True Happiness in Times like These: The Lesson from my Fallen Uncle

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Written on the 70th anniversary of his death for another:

He comprehends his trust, and to the same keeps faithful with a singleness of aim;

And therefore does not stoop, nor lie in wait for wealth, or honours, or for worldly state, or mild concerns of ordinary life;

But who, if he be called upon to face some awful moment to which Heaven has joined great issues, good or bad for human kind, Is happy as a Lover; and attired with sudden brightness, like a Man inspired.

He to whom neither shape of danger can dismay, nor thought of tender happiness betray; Who, not content that former worth stand fast, looks forward, persevering to the last.

Or if he must fall to sleep without his fame, and leave a dead unprofitable name, finds comfort in himself and in his cause;

And, while the mortal mist is gathering, draws His breath in confidence of Heaven’s applause:

This is the happy Warrior; this is he whom every Man in arms should wish to be.

- “The Happy Warrior” by William Wordsworth, 1770-1850

…….

My father is the only one in the faded photograph who still draws breath.

He was a boy of fifteen when the family photo was taken: the day before his eldest brother Bob left forever to serve as the youngest officer on the doomed Canadian destroyer HMCS Athabaska.

My younger father stares soberly into the camera, bearing the same troubled look as every other member of his family, save one: nineteen year old Bob himself, whose easy and gentle smile seems untouched by the war that waits to engulf him.

One of the sailors who survived the Germans’ torpedoing of the Athabaska seven decades ago this evening, on April 29, 1943, described, later, how Bob wore the same confident radiance in the dark and icy waters of the English Channel as men died about him. He recalls how Bob tried leading the ship’s survivors in song to keep their spirits and them alive, as the ship sank and the waters burned with deisel oil.

And in the midst of the carnage, Bob actually gave up his lifejacket to a wounded man.

Last week, I held the old Annett family photograph in my hands as my Dad sipped his scotch and remembered his last memory of brother Bob.

“He could have spent his embarkation leave in town, whooping it up, or seeing his fiancee Elaine. But instead he drove out to see me, his kid brother, and he roused me out of bed and wrestled with me and cheered me up. He was that kind of a guy”.

I gazed at the snapshot and said,

“From the looks of all of you, it’s like you all knew he was going to die”

Dad nodded, and replied softly, and unashamedly awed,

“And look at his smile”

To those accustomed to the sluggish death we like to call peace time, the highest concern one can bestow on another is the admonition to “Be safe”. Even my closest friends tell me that all the time, as if safeguarding one’s own life is some kind of bottom line. It wasn’t for my Uncle Bob, nor is it for anyone like him who discovers the secret of life.

The same people who puzzle over how Bob is the only one smiling in that final photograph are the same ones who comment with regret that Bob died because he gave away his lifejacket, as if it would have been possible for him to do anything else when faced with another man drowning from his wounds.

The desperate selfishness of “everyday” life spares us the chance to be fully human that is thrust so starkly upon on us by war. And so far too many of us go away sad and troubled by the actions of shining lights like my Uncle Bob, never understanding the drama: like the crowd who encountered Jesus on his cross and saw only bloodshed.

How habitually do we struggle to shore up the unsalvageable – our own mortal life – and refuse to live for that one moment when we find our real purpose in life by giving up our life entirely for what is right and necessary.

Perhaps Bob was so radiant in that final family photograph because he knew that his own special moment was approaching; and knowing his own measure and loving what he saw, he knew he would not fail. As for the others in the picture, how could their sadness be anything but their knowledge that they could not share in Bob’s moment?

We do not live in a time of peace, as much as we pretend we do. The war in which we are all now immersed, like all wars, is rapidly clarifying everything with the same simple truth, and choice, given to my Uncle Bob in the cold waters: If we do not act, others will die.

The particular happiness of true warriors is that they can devote every moment to the service of that deed, which is after all, the essential thing. And for those who shrink back from such necessary action, there is no remedy, and no ultimate happiness.

That is why I can’t understand or give consideration any longer to the multitudes of “concerned” but immobilized people who shrink back from doing what is necessary to save not only the lives of children, but our lands and our liberties, now, amidst this final war being waged against humanity by a global machinery of death.

At desperate moments like this, hope does come to us, but always at a great cost.

