I wrote this story after hearing Susie Bright's radio interview with
Debbie Nathan, an investigative journalist who has written a number of
pieces attempting to discredit the idea of satanic ritual abuse and
organized human trafficking. Bright and Nathan believe that these ideas
are perpetuated solely by Christian fundamentalists trying to deliver
nonbelievers and porn addicts straight back into the arms of Jesus. I
hope that this short paper can help to clarify things a bit for these
two, or at least create a few new questions. My perspective is slightly
different than the aforementioned Christians, mainly because I am not
even slightly religious and have no ulterior political agendas lurking
beneath the surface. However, my experiences, and those of many of my
friends and acquaintances, have demonstrated the clear reality of highly
organized trafficking and ritual abuse rings that cater to the most
wealthy and powerful people in the world.
My own part of the
story began when I arrived in New York shortly after turning 17. In the
East village of the spring of 1997, the traffic in underage flesh was
flowing so freely that it should have been a five lane highway. There
were a lot of “photographers” who seemed mostly interested in taking
naked pictures of all the runaways in Tompkins Square for really pitiful
amounts like $20. Those pictures are probably all on the internet by
now, making someone a lot of money. One night I went to a party with my
friend Alice and we found a suitcase on top of the dumpster outside
that was filled nearly to bursting with laminated photos of prepubescent
boys and girls. The children were all either naked or in their
underwear, and included in the suitcase were documents like birth
certificates and social security cards. A woman who lived at the
apartment we were visiting said that we shouldn’t turn it in because
their building was a squat and since it wasn’t up to code they could get
in trouble. The people at the party were under the impression that the
suitcase had been planted there as a way to evict the squatters.
On
another night I was wandering around with a friend named Josh and we
got picked up by an older Mr. Rogers type. He brought us to an illegal
after-hours club that he said was owned by the mafia. The waiters there
were Italian guys who brought drugs to people’s tables as if they were
items on a menu. Mr. Rogers got us some coke and brought us in the
bathroom to put on a show for him while he doled out bumps. A few weeks
after the mafia club, I was walking down Avenue B and ran into a boy I
knew named Ryan. He said he could take me to a store where the man who
worked there could feed us. When we got there, the man behind the
counter got on his phone to call some friends he said would help us out.
Five or ten minutes later a car full of Middle-Eastern men in nice
suits pulled up and they brought us both to an apartment. One of the
men there wanted me and Ryan both so he brought us to a room in the back
and gave us some heroin. Unfortunately, since I was already drunk at
this point, my memories of the rest of the night are very sparse.
I
met a lot of people when I was panhandling. Around that same time
period, another businessman took me out to eat and gave me a bottle of
klonopin. He told me I could stop wasting my time with small time guys
because he was in the business of arranged marriages and could hook me
up with $4000 to marry a wealthy Russian man. He assured me it would be
strictly for the green card and I didn’t have to live with him, but we
should go to the Russian’s apartment anyways. Something told me to
leave that situation alone, so I took his number and told him I would
think it over and get back to him. Recently I read an article in the
British paper the Guardian exposing a Russian snuff porn ring that had
international distribution into Italy, Britain, America and Germany.
The men involved with the ring would find homeless teenagers to be in
their videos by going to the train stations or orphanages and promising a
meal or a place to stay for the night. A follow up article reported
that prices for the videos ranged as high as $20,000.
In DC I
answered an ad for an "escort agency" in the back of the City Paper.
When I arrived it became apparent that the agency was just a pimp with a
small group of women. Abdul arrived to pick me up from the Metro
station in a shiny black sports car with one of his women, Kelly, riding
in the passenger seat. He brought me to his house right away, where he
showed off his five vintage cars and a TV set that was six feet wide.
Abdul told me that his family was Afghan Mafia and he would call them on
me if I ever tried to leave him. He said this in as nice of a manner
as he could have. Kelly told me that she liked for him to manage the
money because he was better at it. Abdul owned escort agencies all
across the country and claimed that much of his customer base was made
up of politicians. The next day I spent with him driving me to various
nice neighborhoods around DC to do outcalls. Although he took over 80%
of what I made, I still walked away with nearly $1000. To gain his
trust, at the end of the day I thanked him for providing security before
promising to return after picking up clothes and make-up from a friends
house. Abdul left a few messages on my cell phone, but I never
returned his calls.
During the spring of 2000, I hitchhiked
through Mexico with my friend Julia. We spent most of the trip camping
in the city and countryside, which was way more of a hassle than we
had planned on. On the edge of a small town right outside of Mexico
City, we searched through overcrowded streets for a place to sleep.
Eventually, exhausted and resigned to a less than adequate night’s rest,
we unrolled sleeping bags in the driveway of a building that looked to
be vacant. In the middle of the night, a car full of men and women
rolled up and one of the men got out and began speaking to us rapidly in
Spanish. Since my grasp of Spanish is minimal at best, the only thing I
understood was that he wanted us to come inside the house where we
could stay. And like insects flying into a light, we followed the men
into what was clearly a whorehouse while their women waited outside in
the car.
Inside the building there was a bar and a group of
women standing around it in tight spandex dresses. After the men spoke
to them for a few minutes, they led us downstairs to a cement room with
all the charm of a military bunker. On a bare mattress was a pair of
black underwear, on the floor a bloody condom, and a sink in the corner
held a collection of used speculums. Within a few minutes we were
asleep. In the morning we awoke to discover that someone had locked us
into the tiny room. While I was panicking from visions of white
slavery, Julia threw her pack out the window and swung it up and onto
the roof. Looking out the window, I saw that we were on the side of
what appeared to be a steep cliff, although I don’t know for sure,
because the bottom wasn’t visible due to all the dense foliage. But we
took our chances anyway and clambered out onto the roof. When we jumped
off of it on the other side of the building, a large group of children
crowded around to watch.
In the fall of 2002 I was 22 but could
have easily passed for younger. Wandering around North Beach one night I
got picked up by a white guy named Frank who said he was an insurance
salesman. When I got into his car he asked to see my ID and insisted
that I must be 16. I obligingly showed him my ID but that didn’t
convince him. When he eventually incorporated the 16-year old thing
into a fantasy he was having, I understood what he was into and agreed
that I was 16 and had been lying to him all along. Over the course of
the night, my age gradually decreased until eventually I was about 11.
At one point, he asked that I get his inhaler out of the glove
compartment and when I opened it, a huge pile of laminated photos fell
out. The pictures were glamour shots of two girls, probably about 5 or
6, posed provocatively in different positions, sometimes clothed,
sometimes naked or in frilly underwear. He told me they were his
daughters and I decided the safest thing to do would be to pretend that I
was into little girls too. I was concerned about him seeking
retribution since I had discovered his secret, even if he wanted to be
discovered.
He drove us across the bridge and into Marin County,
where he lived in a wholesome looking townhouse. Inside the walls were
cluttered with many photos of the same two girls as well as a
constantly recurring Disney theme. There were so many pictures of
Frank’s daughters that I could barely see the walls. Upstairs his
bedroom had a king size bed, a TV that looked to be about 5 feet across,
and a vast collection of porn. Frank had done so much speed that he
couldn’t get it up the whole night so instead we talked about his
fantasies. I encouraged him to talk about anything he wanted and even
participated to a certain extent.
He told me that he really
enjoyed 13-year-old runaways. Frank said he liked to videotape a group
of his friends gang raping them, after which he would post the videos
all over the internet. I made a careful effort not to appear
judgemental about anything he told me and did my best to play the part
of the willing voyeur to his confessions. He asked me if I knew any
girls like that and I assured him that I knew many and could hook him up
if he brought me back to the city. He promised to pay me extra if I
could do that for him. On the trip back I talked about nothing but the
girls I knew and what he would do to them. When he dropped me off on
Polk Street, I told him that I would be right back and disappeared out
of sight as quickly as possible. I never saw him again, but by the end
of the night Frank had given me about $400. At the time I didn’t know
it, but Marin County is actually the center of a large child trafficking
ring that Frank was most likely connected to. But that part of the
story doesn’t happen for a few more years.
Several summers ago,
my friend Chris returned from Portland and told me about his run in with
what was most likely another trafficking ring. Walking down Stark
street one afternoon, he got picked up by an older man who brought him
over to an apartment. The man told Chris that he was a little older
than he preferred, although Chris was only 19 at the time and could have
easily passed for 15. The walls of the apartment were decorated with
life size photos of blonde prepubescent boys who were artistically posed
with sullen expressions on their faces. Chris said the apartment seemed
unlived in because it was unusually clean with freshly polished floors,
fancy antique furniture and a bed with perfectly creased corners.
There was nothing there that made it seem at all personalized. He
described it as seeming like an expensive hotel room designed as a
shrine to underage flesh.
If it wasn’t for all the stories I
heard, I probably would never have become so interested in the subject
of elite trafficking. Academics will tell you to discount rumors as
irrelevant old wives tales, but at what point does a story become
legitimate? Maybe when it has footnotes? If someone that you trust
completely tells you a story that they swear up and down is true, when
do you believe them? It is interesting how many people I know who have
worked as escorts, or other slightly more respectable jobs in the sex
industry, have never been exposed to either trafficking or kiddie porn
types of organizations. I think that people who are into seriously vile
activities like trafficking or pedophilia think that they can relax and
let it all hang out around street people because they are just human
garbage anyways, not like the upstanding citizens that many of those
people are probably married to.
