennedy’s Skeletons And We Are Voting For Him In 2024.”
No American, I believe, cares one iota about Mr. Kennedy’s skeletons, as we sit trapped and held hostage by a malevolent, rapacious beast system, clearly trying to kill us. And our children. And our frogs and fishes, rivers, lakes and trees. Trying to demoralize us so that we lose all hope. All is lost when we lose hope, and hope is never rational.
“You don’t have a chance. Take it.”
So here’s the letter, written by Emily Peyton, which she hopes he gets to read and I do too:
Open letter to Robert Kennedy, entering candidate for president,
“At last, I see a leader who stands up for the wee things, the tadpoles and the fish and the birds and the soil microbes, and the salt of the earth people, a leader who understands 'climate change' belongs to Monsanto, big Pharma, Corporatism, and weather manipulation, and bankers' wars. It is not. I repeat not, excess Co2. Their ruse to create the problem that they then 'solve' is abominable. Robert you get this, and moreover you know these enemies of Nature, and care at the core of your being. Somehow, you have spent enough of your life in Nature's arms to love her unconditionally. I see you.
“If there is one way to heal the divide, it is to bring our focus to bear on what we all agree on. Clean water, soil, air and food. There is not a woman in America who wants to give her child polluted water, so there should be a workforce of people cleaning our water. There is not a Mother in America who wants to poison her child with toxic food, and so there should be a million farm increase of small permaculture farms. There is not a Mother anywhere on earth who would put her child willingly within toxic air, polluted and filled with harm, so there should be a million strong working to stop the disgusting practices we see overhead, including the harmful invisible weapons of cell towers and 5g. There is not a Father in America who wishes to leave to fight a war to enrich pedophilic masters. There is not a Father who wishes to be wage-slaved to the banking elites with their creation of child trafficking rings serving perversion and control by blackmail and destruction of God's family of humanity. There is not a Father in America who wishes for autism on his child. There is not a young child, youth or adult in America who doesn't need your leadership. If we are to have a future, if we are to have health, Nature is our source. Of all the political candidates, I know you get it. I am thankful beyond words for your decision to step forward. However, I will not relax and simply watch you work on my behalf.
“I will work alongside you. I ask each of us to do the same. Each of you, by now, should plainly see, the risk of obedience to an elite few; their greed is insatiable, their methods immoral, dishonest and criminal. We the People must solve the problems they create and not accept their "solutions". We can no longer go along to get along with the powers that thieve, and ourselves thrive, let alone survive. I believe the only safe place for our monetary methods to be handled is in the collective hands of We the People. We cannot do the work of healing the divide and leave the rules of money in the hands of those who use it to control us for their spiritually impoverished hellish authority. We cannot trust elections, the press or the elected. We do not have justice, we have protected elites. We do not have equality, we STILL have the good ole boys network, even locally. The very role of politics, in the eyes of the elite, I believe is to weaken the people, to divide them, and make them vulnerable. Thus the remedy to restore economic environmental sanity is a collective enterprise vehicle to turn our future away from death's cliff and towards safety. A lawful design for restructuring our monetary methods away from elite control, and thus driving our honorable economy according to our humble and pure needs is posted on ewegrow.com. Robert, I believe it will aid the great healing that needs to happen for the sake of our children, our planet and ourselves. I hope you see this letter and find the economic plan posted there to be helpful for your leadership.”
Emily Peyton’s work can be read here, at Truth Rises