What does awaken us are living examples of a true man, or woman, who show that we are not measured by our capacity to “Be safe”, but rather, to be True, regardless of the cost.

That is the secret of Bob’s smile, and of my own: a reflection of the special opportunity granted to every human being, which no tyrant can rob from us, and no cataclysm can undo.

Will you seize that noble chance?

The Rat Scurries from the Vat: The Latest Coup in Rome

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Theories are abounding this week now that the first pope in seven centuries is resigning his office. But as always, the most direct way to the truth behind the world’s oldest corporation is simply by following the money: and specifically, Vatican Bank money.

Let’s put to rest, first of all, the fallacy that “looming scandals” about child rape and coverup are behind Joseph Ratzinger’s resignation. That’s just the cover story.

Nobody in the church hierarchy is losing much sleep over their standing, canon-law endorsed policy of concealing and protecting child rapists in their ranks. Even the International Criminal Court application about such crimes has been stymied by catholic-run legislators and jurists.

What pronounced the death knell on Pope Benedict was his personal implication in the bribery and money-laundering practices of the Vatican Bank, comically known as The Institute of Religious Works (IOR); and how that dirty connection gave the anti-Ratzinger faction in the College of Cardinals the lever they needed to dump the obstinate German from the papal throne.

We had a whiff of that dump-Rat Boy agenda last year, when “Vatileaks” broke into the news with a ludicrous story of how Ratzinger’s loyal butler Paolo Gabriele disclosed the pope’s dirty secrets to the Italian media. In fact, the damning documents detailing Ratzinger’s secret rewarding of Vatican contracts to his friends and family members originated in the Vatican Secretary of State’s office, which the fall-guy butler could not have had access to.

The Secretary of State and the real power behind the papacy is Cardinal Tarcisio Bertone, an old insider who also engineered the sacking of Gotti Tedeschi, head of the Vatican Bank, last May.

Tedeschi had taken seriously the call of the European Parliament for “greater transparency” by the Vatican Bank /IOR, and was about to disclose to Brussels how his bosses had been laundering money for the mob for decades. The last Pope who had tried such a disclosure, John Paul 1, died from poisoning in September, 1978 after less than a month in office.

But even with Tedeschi silenced, the IOR house of cards kept tumbling, as the European Parliament seized from it 300 million Euros fraudulently acquired, and even the American Securities and Exchange Commission declared the IOR’s assets and practices “insecure”. A major Vatican housecleaning was required; or at least, the appearance of one.

It was the pivotal Cardinal Bertone who leaked the pope’s diary and other incriminating papers to a catholic-friendly journalist in Rome last year the same month that Tedeschi was sacked, to prepare the world for Ratzinger’s removal. For it is Bertone who is now reaping the benefits of the papal housecleaning; he is not only a primary contender for the pope’s position but a key player in the IOR.

During my second speaking tour in Rome, in the spring of 2010, I met with several senior Italian senators and officials of the parliamentary Radical Party. They all said the same thing about why Joseph Ratzinger had been made pope, and what awaited him. To quote one of those politicians,

“Nobody becomes pope without a sordid past, because only with such liabilities can he be controlled by the Curia. It’s the same in any big company. Well, Ratzinger made many indiscretions as a Cardinal and made many enemies. His signing letters ordering criminal concealment was just one sin. He was to be the scapegoat for all of the trash that the church knew would surface”

So now, the papal scapegoat is gone, pensioned off to wherever ex-popes end up; and the time for the big face life has arrived.

The idea of applying cosmetic surgery to a decaying facade like the Church of Rome reminds me of Shirley Maclaine trying to look forty at the age of ninety. And yet appearances are everything in show business as well as in religion.

Tarcisio Bertone is about as institutional as you can get, and represents the old Italian crowd of the Curia and are part of the Mob-government-papal clique that run the country and the Roman catholic church. In the words of one of the Roman Senators I spoke with,

“You must understand that in my country, the Mafia and the government and the Vatican are all the same people, and they really have only one concern: protecting their assets.”

Bertone, or whoever from the victorious ranks of his faction does assume the papal tiria, cannot be expected to do much but maintain the assets and security of the church, and that means by continuing the policies of silence and dissimulation that keeps the cash flowing. But their position is more difficult now in the wake of the enormous rifts developing within the wider church, where Cardinals are facing criminal prosecution for shielding child rapists, and talk of disaffiliating from Rome is widespread among Irish, American and German Bishops.