In Portland, my closest friend
was an ex-marine named Billy who had just gotten out of prison. He told
me he was framed for murder because he found out about a trafficking
ring that many of Portland’s politicians were involved in. Billy was
trained to work in construction in tunnels beneath the city, a job that
he said he wouldn’t have gotten except for classified clearance he
received while still in the military. Billy told me that he discovered a
whorehouse connected to the basement of a psychiatric ward where many
military personnel and city government workers, including the district
attorney, were frequent visitors. The women, and possibly men, who were
being sold there were former patients in the psychiatric facility.
During
the time that I was close with Billy, his picture appeared in the paper
in an article about convicted felons who were released to halfway
houses. The caption accompanying his photo described him as a
“convicted serial killer.” Billy said that after he went to the police
about the trafficking ring he discovered, he was accused of the murder
of several local prostitutes. One afternoon he took my friend Casey and
I on a hike through Forest Park. We walked for miles away from any
houses or civilization to a large system of ventilation grates that
military personnel supposedly used as an entrance into the tunnel
complex.
I paid attention to his story because my own experience
has confirmed that there is a military/police presence in the
infrastructure beneath American cities. A week after September 11th, I
arrived in New York after a long absence. Some crackheads in the park
told me about how the military was swarming all over the abandoned parts
of the subways and so, since I had lived in the tunnels on and off for
several years, I decided to see what they were doing to my former home.
Walking down the tracks towards an abandoned station, I ran into a
police officer that told me he was under orders to shoot anyone he saw.
Eventually he let me go after I talked to him for a few minutes.
I
was drawn to the subways in the first place because of rumors I had
heard about the city infrastructure. In Atlanta, a friend described
12-foot-hight tunnels that ran beneath the freeways. He said that the
tunnel floors were large enough to accommodate a hummer. While
wandering through them he encountered a group of heavily armed military
personnel who told him the same thing the police officer later told
me—that they were under orders to shoot anyone they saw. Another
friend, also from Atlanta, discovered this military infrastructure by
accident while she and her boyfriend were looking for a place to sleep.
In an abandoned factory they found a staircase that led to a lower
level. This level led to another successive level and each of these
basements was in turn the size of another factory. In the final basement
my friend found a room full of computers and heavily armed military
personnel who told her that she was in a restricted area and needed to
leave.
A commonly recurring thread among people I have known is
the story of religious cults who are deeply involved in the trafficking
of children and young adults. This phenomenon has been characterized as
satanic ritual abuse, which is really not very accurate, since Satanism
is a religion whose system of belief is dependent on Christian ideas,
making it essentially Christian in its origins. Besides, many modern
historians agree that Christianity is basically a combination of the
traditions of earlier polytheistic religions, which means it is
basically a pagan religion in disguise. I don’t trust any of these
religions since they have all been used for social indoctrination at one
point or another. Many if not most instances of ritual abuse can be
traced back to Christian churches, although there are also a lot of
associations with new age type religions as well.
Ritual abuse
gained international attention during the trial of Marc Dutroux, a
Belgian serial killer who kidnapped dozens of underage girls and later
imprisoned them in a soundproof torture chamber in his basement.
Although the public record states that Dutroux’s only source of income
was state welfare, he owned six mansions across the country that were
alleged by several of his surviving victims to have been paid for by a
high-level child pornography ring. They also told stories of large
cement tunnels leading out from beneath the basement. One of his
accomplices, Jean Michel Nihoul, went on court record stating that he
had trafficked several of Dutroux’s girls into orgies that were attended
by prominent government officials and law enforcement officers. The
chief investigating magistrate, Marc Verwilghen, was so convinced that
he went so far as to say “For me, the Dutroux affair is an issue of
organized crime.” Dutroux had earlier served three years in prison for
the rape and torture of five young girls.
Shortly after his
release, Dutroux’s neighbors went to the police with reports that they
heard children’s voices coming from his basement. After a brief search
of the premises, the investigation was dropped. CNN reported that
“police ignored tips from an informant who said Dutroux was building
secret cellars to hold girls before selling them abroad.” The Guardian
elaborated “Belgian police could have saved the lives of two children
allegedly murdered by the paedophile Marc Dutroux if they had watched a
video seized from his home which showed him building their hidden cell.”
When the evidence for a powerful network of well-connected child
traffickers became too great to ignore, Belgian citizens came out to the
streets in droves, blocked traffic and brought cities to a halt with a
general strike that was called for by the families of Dutroux’s victims.
One of the first people who told me about ritual abuse was a
girl named Aurora. She had left an abusive home at the age of 13 and
was shortly after adopted by a cult that her boyfriend’s family
participated in. Aurora said that as part of her initiation, she and
other children younger than herself were forced to torture animals.
During one of the rituals, children were tied to chairs and whipped
before adult members of the family took turns having sex with them.
Aurora told me that the kids were constantly being tested by their
ability to endure pain, and the weaker members were sometimes killed.
Aurora said there was a hotel right by 16th and
Mission where she had been held at gunpoint and abused for several days
by a group of Mexicans. She told me that the manager of the hotel had
collaborated with these men to keep her there and ignored her calls for
help even when he was standing right on the other side of the door.
Shortly afterwards, another girl I know named Maria told me that she
experienced the exact same thing at the same hotel. She even repeated
the same detail about the manager standing on the other side of the
door. I never told Maria about what happened to Aurora either so I
doubt she was making it up. The Mexicans were part of an organized gang
called the Border Brothers who trafficked in narcotics and had
kidnapped Maria on several occasions when she was a child. The first
time that she was taken came as a result of her mother’s drug debt.
Another woman I know told me that the Border Brothers are famous for
their violent rape and trafficking of prostitutes and she cautioned me
against even discussing them.
One of the girls I knew from both
Telegraph and Haight Street also told me about her experiences with
trafficking rings. When I told her that I was writing this story, she
asked me to tell as many people as possible. Over the course of a
number of years, Jenna told me about an elite network of girls priced
in the $10,000 range who are passed around by the wealthiest men in the
nation. Since these men are often politicians or prominent businessmen
whose work means exposure to the public sphere, they operate in this way
in order to maintain secrecy and prevent a public scandal. Jenna had
been trained to be part of this enterprise by a family who was deeply
involved in organized crime. By the way of her family connections, she
worked in elite prostitution, party promotion and the black market sale
of narcotics.
Networking with a tiny group of wealthy Bay Area
socialites led Jenna to private warehouse parties where she witnessed
instances of human trafficking as well as ritual abuse. She said that
within some of these buildings were entrances to tunnels where she saw
men transporting groups of female prostitutes. The raves Jenna
frequented often had orgy rooms, as well as chill out rooms where people
went when they had done too much ecstasy. Sometimes the parties were
centered around an organized ritual presided over by a high priestess.
Part of the ritual involved the high priestess having sex with all of
the men in the building in order to gain their power. In the middle of
the night, someone who was unpopular or owed someone drug money would be
ritually sacrificed in front of an altar while the ravers danced and
performed focused meditations to the rhythm of the music.
For
those who haven't experienced this kind of ritual abuse first hand, or
had a loved one who has, these types of stories will almost certainly
sound implausible. If it wasn't for the events of the next few years, I
probably would never have fully believed them. Shortly after hearing
about the experiences of Jenna and Aurora, I coincidentally found the
writing of Fritz Springmeier and the stories I had heard began to make a
lot more sense. Springmeier details how ritual abuse was created by
intelligence agencies that could create subservient personalities by the
practice of trauma-based brainwashing.
Under the Monarch
Project, a sub-project of MKUltra, psychiatrists employed by the CIA and
M16 discovered that when the mind confronts trauma too difficult to
process, it creates amnesiac barriers that splinter the personality into
different selves. One of the effects of this process is that the brain
overcompensates for this disability by the formation of nearly
superhuman abilities. One doctor involved with the Monarch project,
Ewen Cameron, later went on to become president of the World Psychiatric
Association. Among many of the experiments performed by Cameron was
one during which he removed sections of his "patient's" brains after
dosing them with LSD without their knowledge. Eventually, psychiatrists
discovered that the subjects of the Monarch Project often developed
photographic memory, an abnormally high tolerance to pain, and even
paranormal abilities like ESP. These abilities allowed intelligence
agencies to use their patients as programmed assassins, human computers,
elite sex slaves and spies enhanced with clairvoyance. If ESP sounds
scientifically impossible, then consider that in the summer of 2007
Japanese scientists invented a device that could move a model train by
processing brain activity through a mapping device. The mapping device
was connected by optical fibers to a band around the head of a research
subject performing simple calculations that would in turn move the model
train forward along the tracks. In previous years, this “new
invention” would have been called telekinesis.
Ritual abuse has
been closely related to the Monarch Project on many different occasions,
but for those who live in the Bay Area, the most relevant case may be
that of Army Lieutenant Colonel Michael Aquino. He was a psychologist
and brainwashing specialist who, during the 80s, was implicated in a
ritual abuse ring operating out of a daycare center in the Presidio.
The San Jose Mercury News reported children's stories of being abused by
Aquino during rituals of the Temple of Set, an offshoot of the Church
of Satan that Aquino founded in the mid seventies. In recent years,
Aquino was accused of trafficking children into the Bohemian Grove, an
exclusive summer camp for the nation's elite. Around this time, a radio
talk show host named Alex Jones infiltrated the Grove and videotaped a
ritual where men in white robes circled around a 50 foot tall white owl
and performed a "mock" human sacrifice. In his documentary about
Bohemian Grove, Jones displays newspaper articles from the early 1900s
that openly discuss how the Bohemians cart in an actual corpse every
year to be burned as an effigy. Past attendees of the retreat have
included Reagan, Bush sr. and jr., Bill Clinton and William Randolph
Hearst. Clips of Jones' video footage of the ritual are freely
available all over the web.