“We have all the grounds for a second Reformation now. That’s how serious is the crisis. The church will either rid itself of itself or face collapse” said an Italian media commentator recently.

It was easy to despise Joseph Ratzinger: the Hitler Youth raised, reactionary bigot who sacked liberal and independent thinkers in his church as the Cardinal-head of the Vatican Inquisition, and who told American Bishops that purgatory awaited any of them who did not cover up priestly child rape. Even among fellow Cardinals, he was known as “Joe the Rat”.

But Ratzinger was a made to order object of hatred, and put there to play out the oldest game in politics: the venting of popular rage on a disposable figurehead so that the institution itself could proceed unscathed.

I doubt that it’s totally coincidental that Ratzinger was forced out of office so quickly barely ten days after our Common Law court published online hard evidence of the Pope’s involvement in crimes against humanity. Any new Pope will face the same charges, of colluding in a massive criminal conspiracy.

But the real issue is not who or what will replace Joseph Ratzinger as the latest figurehead, but how to displace the Vatican itself as a criminal power unto itself. And that struggle is just commencing.

Elder, Elder, Who’s got the Elder?

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Our original elders were all wiped out by the smallpox wars. They died first, and with them, all of our real traditions. What survives today from our old ways? I’ll tell you: nothing. - Siem Maquinna, Earl George of the Ahousahts, to the author, Port Alberni, May 1995

All of the data indicates that nations at war suffering mortality rates exceeding 25% are permanently traumatized and destroyed, for they are incapable of ever recovering their pre-war integrity. They become for all practical purposes ghost societies. - United States Air Force Manual on War and Counter-Insurgency, Washington, spring 1983

We’ve created a completely new Indian society and we’re the new leaders of it. It’s a done deal. - Wendy Grant-John, government Indian and “chief” of the Musqueam Tribal Council, April 2006

————–

Indigenous nationhood, like Democracy or Christianity, is a wonderful idea; and wonderfully absent, in practice.

None of us have ever actually experienced these ideals – and yet how passionately we pretend to. In truth, we settle for cheap facsimiles of these visions that our various rulers convince us are the Real Deal. And sadly, we’ve believed their lie for so long that even now we teach it to one another, and to our children.

Let me leave aside the matter of Democracy, and Christianity, since I’m sure my gentle readers will need little convincing that marking ten ballots in one’s lifetime and sitting in boredom in a church pew for an hour doesn’t amount to much of anything. But I expect I’ll have tougher sledding when it comes to tackling the fallacy of Indigenous nationhood.

Putting aside political correctness and liberal white guilt – and how hard it is to do so! – if we are to remain on the path of truth and political realism and not slide into murky rhetorical swamps, we must see things as they are and not as we want them to be. And the hard historical truth is that all genuine indigenous nations were historically uprooted and expunged by European colonialism within a few generations of contact.

All of them.

On average, more than 90% of the indigenous people and their nations in the western hemisphere were eventually exterminated by European weapons and diseases, starting with the oldest people, the learned, and the carriers of tradition and authority. The butchery began in 1492 in the Caribbean and ended around 1910 on Canada’s west coast.

Killing off ninety percent of a people means, effectively, killing off all of a people. Recovery and continuity is impossible, especially after the children of the remnant populaces endure the massive brainwashing and cultural re-cloning fondly called Christian Education.

What remains today in the wake of this worst massacre in human history are not even pale imitations of those original nations, but something altogether new: namely, “ab-original” societies, manufactured by the conquering powers of church and state. For ab-original means, according to any dictionary, not of the original group.

Native people, like all of us, have been manufactured.

In none of the hundreds of native groups I’ve worked with over the decades have more than a handful of people known even a smattering of their original languages; nor do they practice their traditional ways, since those ways are gone.

None of them can live off the land, or practice ceremonies and rituals going back centuries. Their attitudes and hopes are the same as everybody else. They all flock into the same malls, buy the same pointless things, and poison their kids at the same fast food dumps as the “whites”. And most of them pay taxes and vote and call themselves Canadians.

But what’s most important, most of these aboriginals acknowledge that their traditional nation is dead and gone.