When I read about how Monarch
subjects developed paranormal abilities, it instantly made me think of
Aurora, who has been interested in occult practices like astrology and
telepathy for as long as I have known her. She once told me that she
had been repeatedly harassed to join the Ordo Templi Orientis, an occult
organization that wanted to use her for her abilities. In the
abandoned building where we used to stay sometimes, she frequently had
visions of a young girl in a white nightgown hovering over her at night.
Many people have since told me that she is gifted with mind reading
abilities, which I have experienced to a certain extent myself.
After
her ordeal at the hotel in the Mission, Aurora began to slip into
periods of catatonia. I would see her sitting immobile and speechless
for hours at a stretch on the sidewalk and even the Haight Street kids
said she was going crazy. Sometimes I would sit and talk to her for
awhile and occasionally she would respond with a few words or sentences.
Based on her facial expression and word choice, I could tell that her
intelligence was the same as always and her personality intact, although
buried under layers of emotional trauma. When Aurora was gone for a
few days, I asked around and found out she had been sent to the psych
ward at SF General Hospital.
I went to visit and saw right away
that she was very different from her old self. Her eyes were glazed and
she walked with a slow stumble, the characteristic Thorazine shuffle.
She seemed confused and incoherent, although she was at least able to
tell me what medications she was on. My friend Natasha works as an
advocate for mental health clients, so I asked her about the side
effects of antipsychotics. Natasha sounded very worried, since she was a
friend of Aurora as well. She told me that antipsychotics are often
linked to extreme brain damage. So I did my own research and discovered
that researchers have even acknowledged a particular form of brain
damage caused by taking atypical antipsychotics. They call this new
disease neuroleptic-induced deficit syndrome (NIDS). The symptoms of
NIDS are very nearly identical to those of Parkinson’s disease. NIDS is
estimated to effect anywhere from 67 to 100 percent of drug-treated
patients. As recently as the 1970s, the Soviets used psychiatric
medications as a way to quiet and punish political dissidents. People
whose ideas were threatening to the Soviet government were diagnosed
with schizophrenia and their reformist ideas interpreted as proof of
their delusions. In 1972, the U.S. Senate began an investigation into
the Soviets’ “abuse of psychiatry for [the purpose of] political
repression.”
One patient, Leonid Plyushch, a mathematician who
spent several years in Soviet concentration camps, spoke before a
meeting of the New York Academy of Sciences: “The purpose was to force
the patient to change his convictions. Along with me there were common
criminals who simulated [mental] illness to get away from the labor
camps, but when they saw the side effects – twisted muscles, a
disfigured face, a thrust-out tongue – they admitted what they had done
and were returned to camp.”
Another patient remembers: “…As a
result of the treatment, all the subtle distinctiveness of a person is
wiped away…. Those who take aminazine completely detereorate after
taking it. Intellectually, they become more and more uncouth and
primitive. Although I am afraid of death, let them shoot me rather than
this. How loathsome, how sickening is the very thought that they will
defile and crush my soul.”
The next day Natasha and I went to go
visit Aurora to tell her about the drugs she had been prescribed.
Natasha told Aurora that Risperdal, the medication she was taking at the
time, has been linked to extreme brain damage and birth defects, a
problem that was relevant because Aurora was pregnant. I doubted her
ability to understand what we were saying, since she was speaking very
slowly and slurring her words like a very drunk person, something that I
had never seen her do before. But I was without recourse since I
wasn't related to her and had no legal rights to remove her from the
hospital. In the end we gave her a copy of a book by psychiatrist Peter
Breggin, called Your drug may be your problem: how and why to stop
taking psychiatric medication, which details all of the dangers of
antipsychotics. Later I found out that one of the nurses had thrown it
away while Aurora was sleeping.
Eventually she was released
from the psych ward, but only under the condition that she remained on
antipsychotics indefinitely. Since her stay at the hospital, I have
seen her on a number of occasions, and her personality has never been
the same. Aurora seems to have been reduced mentally to the age of a
young child. Recently I saw her wandering down Mission Street
half-dressed and barefoot, wrapped in a dirty blanket and missing a few
teeth. Although she is a white girl, her feet were as black as coal and
it looked as if she hadn't bathed in months. When I tried to talk to
her, she spoke in garbled, incomplete sentences and seemed as if she
didn't even recognize me, despite the fact that we have known each other
for about eight years. In a just world, the doctors who destroyed
Aurora’s mind and personality would be jailed, but psychiatric abuse has
yet to be truly recognized as a human rights issue, so there is a long
way to go before doctors and drug company CEOs can be held accountable
for their actions.
Unfortunately, Aurora's story is far from
being an anomaly. It is extremely common for victims of ritual abuse
and trauma-based brainwashing to be forcibly medicated and dismissed as
delusional. One of the most famous cases of this kind of cover up is
that of Frank Olson, a biochemist who was employed by the CIA to do
research involving biological warfare and interrogation techniques for
the MKULTRA Project. When Olson witnessed his colleagues performing
lobotomies and electroshock on foreign POWs, he decided to come forward
and expose the project for the human rights violation that it is.
Within a few days, he was dosed with LSD without his knowledge by CIA
personnel who then committed him to a psychiatric facility. Olson
wasn't there for long before he was thrown to his death from an 18th
story window.
Although the US government claims that his
death was a suicide, Olson's son believes differently. Eric Olson has
been writing a book centered around the idea that Frank Olson was
murdered because of his knowledge concerning the overlap between MKULTRA
and biological warfare experiments performed on US citizens and foreign
POWs. During an investigation into CIA abuses steered by the
Rockefeller Commission, CIA director William Colby released a stack of
documents pertaining to Olson’s ”suicide”. The documents outline the
conflicting stories of the only witness to Olson’s death, CIA employee
Dr. Robert Ashbrook, who first stated that he saw Frank plunge through
the window and then later changed the story to say that he was awakened
by the sound of shattered glass and only realized that Olson was gone
when he noticed the empty bed across from where he had been sleeping.
Even the New York Times reported that the Colby documents appeared to be
““elliptical, incoherent, and contradictory.” The Times stated that:
“Taken as a whole, the file is a jumble of deletions, conflicting
statements, unintelligible passages and such unexplained terms as the
“Artichoke Committee” and “Project Bluebird” that tend to confuse more
than enlighten.”
When
the Olson family was informed of Frank’s death, they were told that his
body was too mutilated to be seen. The casket was finally opened 41
years later to reveal that, contrary to the New York Medical Examiner’s
report of 1953, Frank Olson’s body remained intact and recognizable.
The forensic team discovered a suspicious hematoma on the temple that
they concluded could only have come from a blow to the head. Based on
this evidence, as well as a string of inconsistencies involved with the
CIA’s version of the story, in 1996 the New York District Attorney’s
office opened a homicide investigation into the circumstances
surrounding Frank Olson’s death. During the course of the
investigation, a source close to Israeli intelligence came to the DA
with an allegation that Olson’s murder had been used as a model case of a
perfect murder at an assassination training unit of the Mossad that was
stationed right outside of Tel Aviv. The New York DA was also provided
with a CIA training manual that had been used as a template for Israeli
intelligence assassination techniques. The many synchronicities
between the manual and Olson’s case led the Assistant District Attorney
in charge of the case to state that “The assassination manual reads like
a script for the murder of Frank Olson. The only question is which
came first, the manual or the murder. Was the manual based on the murder
or was the murder carried out according to the manual?
Over the course
of the past decade, I have known many people who have suffered as a
result of their involvement in brainwashing programs very similar to
those witnessed by Frank Olson. Nothing out of the ordinary ever
happened as a result of these acquaintances until I met Bobby. I have
to admit, with a certain amount of embarrassment, that when he first
told me about his family and their involvement with organized ritual
abuse I suspected him to be a compulsive liar. He told me that his
family was descended from William Randolph Hearst and had been involved
in cult activities for decades. Bobby said that they were the richest
black family in all of Sonoma County and owned properties all across the
country. Although he was homeless and his story seemed unlikely, I
tried to remain open minded, sine it was apparent that he had acquired a
great deal of education.
When Bobby was a teenager his family
tried to recruit him into a San Francisco cult that performed serial
killings on white people. His initiation into the cult involved
murdering three white babies. When he learned what he was being asked
to do, Bobby escaped his family and came to the city. This particular
detail is what caused me to dismiss the story as a paranoid fantasy.
Years later I discovered a newspaper article that confirmed the
existence of Bobby's cult. The Zebra Killers were a black supremacist
group that was responsible for the deaths of at least 16 white people
between 1973 and 1974. A researcher named Alex Constantine linked the
cult to the CIA, who even sent some of their agents out in blackface in
an attempt to disrupt the civil rights movement and initiate a race war.
Bobby had also told me that his family had ties to the Klu Klux Klan,
as well as the upper levels of Bay Area politics and business. As a
child he was even introduced to members of the Klan's hierarchy. He
believed that a network of individuals involved with his family were
stalking him in an effort to get him to rejoin the cult. Bobby said
that he had received death threats because he threatened to reveal their
secrets.
Although I was skeptical of many of his claims, I
sometimes brought him over to stay at Chris’s apartment on Linda Street.
Bobby believed that a network of cultists had been responsible for the
murders of homeless prostitutes throughout the city. This is when I
began to take him seriously, since I had been hearing about these
murders for years. One of my best friends had even found a bag full of
fingers in Golden Gate Park. When I was staying in the park, I often
heard screams in the middle of the night, and once awoke to discover
that I had wrapped myself in a blanket that was splattered with blood.
Mixed in with the blankets were some women's clothes and a couple of
used condoms. Since that particular spot was a place where I had
frequently camped with Aurora, when I arrived there I had believed the
blanket to be hers. Another guy I knew, a speed dealer named David,
told me that he used to sell speed to a group of professional gay men
who had a "gentleman's club" that participated in the ritual sacrifice
of homeless prostitutes. At one point, David had even found a human arm
in their trashcan.
A few months after this I ran into
Angelica, a tranny whore I have known for years, at a leather bar off of
Market Street. Without me repeating David's story, she told me she had
witnessed a group of gay businessmen ritually sacrifice a female
prostitute in the basement of another gay bar. One of the things I have
always had a hard time with about Angelica is that she has serious
racism issues and is not afraid to vocalize them in as offensive of a
manner as possible. Once I was on a bus with her going through the Bay
View and she started screaming at all the black people and calling them
niggers. I think the only reason we weren't seriously injured is that
she looked completely unstable and capable of violence. Angelica told
me that the group of gay men involved with the murders also had ties
with the Aryan Nation. She had mixed feelings about the whole venture,
especially when I asked her for an extended interview. Eventually
Angelica decided against revealing more information, since she had been
raised by the Aryan Nation and couldn't betray their loyalties.
After
Bobby put some of these pieces together for me, I began asking
questions of many more people. It was around this time that I first
experienced what seems to have been surveillance by intelligence
agencies or other related organizations. At the apartment on Linda
Street, I checked my voicemail and heard dozens of messages containing
strange electronic noises like blips and beeps. Bobby claimed that the
calls were typical of the sorts of harassment he had been receiving from
his family. But my friends told me to stop being paranoid--the calls
probably came from a mechanized telemarketer. At the same time, someone
had been going through the trash every night and scattering the
contents across the sidewalk. I had a notebook that I had been writing
this story in, and when I moved out of the apartment, I ripped out the
most important pages and stupidly threw the rest of the notebook away.
That night someone methodically went through my notebook, ripped out
every page, crumpled them each into a ball and left the pages scattered
across the sidewalk. I should also mention that not one trash bag on
our entire street was ripped into besides ours. Still, any one of these
incidents could easily be interpreted as an unsettling coincidence.
One
of my favorite places to go that winter was the UCSF medical library,
because unlike the public library, it was quiet and I could stay on the
internet for as long as I wanted. One day I brought Bobby there with me
and after spending a few hours reading we went outside to get some
fresh air. I found a spot not far from the library on a street empty of
traffic where we sat down on the sidewalk to talk. We weren't there
for more than twenty minutes before an expensive black car rounded the
corner, slowly rolled down the street and turned diagonally towards us
over the curb before stopping a few inches away from our feet. Inside
the driver's seat was a white man in a black suit and black sunglasses
who stared at us without expression. Without exchanging a word, we got
to our feet and walked down the street and away from the black car.
When I told acquaintances of mine that I knew from the entirely
different world of progressive politics, I could see by the look on
their faces that they thought I had finally lost it.
One
afternoon Bobby told me that he wanted to show me something and so the
two of us walked over to Linda Street, where a new mural had been
painted in the spot by Chris’s apartment where the garbage had been
ripped open. The mural depicted a black guy who looked quite a bit like
Bobby standing underneath the city with occult symbols surrounding him.
What was truly strange was that the man in the painting had a crescent
shaped scar over his right eyebrow the same as Bobby. He interpreted
it as a warning that he could become the next “false initiation”.
Apparently it was common practice for the cult gathered around Hearst to
induct a black man into their ranks only to eventually sacrifice him to
the owl statue that they named Moloch after the Babylonian deity of the
same name.
A few days later, Bobby got into a bit of trouble
in the park. We were just sitting on the grass when a big group of guys
walked up to another guy and started beating him over the head with
skateboards. When Bobby rushed over to break up the fight, the group of
boys turned on him with their skateboards and in a very short time
Bobby hit the ground flat. After my dog chased the attackers away, I
saw that he was lying in a pool of blood. Luckily there was a hospital
right down the street where doctors told Bobby that the boys had brought
him very close to death.
During the weeks leading up to the
mural’s appearance, we had been having many conversations about the
different variety of intelligence projects that are rumored to occur
within underground bases. One of the projects that Bobby claimed to
have witnessed involved experimentation on homeless people with
microwave rays, a practice that left them with cancerous skin growths
and altered brain chemistry. The last time I saw him was shortly after
he had recovered from being attacked in the park. Bobby told me that
his family connections would allow him to enter a base near his hometown
in order to expose the gruesome experiments that had been occurring
there. The last time I saw him he said he was on his way north in an
effort to rejoin the cult and infiltrate the organization. That was
five years ago and none of his friends have seen Bobby since.
I
continued to talk to many people about the murders that had been
occurring throughout the city. My good friend's mother told me about
her time spent wandering in the tunnels. A boyfriend of hers had shown
her the entrance to one of them in the back room of a Chinatown hotel,
so one night she went exploring alone while on a speed binge. Lily
found enormous storm drains that she followed for a good distance
beneath the streets. Many of these branched off into smaller tunnels,
one of which she followed until becoming lost. When rounding a corner,
she smelled something horrible and looked down to see a pentagram
stretched about six feet across on the floor of the tunnel, drawn in
blood. Around the pentagram were written the names of many people she
knew, people who were for the most part tweaker whores or their dealers.
Lily's boyfriend was a dealer called Sundance who later went
to prison for his part in aiding a San Francisco based serial killer.
Her long term relationship with him eventually resulted in Lily being
subpoenaed to testify during the killer’s trial. The Chronicle reported
that Jack Bokin was a plumber who had been murdering prostitutes
throughout China Basin and the Mission. Sundance played his part by
hooking the killer up with girls, despite the fact that he probably knew
exactly what Bokin was doing. After Bokin went to prison, the murders
seem to have continued at the same pace, but without surfacing in the
papers. My friend Danny was sleeping in a tent underneath the freeway,
in a spot where he heard screams every night the same as I had in the
park. One morning he was asked to leave by the highway patrol who told
him to watch out because that location had been used by a serial killer
to deposit his bodies.
Another friend Marie has a boyfriend,
Chaco, who works as an EMT. Chaco was sent out one night to clean up an
accident in a hotel in the Tenderloin. He arrived to see a room that
had been meticulously arranged, with an altar, candles and body parts
strewn across the floor. Since then Chaco has been sent to the same
hotel to an identical scene on several different occasions. One of the
rumors that I have repeatedly heard is that many of the bodies found in
both Buena Vista and Golden Gate parks have been decapitated. What I
wonder is why these murders never end up in the papers. While I was
researching this paper, an online acquaintance mentioned to me that
their Dad ‘s friend was a detective who investigated a string of murders
that happened in Golden Gate Park. At least one of them involved the
decapitation of a homeless person, a fact that never became public
knowledge. What is strange about this is that there are a lot of urban
legends on Haight street about a killer who decapitates homeless people.
In November of 2004, I went to go stay with a girl named Sherry
at an apartment on Valencia Street for about a month. She was living
rent free with a sugar daddy landlord named Navin whose family was
Indian Mafia, the same group of people who owned all the scummy hotels
in the Tenderloin. Sherry came from a very strange family. Her mother
was part of a religious cult and briefly had a CIA boyfriend. Sherry's
Dad was a former heroin dealer who collected swords and was by all
accounts not a very nice man. While staying in Navin's apartment
building it was impossible to get any privacy because he insisted the
doors to the apartment remained unlocked at all times so that he could
barge in unannounced. He had a lot of different women living in the
building rent free and it seemed that he had given up even attempting to
make any money off of it. Although his buildings were barely up to
code, Navin lived in a mansion in the Marina and spent all of his time
partying as far as I could tell. Sherry wanted to bring me to one of the
parties but it seemed like the sort of thing that we really should have
been getting paid for. The party hosts insisted that anyone who
attended remove all of their clothes at the door, after which they would
be ushered into a room without any lights. After Sherry told me about
the details of the party, I decided not to go.
Shortly after
Thanksgiving of that year, Navin kicked us out and I got my own room in
Oakland. During that winter, I spent a lot of time on the phone with
Sherry when we weren’t staying at each other’s houses. A lot of our
conversations bordered on phone sex, mostly revolving around our mutual
pimp and ho fantasies. If I had any idea that someone was paying close
attention to these calls, I probably would have been a bit more modest,
but as it was the situation devolved into a significant problem for the
both of us. The first thing to let me know something was wrong was when
we both started receiving dozens of phone calls that had static or
blips and beeps in the background, which again would have seemed fairly
minor if it wasn't for my previous experience.
Recently I found the blog of a
freelance journalist
who had been through a similar situation involving the mysterious hang
up calls. Hers had started as a teenager very soon after she began
researching covert military technologies, after which she would pick up
the phone only to hear a series of clicks followed by silence.
Eventually her mother called the phone company, British Telecom, and
asked the operator to trace the call, a request that is now impossible
but was then common practice. The operator told the journalist's mom
that he was not supposed to tell her, but informed her anyways that the
call had been traced to the Ministry of Defense and then immediately
hung up. My opinion about these calls is that they are placed by an
artificial intelligence who has a "list" of targets, since I would
imagine that global intelligence operatives probably have better things
to do with their time than personally contacting every person who causes
a minor annoyance for them.