There are rare exceptions. But native men and women who aren’t caught up in the money-chasing game of aboriginal politics are the first to admit that they are not indigenous, and know nothing of who they are, and were. These people are denied the financial rewards that come to Professional Indians in the political, legal and academic worlds who posture as “First Nations” – a term created by the Canadian government – and who say all the right phrases and wear all the right regalia.

The vast majority of natives who don’t play the Professional Indian game are invisible to the rest of us. I only began to see and come to know them when I became an outcast from my own culture and began to share their alienation. The Professional Indians, contrarily, are the only ones that you are allowed to see.

After all, upon whom has your attention been riveted by the corporate media for many weeks now other than “Chief” Theresa Spence, the $85,000 a year pseudo-hunger striker who is the poster-person of the government-launched dissent-funneling operation known as Idle No More?

Of course, this kind of fraud is nothing new. Conquerors always create their own version of the ones they’ve destroyed. The same thing happened to my former people in the Gaelic Highlands after English bayonets and schools wiped us out after 1745. The British aristocracy invented the kilt and other Scottish niceties in their ab-original version of what they had destroyed. And they put into power the same kind of puppet chieftains like Ms. Spence who posture in Canada under the banner of the impotent “Assembly of First Nations” (AFN).

It’s all part of the deadly symbiosis set up when one culture exterminates another: the conquerors keep tokens of their victims around for their reassurance and consciences; and strangely, over time, they and their conquered learn to depend on and identify with each other.

In truth, that’s because a colonized people are no longer a people, but an appendage – that’s the Latin meaning of “colon” – of the bigger Body Politic of the Conquerors. The remnant ab-originals depend on that Body for their very life and identity. Ask any AFN chief what he or she would do without a pay cheque from Ottawa. Ask Theresa Spence.

In Canada, as in America, the Pale Eaters – otherwise known as white people, since Assimilation means to eat someone – keep chewing up and swallowing ever more of the colonized peoples. They do so literally, by grabbing their children, their future, their lands and resources, and symbolically, by making the colonized perform for them to assuage their guilt and maintain the lie that Genocide didn’t really happen in their country.

That fact strikes home to me with a vengeance whenever the AFN puppets open their mouths and the dead words of the Pale Eaters drop out.

But back to the realists: the mostly poor and dying authentic Indians who are honest about the fact that they have been killed and stripped of everything.

The hundreds of such people whom I work and live with never speak of their traditions, or of “the Elders”, or of “Protocol”, or any of the other Indigenously Correct terms thrown about in the Professional Indian world. They don’t exclude “whites” from their ranks in a false pride of being better, or demand more money from the government. Nor do they cozy up to the christian churches that killed their people and blabber about “healing and reconciliation” with such criminals.

On the contrary, the realists know what is true and they speak about it, which is why they, and not the Professional Indians, have been the ones to occupy churches, and demand that the guilty face judgement and return the bodies of the children they murdered. It has been these unassimilated refugees from a lost world who have forced the Canadian Genocide onto the world stage, while the Professional Indians cower and equivocate and avoid everything until the television cameras show up.

There is no authentic Indian leadership in Canada; how can there be, after all, in the wake of such a cunning arrangement? And so the AFN and other cardboard creations are collapsing, having zero credibility, starting with young native men and women. And that’s why the AFN has had to desperately create publicity stunts like Idle No More, to salvage themselves and the Pale Eaters who for now fund them.

But all is not lost. True Tragedy, taught the classical Greeks, is but the other side of Farce. And in the case at hand, the farce is best expressed in the game of Who’s Got the Elder that seems to preoccupy all the Professional Indians and their loyal Caucasian wannabees in these last days of collapsing illusions and slipping masks.

Who’s Got the Elder is rampant these days. For instance, last year, when I was asked by some of the Mohawk people around Brantford to help them locate the mass graves of the kids who were murdered by the Anglican Church at the local “residential school”, I was immediately immersed in the game.

Nobody in the three permanent factions among the Grand River Mohawks could agree on exactly who was an “Elder”, since they all had different definitions of the word.

To some of them, it meant “clan mother”; but day by day those who called themselves clan mothers would change, depending on who happened to show up to meetings and who bore a grudge against whom. To others, only certain families were the “true hereditary elders”, but nobody could agree on who those families were. I became confused, very quickly: as confused as all the Mohawks seemed to be.