During the time the phone calls
first started happening I had a voice mail number that I had only given
out to four people, all of who were friends. One night I got a phone
call from what sounded like a black guy who said "Hi, this is your pimp.
You should have paid me by now so I shouldn't even have to be calling
you." My first thought was that Sherry had gotten one of her friends to
leave the message as a practical joke, so I just laughed and deleted
it. But she said that she didn't have anything to do with the message
and so did all the rest of my friends. A few weeks later, Sherry
received a phone call from an older man who said he found her from an ad
she had left on craigslist. He wanted to spend the night with her and
in exchange he would give her a truck. What is strange about this is
that she had been telling me about how she wanted a truck beyond any
other kind of car. For months she had been telling me this.
Sherry
accused me of posting the ad despite my insistence that I didn't. She
believed that I invented the story of the pimp voicemail message as a
way to get attention, or something like that. I was starting to be
confused. I had only known her for a few months--was it possible she
had invented the entire situation as a way to manipulate me? I began to
wonder how well I knew my friends. Considering that each person who
had my voice mail number knew this situation was causing me a
considerable amount of stress, it was disturbing to know that someone
didn't know when to quit the "joke".
A few weeks later I
discovered a record store I had never been to before in Alameda. I had a
strange moment at one point when my eye caught the CD of a folk singer
named Michelle Shocked. The CD cover brought back a memory of sitting
on the floor in the kitchen of my old house in Chicago while my mom
played a Michelle Shocked cassette and cooked dinner. When I saw the
CD, I clearly remember thinking that I hadn't thought about or heard any
Michelle Shocked in about 15 years. That night I got home to another
curious message on the answering machine. This time it was what sounded
like an older man who said, "Hi, this is Michelle Shocked, I'm looking
for some ladies."
When I heard the man's voice my blood ran cold.
I hadn't mentioned the Michelle Shocked memory to anyone, so now I
realized that none of the previous messages had been left by Sherry.
The Michelle Shocked message was most likely an instance of what the
intelligence community calls remote viewing, a practice typically only
engaged in by psychically trained spies. The phrase "I'm looking for
some ladies" has a personal history as well.
One time while
living in DC I visited my mom, who gave me the key and said she wouldn't
be home that night until late. This was during a time that I was
working at a legitimate escort agency and I made the unfortunate mistake
of giving my mother's phone number out to one of my clients, naively
thinking that he would be respectful and only call during the times that
I specified. I left that night around nine, and in the middle of the
night my mom received a call from a man who said "Hi, I'm looking for a
lady". Since I was living with another ex-prostitute at the time I
received the Michelle Shocked phone call, the man who called could have
been referring to her, or possibly Sherry. When I spoke with her a few
months ago, she was enrolled in some kind of training institute for
clairvoyants.
Not more than a few days after the Michelle
Shocked call, I woke up in my attic loft bed around 6 AM to the sight of
a black helicopter hovering 30 feet outside my window. I had been
warned on an internet conspiracy forum that if I pursued the subject of
ritual abuse and human trafficking, I could expect a visit from a black
helicopter. I lay in my bed for half an hour watching the helicopter
before going down the ladder for a minute to retrieve my glasses so that
I could get a better look inside to see who was the pilot. By the time
I got back, it was gone. I asked the neighbors and they all told me
there had been no drug busts or arrests in the neighborhood that week.
Recently I came across the websites of several different civil
liberties activists who have detailed the phenomenon of organized gang
stalking. As a continuation of the FBI’s COINTELPRO operations, in the
early 1990’s the federal government began employing independent citizens
to target and harass activists who were believed to be a threat to
national security. Gang stalking is financed under cover by
corporations and often carried out by organizations like Community
Oriented Policing Services. The intent of the stalking and harassment
is to psychologically demoralize the subject and make him or her appear
mentally unstable in order that their experiences and stories will not
be believed. Most of the practices that make up the gang stalking
phenomenon are actually quite subtle. Some of the tactics I found the
most relevant were “trash strewn on the target’s lawn, driveway and
property in such manner as to make it obvious that it was a deliberate
act…sending the target messages that let the target know they are being
watched…day-in and day-out hang-up phone calls or wrong numbers”.
During
the spring of that year my landlord illegally raised the rent again and
again and since I have a tempermental rottweiler mix and no credit
history, my options were limited. I eventually ended up getting a job
at a BDSM house in East Oakland. People have often told me that
dominatrix jobs are the best because you are always in control of what
happens. But my boss Kitty turned out to be one of those people who
takes the dominatrix thing way too seriously. The whole time I was
there she pressured me to work as a submissive despite my insistence
that I wouldn't be doing that. Kitty would even go so far as scheduling
sessions with me as a submissive and then getting angry and coercive
when I refused to meet with the clients. Fortunately a good portion of
the customers there were likable and interesting people so I tried to
ignore the conflicts that I was having with her.
After I spent
a few months giving spankings to petulant businessmen, Kitty let it
slip that one of her clients used to be a serial killer named Charles Ng
who kept women chained up to toilets in his basement for months at a
time. His partner in crime, Leonard Lake, was also a customer.
Apparently every girl who worked there had bottomed to them at one point
in time, although none of those girls were working there anymore since
my boss never seemed to keep employees for long. After Kitty told
several of us who worked there about Ng and his revolting appetites, the
other girls started getting freaked out about it and she refused to
answer my questions and tried to change the subject. She must have
realized that it was bad for business.
It wasn't very
difficult, however, for me to find information on Ng and Lake since she
had already given me his name. I read their entire article on
crimelibrary.com and discovered that the killers had been found with
detailed blueprints for a network of underground bunkers that they could
use to transport guns, food and sex slaves that they would use to
repopulate the earth after the imminent apocalypse. Lake had even
bragged to his girlfriend about his participation in a satanic "death
cult" based out of San Francisco. Like many serial killers, they seemed
to have some kind of arrangement with the police. When the cops were
called out to his property he had dozens of bodies buried in the
backyard and some women were still being kept alive in the back room.
Even so, they decided to wait on searching his property. I wondered
about the reasoning behind such staggering incompetence, since I had
witnessed pretty much the exact same type of police cover up in my own
life on several different occasions.
Bobby had told me a few
years previously that an ex-military man we knew named Twilight was
involved with some of the killings going on in the city. Bobby believed
him to have ties to the Church of Satan. Twilight was like a tweeker
pedophile version of the pied piper, luring underage boys with drugs,
stuffed animals and promises of ninja training. He bragged to me of
hosting drug-fueled orgies composed entirely of underage boys out by the
abandoned castle behind the zoo, a place that was referred to as
Camelot. I would sometimes see him around the city with boys who looked
to be as young as eight, but more often he was with slightly older
runaways. On several occasions, groups of street kids from the park got
together and gave Twilight a royal beatdown, although he never seemed to
have any interference from the police.
Twilight told me that he
was a trained assassin who had killed many people. One day when I was
talking to him he lifted his shirt to reveal a perfectly sculpted six
pack like off of the cover of a muscle magazine. Friends of mine who
stayed out at Camelot told me that he usually supplied them with copious
amounts of alcohol and methamphetamine. They said that he had hidden
guns and swords all around the building to keep out anyone that he
didn't want to be there. Apparently he was successful, because as of
2007, he has been the only consistent person to live there as far as I
know. I was very curious about this fact, because in San Francisco it
is very difficult to keep an abandoned building for any length of time
due to a thriving real estate market, police interference and
competition from other homeless people. Twilight is the only person I
know who has ever managed to keep a building for a number of years, so I
asked him how he was able to secure an entire castle all for himself
and his guests. He told me that the city paid him to "protect the
children".
On another day, I was sitting in the Dolores Park
with a large group of people including Twilight. When a police officer
walked up and told us all to leave, Twilight responded by performing
martial arts on the officer, who had to call back up and have him taken
to jail. Not less than two days later, I saw him sitting on the
sidewalk at Church and Market as if nothing had ever happened. Another
curious thing about Twilight is how he always seems to have money but no
one I know has ever seen him do anything to make any. One time I even
saw him eating in an organic restaurant. It would seem to be
ridiculously obvious that there is no way a toothless black homeless man
could get away with assaulting police officers and molesting children
unless he had some kind of inside connection. I thought it was
interesting to note that Twilight had named his castle Camelot, because
the Grail myths are a very common programming script in Monarch
brainwashing programs. Each script is like a computer program that
calls up a specific set of behaviors.
The connection between
Twilight and Charles Ng was made apparent for me when I came across the
research of Dave MacGowan. In a book called "Programmed to Kill",
MacGowan writes about how many serial killers have connections to
Manchurian Candidate-like brainwashing programs originating in Cold War
intelligence operations. At an Oslo NATO conference of 120
psychologists, Lt. Commander Thomas Narut divulged how the Navy took
convicted murderers from military prisons, trained them with behavior
modification methods and then relocated the killers in American
embassies worldwide. In an article about serial killer Henry Lee Lucas,
MacGowan exposes how Lucas spoke of being inducted into an
international satanic cult named the "Hands of Death". He claimed to
have been trained in assassination techniques at a mobile paramilitary
unit in the Florida Everglades. Lucas worked as a contract killer and
trafficker of children and drugs, at times even being contracted to
assassinate foreign dignitaries. In a similar vein of research, Maury
Terry also wrote a book linking the Manson, Zodiac and Son of Sam
murders into an interlocking network of politically motivated religious
cults.
Ng and Twilight were far from being the only serial
killers who have made inroads into my circle of friends. In Atlanta,
there was a guy named Joel who everyone I knew was terrified of. A
couple boys I knew had been at Joel's house one time when he walked into
the living room with an arm and started bragging about how many people
he had killed. He had different stories for different people, some of
whom he told that he was actually a friend to the police, and had called
them on several different occasions to report finding dead bodies.
Everyone was under the impression that he had some kind of "arrangement"
with them. Joel also happened to be a martial arts instructor, another
common area of training for mind control programs. Another friend of
mine accompanied Joel into the tunnels while on a crack binge, where
Joel showed him dozens of bodies with a flashlight before they left.
A
few months ago, Chris told me about another killer who was based out of
Manhattan. English was a burly, highly educated heroin dealer who
liked to prey on street kids. The other dealers around Tompkins Square
Park told Chris that he had been chased out of his own neighborhood in
Brooklyn for being a serial rapist. English had violently raped many of
the homeless girls in Tompkins Square Park after finding where they
were staying and following them there. At one of the squats where many
people were staying, English told a number of folks that he had buried
bodies under the building. Several people saw him walking around with a
knife that had brain matter on it, and with bloody towels on a
different occasion. English had hidden knives throughout the park,
mostly pushed with their hilt fully into the grass for later retrieval.
He was known for attacking people there without any kind of police
repercussions. Once English split a man's shoulder open with a meat
cleaver about five yards away from a group of policemen. He did go to
jail, but was out within a few days.
When I passed through
Denver about five years ago, another traveler told me that while camping
in the park, he had witnessed a van full of white men in black suits
pull up to the curb, get out, drag a couple of bums back to the van with
them and drive away. I have spoken to so many different people who
have personally witnessed events like this that there is no way it could
be a coincidence. In SF, many of the older homeless men, and a handful
of people my age, told me that they saw men in black uniforms marching
in military formation through Golden Gate Park in the middle of the
night. My suspicion is that these coordinated and institutionalized
murders are allowed to happen because they are a continuation of U.S.
government eugenics programs that eventually resurfaced in military
population control experiments.
In the fall of 2005, I was on a
bus when I spotted a man reading one of my favorite books. We struck up
a conversation and when I mentioned that I was doing a paper dealing
with human trafficking, he told me I should speak to his friend Sarah
whose kids had been trafficked through the court system. Thunder was a
DJ for Berkeley Liberation Radio and the organizer of the Leonard
Peltier drum circle that happened every month in front of the Oakland
federal building. On the fourth of July, he drove me up to Stinsen
Beach to do a taped interview with Sarah. She told us a story that that
wove together organized crime, social services and the federal
government into an intricate web of corruption. Unfortunately, since
the three of us had very little knowledge about the legal system, many
of the criminal maneuverings that happened around her could have been
better told by someone besides myself.
Sarah’s story began when
she received an illegal eviction while living in Berkeley. After
blowing all of her money on court fees in a failed attempt to fight the
eviction, Sarah was soon on the streets and drove up to Marin County to
live out of her car with the kids. Around this time social services put
her autistic son into Letterman Hospital, which was part of the same
Presideo Army base that was the alleged location of the satanic ritual
abuse allegations during the 80's. Here her son was forcibly drugged
and smothered with pillows by hospital staff. Fritz Springmeier has
listed Letterman Hospital as a site involved in
split-brain military programming, pornography, satanic rituals, the drugging of infants and enforced isolation.
When
her son was released, Sarah was directed to a home schooling
organization called Oracle that operated out of the home of a juvenile
probation officer named Don Dean. Don is a wealthy socialite who owns
the Coastal Post newspaper, as well as a bar and hotel called Smiley's.
Before her kids were able to join the Oracle program, Don said that
Sarah needed to sign a document that would allow him to call an
ambulance if one of her kids was injured on his property. He told her
that her kids could live with him and they would have joint custody
until Sarah found a place to live, after which he would return her
custody. Sarah’s case was assigned to Judge Michael Dufficy, who turned
out to have some kind of arrangement with Don. She even saw them wink
at each other before the hearing began. At the time she wasn't aware
that she would never regain full custody of her children. Years later,
after going through every agency in the phone book, a social worker
mailed Sarah paperwork with her signature at the bottom stating that she
was signing over complete custody to Don.
At the time of the
court case, her daughter Anna was 10 and her son Ryan 17. Left without
any legal option, Sarah was only able to see her kids by coming over to
the house when Don wasn't there. Through what her kids told her, she
discovered that the house was mostly just a crash pad for strung out
underage girls for whenever they weren't living with their adult
boyfriends. One day Sarah hid herself in her daughter's loft bed in
order to listen to a house meeting that had been scheduled by Don.
During the meeting, she learned that one of the girls who lived there
had gotten four abortions within the course of one year. Don screamed
at the girl, who had become pregnant again, to "take care of the
problem". Ryan told Sarah that the house babysitter, Don’s brother
Tony, was a porn director who told the kids, five of whom were middle
school girls, all about the business of making movies for the Mitchell
Brothers. One of the girls who had previously lived at the foster home
was a heroin addict who worked as a prostitute outside of Don's bar.
Through
an organization called Families United Against Court Corruption
(FUACC), Sarah became acquainted with a freelance journalist formerly
from the Bay Cities Observer named Viginia McCullough. She had written a
series of articles documenting how Marin County's Family Court and
Child Protective services had a long history of covering up instances of
child abuse and pedophilia within foster homes. McCullough reported on
the existence of a hidden organization within the court system called
the Militia, which controlled the course of events through hand signals
and other coded forms of expression. Judge Michael Dufficy, as well as
several other judges and the district attorney, were implicated again
and again by many different families as enablers of child abuse who
habitually sided with the abusive parent or foster parent.
At
the center of the controversy was a woman named Carol Mardeusz, who
claimed that her potential testimony in the Polly Klaas case was the
greatest factor in the Marin courts taking her daughter Haleigh away
during a custody hearing. Carol had originally filed a police report
about two men who had been stalking her teenage daughter Natalie, as
well as several of her classmates, throughout the neighborhood where
they lived. Natalie and her friends identified one of the men as
Richard Allen Davis, who would be arrested several weeks later for the
murder of Polly Klaas. During the beginning of Davis’ trial, the
Mardeusz family was arbitrarily eliminated as key witnesses in the Klaas
murder by Sonoma County District Attorney Mullins.
It may be
necessary here to explain the relevance of Polly’s murder, since most
people are unaware that her grandfather had just finished writing a book
that exposed ritual abuse networks operating out of Northern
California. When Polly’s body was found, it had been deposited directly
outside of one of the entrances to Bohemian Grove. Crimelibrary.com
reports that while he kidnapped Polly, Davis repeatedly told her two
friends “I’m just doing this for the money.” That same night, police
stopped Davis in front of an estate while he had Polly confined within
his car. Court records state that while sipping a beer, he told them
that he was stopped there to pick up some marijuana and visit with
associates. They let him go. Virginia McCullough discovered that the
property where Davis was stopped belonged to Naomi Phillips Knock, the
wife of a man who had been arrested for his association with a marijuana
trafficking ring that generated $165 million a year.
With
Carol as a witness, Richard Allen Davis now had an accomplice, changing
the basis of the flawed Klaas story that has been fed to countless media
sources. Shortly after the removal of the Mardeusz family from the
witness stand, Carol was charged with child kidnapping when she
attempted to pick Haleigh up from school. The day she went into court,
Judge Dufficy informed Carol that custody had been transferred to her ex
boyfriend Leo Magers, a man who had already been charged with child
molestation and convicted of cocaine distribution. Carol’s police
reports about Leo’s child abuse were used to paint her as a crazy woman
unfit to care for her own children. This was despite court records that
stated that Leo had broken the nose of one of his previous girlfriends
and locked her in a bedroom for two weeks.
During the custody
hearing, Carol told the court that she had previously attempted to gain
full custody when she found Haleigh’s passport which bore a fake name
and a photograph of the girl wearing heavy make up. She believed that
Leo had gotten the passport to involve Haleigh in drug trafficking.
Carol began distributing flyers that linked Leo Magers to drug and human
trafficking rings closely involved with the Bohemian Grove. Her open
discussion of these issues during the trial is probably what led to a
perjury conviction. I wish I could have spoken with Carol personally,
but unfortunately she is now in hiding while she finishes a book about
trafficking networks in Northern California. Leo Magers was recently
convicted of child abuse while living in Paris with Haleigh. Virginia
McCullough reported that Magers was living in a condo that belonged to
Judhge Michael Dufficy at the time of the arrest. When Carol provided
photographs of the abuse inflicted on her daughter by Leo Magers, her
story became the focal point of a popular citizen’s campaign to recall
Judge Dufficy and many of his associates. Many Marin and Sonoma County
newspapers wrote articles about the recall campaign, although the parts
about human trafficking rings were noticeably absent. One reporter for
the Coastal Post newspaper, Jim Scanlon, did write an article linking
the Mardusz family to a cover up in the Polly Klaas case. He died in a
car accident within a few weeks of the articles publication.
One
afternoon Sarah went to go visit her son, who right away asked for
money. When she gave it to him, Ryan walked up to one of the bartenders
at Smiley's and bought a package of white powder that she later
discovered was speed. Not long after this, Sarah was at a party in
Novato and one of the guests made a passing reference to "Don Dean's
whorehouse". The man said that everyone around town had been talking
about how Anna was seen in a hot tub with an older man at a party near
Don's house. Sarah then went to see Anna, who told her that she had no
memory of the night. She had been given a drink by Mary, another girl
who lived at Don's, and suspected that her drink had been drugged. Sarah
then went to Don's office above the bar with her friend Pearl to
confront him about his mistreatment of her daughter, and he called the
cops to have her removed from the premises.
On another occasion
Sarah was listening to the bar band at Smiley's and was approached by a
man named Armond. Armond was the head of the local Hell's Angels
chapter and a big time speed dealer who claimed to have carried
suitcases full of money and drugs across Lake Victoria in Canada. Soon
after they met her son Ryan came home with a girl who said she worked
for Armond. The girl said her family were drug dealers and they had
sold her to a group of Japanese people as a child. The girl told Sarah
about when she killed someone and then twisted the knife in their heart
to make the person die faster.
Armond came from a mafia family
and was friendly with a number of politicians, including the
Rockefellers and the Aliotos, who even allowed him to drive their car.
Sarah quickly became involved with him and they were soon spending a lot
of time with each other. One night on the way to her house Armond got
picked up drunk driving without insurance or a drivers license and was
quickly released without charges by the police. After they ran into Don
downtown, she was disturbed to learn that he and Armond were very close
and had known each other for many years. Sarah became more alarmed when
she saw that inside his home were weapons of all sorts, including guns
and samurai swords. One time she looked inside a duffel bag he owned
and found piano wire, black gloves and a ski mask.
Armond was
also acquainted with Pearl, Sarah’s friend who had accompanied her to
Don's office. Pearl was a bondage aficianodo who had constructed a
spiderweb-like structure on the ceiling of his attic in order to better
facilitate full body suspension. Armond told her that he sometimes
participated in Pearl's bondage sessions by tying him to the structure.
Shortly after Sarah and Pearl complained to Don, Pearl was found dead
from asphyxiation while hanging from the spider web. Because of the
events that followed Pearl's death, Sarah now believes that Armond may
have murdered Pearl because of his attempt to disrupt the systematic
corruption that was occurring under Don's roof.
Eventually she
came face to face with his violent temper when during an argument Armond
threatened to chop her up in pieces and bury her under the creek.
Another night he took her driving and stopped at a payphone, saying that
he had to get orders and refusing to explain further. When Armond got
back into the car, he began to speed and drove the car into a telephone
pole. When the car stopped, Sarah was paralyzed but Armond got out of
the car and started running without saying a word. Before he got out,
he told her to tell the police that she had been driving alone. If it
wasn't for a stranger who called 911 to get help, she probably would
have died from shock. As it turned out, several teeth were broken and
vertebrae along her spine were severed. In the hospital, she tried to
tell the doctor that someone had tried to murder her and they
immediately transferred her to a mental hospital while her back was
still broken and unhealed. Eventually she got out of the psych ward and
decided to press charges. The District Attorney told her that they
were going to prosecute Armond for driving under the influence of a
controlled substance, driving without a license and gross bodily injury
to a passenger. Despite this promise, Armond was released without
conviction.
At midnight on Ryan's 18th birthday, Don immediately
threw him out of the house despite the fact that he is disabled. He
then went to live with Sarah in order to attend the local community
college. At school, he was approached by a guidance counselor [name
removed by this editor]1, who said that Ryan could live with him at his
foster home. After living with [name removed by this editor] for a few
months, he was thrown out and returned to Sarah's house. By this point
in time, Ryan had developed a substantial speed habit and began stealing
from her and going through her things. One time he left with her
checkbook and Sarah went inside his room to see if she could find it.
She found a stack of photos that appeared to be naked shots of her son
wearing a goat's mask. When she asked him about them, he said the
photos were taken by [named removed by this editor], who also took naked
pictures of all of his others foster kids, most of who were
prepubescent. Several years later, Anna came to stay with her for a few
days after she turned 18. Sarah admitted to me with some regret that she
had resorted to looking through her daughter's stuff, since she
couldn't get her to talk about anything that had happened at Don's
house. Included in her bags was a collection of nine or ten photo
albums that contained several pornographic pictures of Anna.
Sarah
told this entire story to Thunder while I tape-recorded the
conversation for later reference. In retrospect, she speculated that
her children’s virtual kidnapping could have come as a result of her
entire family’s involvement with a new age armageddon cult while they
were still living in Berkeley. Elizabeth Clare Prophet’s Church
Universal Triumphant had such a profound impact on Sarah that she even
named her daughter after insider church lingo that was meant to
symbolize blissful union with Christ. It was only years later that she
discovered through the writings of Fritz Springmeier that Church
Universal Triumphant had been involved in well-established brainwashing
programs. During this process, children who have a natural ability to
drift into a deep trance, a rare but genetically inherited quality, were
removed from the rest of the group and selected for further
experimentation. Many of the situations experienced by Sarah’s children
while living in various group homes are consistent with stories of
other ritual abuse and mind control program survivors, like being locked
up in psych wards and having experience in the occult. Anna once
walked in on a group of girls while they were involved in a séance while
Don supervised them. Her son was confined in a mental hospital for six
months, where he was repeatedly strip searched and forcibly drugged, a
procedure that has become standard practice not only for people
considered a “threat to others”, but also nonviolent individuals, many
of who are already experiencing emotional trauma. It could be that the
coercive, dehumanizing procedures inflicted by hospital staff on ritual
abuse survivors are meant to impose a permanent silence on potential
whistleblowers.
A week or so after the interview I got a message
on my answering machine from the two of them saying that they wanted me
to speak about human trafficking on Thunder's radio show. That night
they did their show and talked extensively about corruption within the
Marin County court system and how it was connected with organized
trafficking rings operating out of Bohemian Grove. The next day Sarah
called and told me that Thunder had been murdered. He had been living
in a camper under the freeway in West Oakland and was found dead in the
front seat beside a busted window. Sarah discovered what happened
because when she called him the morning after the show, the police
answered his phone and asked who she was. They told her that Thunder
had a diabetic coma and busted out the window from the inside so that
glass fell all over the sidewalk. But when Sarah went to go see his
camper, there was no glass on the sidewalk. It was all inside the car.
I wasn't sure if any of his friends knew what happened, since
nobody was picking up his phone after Sarah's initial conversation with
the police. That night I went to the anarchist bookstore in Berkeley,
where Thunder had a lot of friends and acquaintances. He had been
working as a manager for Zachary Running Wolf's mayoral campaign, so I
waited around inside the store in order to tell Zachary the news
firsthand. He believed that Thunder had been murdered in part because
of his political organizing within Native American circles. After a
brief conversation we promised to exchange details as they happened. A
few days later, the East Bay Express published an obituary stating that
Thunder had been found in a wealthy section of Emeryville, when actually
Sarah had seen the empty camper under the freeway in West Oakland the
day after she talked to the police. Soon afterwards I spoke to Zachary,
who had become suspicious because he knew that Thunder always camped in
the same spot under the freeway. Reading the article inspired him to
investigate by visiting the site in Emeryville where Thunder had
supposedly been found. The camper was there and sitting across the
street from it was a police car idling in an empty parking lot. After
he walked around the perimeter of the camper and looked inside the
windows for a few minutes, three more police cars pulled up to the
adjacent lot and parked so that they were facing him.
During
the spring of 2007 I spent many hours on Market Street. It was during
this time that I met Jonathan, another speed dealer who claimed to have
worked in the tunnels beneath the city. He told me that he was hired by
international embassies as a bonded courier, meaning that he was bound
by oath not to ever become curious about the packages that he was
carrying. Posted at all the entrances were sentries who reported any
kind of activity within the tunnels. Most of his jobs came from Europe,
the Middle East and Asia. He said that some of the tunnels were
opulently decorated with pillars corresponding to various historical
time periods. These sections of the infrastructure were most often used
for politicians or the very wealthy. Jonathan said that he also had
worked as a type of janitor, cleaning up dismembered bodies that had
been left behind during ritualistic sacrifices. Supposedly, in
Chinatown wealthy businessmen serve human meat as a delicacy known as
long pig. He told me that beneath the Tenderloin there is a room where
these men can go and do absolutely anything they wanted with a woman or
man of their choice. These sessions frequently end in torture and
murder.
Jonathan was chosen for this kind of work because of an
accident he had experienced as a child. While diving in the community
pool, he slammed headfirst into the drainage system and split his head
open. He remembered the accident clearly because when it happened, he
left his body and observed from above the people clustered around him.
Jonathan then began to experience episodes of precognition and
telekinesis. It wasn't long after this that men from the military came
to pick him up from his foster home on a regular basis. They would
drive Jonathan to a building where he was taught remote viewing, mainly
for the purpose of reverse engineering Russian technology. Sometimes he
traveled in an underground magnet powered train that was mostly used by
politicians. Despite a practically nonexistent education, it didn't
surprise me that Jonathan would be capable of accurately describing
complex technology at a young age. He was obviously an extremely
intelligent person with a phenomenally developed memory. Most people
would probably assume his stories to be the delusional fantasies of a
compulsive liar. I have known a lot of compulsive liars, and the
difference between Jonathan and all of them is the fact that he didn’t
ever want to talk about it unless I asked him, and even then, he
wouldn’t elaborate. His quietly traumatized demeanor and oftentimes
one-word answers definitely didn’t strike me as bragging.
As
Jonathan progressed in his psychic training, he was brought to a farm in
Northern California where he lived with a military officer who trained
him and a number of others in martial arts. By the age of eight, he was
proficient in survival arts at the level of someone from the Marine
corps. His "handler", as Jonathan described him, trained him in
assassination as well as the drug trade. In his teenage years, one of
his responsibilities was to coordinate massive shipments of marijuana
and cocaine that came into America on barges. Unfortunately, Jonathan
was not entirely forthcoming with me and many subjects were off limits,
although I was persistent in asking questions whenever he seemed like he
was receptive enough to answer them. I got the impression that the
training he received was on a need to know basis, so that he would be
unaware of any larger government projects that he may have been a part
of.
One of the men that Jonathan worked with, Hana, was trained
by paramilitary organizations and had ties to the mafia. Jonathan would
often be brought out to his yacht to have "conversations" with him. As
an example of how powerful this man was, he told me about an incident
involving a client of Hana's who was late in paying a debt. When
confronted with the issue of overdue payment, the client went
immediately to the ATM, withdrew money in excess of what he owed and
gave Hana a floor length ostrich trench coat. Inside the coat were
holsters for a shotgun on one side and a handgun on the other. In the
Bay Area Jonathan was introduced to a group of men who trafficked in
snuff pornography. The man in charge of the venture sent the tapes out
all across the world. One time Jonathan was responsible for strapping
him onto a bondage table while he watched one of the videos. It was at
this point in the conversation that he told me if anyone ever found out
about him revealing information, he would be tortured to death and the
same thing would happen to myself and all of my family members. Not
long after this, Jonathan became very hostile and threatened me with
violence if I revealed the things he had told me. As a result of his
threats, I was left with no choice but to cut off all communications
between us and haven’t spoken with him since.
While I was having
these conversations with Jonathan, I let some people I know stay at my
apartment for a few days. James and Tiffany were rowdy and belligerent
Hell's Angels who I had expected to be your garden variety penniless
drug addicts. It turned out that they both came from well placed
military families and James owned properties all across the country.
During the 60s, he had lived for a brief a brief time at the Manson
Ranch, where he said he had a great time because of all the women and
drugs. James was a Viet Nam vet who had worked as an explosives
technician. It could have been either his military experience or that
of his family that gave him military clearance to be in the tunnels. He
said that while exploring many levels underground he saw abandoned
saloons from before the 1906 earthquake. When I asked him if he knew
anything about any of the murders that had been going on around the
city, he became very evasive. He eventually told me that he had seen a
woman's throat slashed at a ritual held by the Church of Satan. Tiffany
also said that there were bodies deposited out by the tunnels at Ocean
Beach but refused to elaborate when I asked her questions.
She
was a very jealous girlfriend who responded to any woman who so much as
looked at James with explosive violence. I saw her get into several
fights over him just in one day of hanging out with the two of them.
That night Tiffany came back to my house in a rage because she believed
that a woman she knew had propositioned James. After a good ten minutes
of spewing profanities, she said that she would get "the family" to
take care of her. She said that they would "leave her out at Ocean
Beach with a stick up her ass like they did the last girl". I pretended
I hadn't heard what she said and instead made them dinner. The next
morning I got them out of my house as soon as possible. When I asked
Jonathan about them, he said that he had known James for many years and
gave an accurate physical description of him right down to the birth
defect on his hand. He said that a few months previous to our
conversation, a number of prostitutes had disappeared, including several
people he was close to. When Jonathan heard about what happened, he
went down to Capp street to ask around. Several girls there told him
that James had been the last person seen with four different girls who
went missing shortly afterwards. He was under the impression that James
had been hired by a group of men in order for him to find women for
them. For months after James and Stephanie left, they continued to call
my house looking for a place to stay. I almost always screen my calls,
so when I didn't return their many messages, the calls became
progressively more and more angry.
All of the situations
described here have combined in such a way that make it possible for me
to understand a curious series of events that occurred partly before I
left home. Right outside of DC, bordering the freeway and an enormous
Mormon temple, is a section of land named the Walter Reed Annex. The
annex is down the street from the hospital of the same name that has
become well known in recent years for mistreating veterans. Walter Reed
was originally a Bohemian Grove type of retreat for visiting diplomats
and industrialists during the formative years of the city. The people
who built the complex designed it to have an international theme, with a
Dutch windmill, gothic castles, Greek statues and Chinese pagodas. The
main building housed a ballroom and a series of arched walkways.
Originally, the annex was a hotel, later a Catholic girls school and
after the Korean War, a psychiatric facility for veterans traumatized by
combat.
During the mid to late 90s, Walter Reed was in ruins
and, although still occupied in some places by the army, it was mostly
abandoned. My friends and I spent many hours exploring the untended
gardens of the complex while trying to avoid the machine gun equipped
soldiers. It was an indescribably beautiful place. There was one
statue, the Justice Lady, at whose base we would often find candle
drippings all over the ground. One night my friend Katrina was walking
through the annex after midnight and spotted a group of people dressed
in purple robes circled around the Justice Lady and burning candles.
But the inside of the main building was the most interesting part of the
complex by far.
The psychiatric ward seemed like it went on
forever, with rusted plumbing, crumbling paint and holes in the floor
where you could see clear through to the floors below. We discovered
what was clearly the scene of massive human experimentation. There were
bloody hospital gowns, electroshock therapy equipment and boxes full of
files describing the former patients hallucinations and subsequent
medication plan. One document was titled "Human Use Committee" and it
had phone numbers that listed addresses in third world countries.
Someone had written "help me" in blood on one of the walls. In the
ballroom my friend Candy found slides of monkey brains and sheep
embryos.
Although it was illegal to be on the grounds of the
annex, it wasn't too hard to avoid the soldiers, so I spent the winter
of 98 with various people camped in and around its empty buildings. One
night I was alone underneath the bridge leading into the main building
and saw the largest vehicle I had ever encountered before. It was a
black streetcleaner type of car covered with flashing strobe lights that
changed colors. I was very uneasy about the vehicle and did my best to
hide in the shadows of the bridge until it passed me by. Years later,
while reading an internet conspiracy forum, the same one where someone
warned me of the black helicopter, I read a description of the ominous
car that was precise in its depiction right down to the flashing lights.
Supposedly, it was the property of FEMA and set aside to be used to
enforce curfew during times of martial law.
A few years ago,
Chris told me about getting picked up hitchhiking by a military officer
who had worked as a scientist at Walter Reed. Since I had taken Chris
out there to look around a few years before, he asked the former officer
questions and paid attention to the conversation. The man said that
when he worked at the annex, the military had performed experiments on
monkeys by injecting them with diseases. In order to insure that the
soldiers were able to clean up any messes that might result, there were
tunnels that ran beneath the complex, across the state and all the way
into an underground base in Pennsylvania. The underground
infrastructure was originally built during the Cold War for military and
government leaders to be able to escape during a nuclear attack. The
bases were also fortified with stores of food and arms.
A book
written by Alex Constantine describes a similar situation occurring at
Walter Reed during the time period that the officer described.
Constantine writes about how, under the direction of the CIA, the annex
was used for MKUltra experiments including electroshock therapy
performed on monkeys. Evidence for a highly sophisticated underground
infrastructure can be found in the press releases about Mt. Weather, an
underground military base in Virginia that was designed to transfer and
maintain key components of the American government in the event of
nuclear warfare or other forms of disaster. An article in Time magazine
reported that Mt. Weather houses apartment complexes, a cafeteria, a
hospital, a sewage treatment plant, several large underground ponds, a
utility plant and even a radio and TV studio in order for key officials
to be able to address the nation in times of emergency. Far from being
an anomaly, independent researchers have estimated that the Virginia
base is actually the operational center for at least 96 other Federal
Relocation Centers. Wikipedia reports that during September 11th, a
line of government cars with police escort were seen heading from
Washington DC straight into Mt Weather.
It should be abundantly
clear by this point that there are many reasons for a massive cover up
around the issues of organized trafficking and ritual abuse. The
experiences outlined above point to origins in an international black
market cartel trafficking in arms, narcotics and human slavery. With
the additional indication of connections with paramilitary training
schools and psychiatric brainwashing programs, human trafficking becomes
an enormously complex subject that cannot be easily explained through
the lens of partisan politics. Unfortunately, much of the discussion
around these issues has been dominated by leftist journalists who see
human trafficking as primarily a labor issue caused by Western
imperialism. In an article published in Clamor Magazine, Yasmin Nair
dismisses personal testimonies about American girls being trafficked as
originating in “half-baked stories and rumors fueled by dubious
sources”. The other side of the coin, mostly fundamentalist Christians,
portrays trafficking as a problem caused by the moral ills of heathen
foreigners. This analysis, from either side of the political spectrum,
whitewashes the experiences of many people like myself whose history
with trafficking doesn't fit this narrow model of the way things work.
The limiting left-right dichotomy, including the perspective of radical
politics, has so far effectively served to limit public exposure of
these issues and cover up the crimes of the most elite strata of our
society. It is my sincere hope that this story, as well as those of
countless others who have had similar experiences, can help to expand
the realm of possibilities past the limiting confines of the currently
dominant sociopolitical paradigm.
Notes: Whenever possible I
have obtained permission from people whose stories I’ve told here. Many
names have been changed to protect those who may have preferred to
remain anonymous. A number of people declined to have their story told
at all for fear of reprisal. Specifically, a great deal of information
regarding US military experiments in population control was given to me
by someone who requested that the information not be published. It will
require many more hours of interviews and research from other
open-minded writers before this complicated story can even begin to be
told.
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