Most of our gatherings at the Kanata Centre in Brantford were devoted not to the practical job of finding and bringing home the remains of the buried children, but arguing over what they called the “protocol” of how to proceed. But again, there were a dozen different definitions of what protocol actually was. As you’d guess, after a week or so of such endless verbosity, the original purpose of why we had gathered quickly became lost.

I hope you understand that I’m not picking on the Mohawks. To their credit, they have gone further than any other group in trying to bring the forensic evidence of the genocide they faced into the light of day. And naturally, the government operatives and divide and conquer experts were on hand quickly to scuttle everything and discredit me and the project.

But that wasn’t the problem, ultimately. The Mohawks simply got caught up in their own rhetoric and thought they were something they actually aren’t: just like the rest of us.

So what does it all mean?

Actually, a lot, once we drop all our blinders.

The indigenous nations that we all once were have vanished, chewed up by a corporate global machine, and we stand now in need of a new definition that embraces our collective humanity and the natural law that has always been our true bedrock.

We, humanity, are in a final war for survival. But as long as we cling to all the false divisions and labels imposed on us by the rulers, we’ll remain what we are: appendages of a thing that is killing our children, our souls, and our world. And we will all go under, regardless of our political correctness.

Who is an Elder, anyway? I guess we all become one, eventually. And I suppose that I am an Elder, now, after more than twenty years of struggle. But I don’t need anybody to tell me that I am.

Stupid No More: Waking up to the Uses and Abuses of our Discontent or, Follow the Money, Dummy

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“If we assume responsibility for our self or the world around us we will be harmed by the permanently raised and threatening arm of authority. And so, to avoid this danger, we learn to become servile and dependent victims who are acted upon, or who act at the command and initiative of others.” - Victor Frankl, Psychologist and Nazi Holocaust Survivor

Ours is a disappointed age. The End Times did not arrive after all with the close of 2012. But Canadians, at least, have been given a small consolation, of a sort: that is, if you believe their corporate media, who are suddenly raving about a new and supposedly “grassroots aboriginal protest movement” that pundits claim is sweeping the country, and calling itself the quite non-aboriginal name “Idle No More”.

The protests of this mysterious group are undeniably real, as are the hundreds of eager, often non-aboriginal demonstrators who are about as worked up as Canadians can get over anything. But what exactly is this thing called Idle No More, and who runs and pays for it, is anybody’s guess.

These latest, carefully managed demonstrations arrived right out of the blue, as only pre-fabricated dissent can, and has as its poster person an appropriately sympathetic figure: Chief Theresa Spence from the poverty-stricken Attawapiskat reserve in Ontario.

Chief Tess has been conducting a one-woman hunger fast to force Prime Minister Harper to halt his legislation, Bill C-45, that allows the government to sell Indian reservation land without first consulting the local state-funded tribal council “chiefs”.

Wow. Now that’s an issue to go to the barricades over, eh?

Well, maybe for reservation council chiefs like Theresa Spence and her organization, the state-funded “Assembly of First Nations”, who obviously need to improve their bargaining position with Ottawa – and who are most likely the originators of the whole “movement”. But how does any of that help your average poverty-stricken Indians, most of whom live off reservation?

Besides, it’s all bullshit, anyway. Under the Indian Act, the government can already sell off any reservation land they want without first checking with their puppet chiefs, since all reserve land is owned by that fiction called “the Crown”.

Hey! You mean this whole issue is a big fraud and a red herring? Surely not in Canada!

It seems that all those unfortunate Idle No More activists are being seriously lied to, and by the very people under whose banner they’re protesting: that upstart class of native wannabe capitalists who want to profit off the sale of their own peoples’ lands without having the feds interfere.

One such wannabe, “Chief” Ed John from northern B.C., has pocketed millions of dollars since the 1980′s by forcing his own Carrier-Sekani people off their lands and signing illegal deals with Alcan and other mining companies. Ed’s now a senior Canadian official at the United Nations – and a vocal supporter of Idle No More.

Surprised? I hope not. For none of this is new. History is replete with examples of masses of people being conned to fight and die for the interests of various elites, whether they be white or dark-skinned. Such “movements” are always created suddenly from the top-down just as Idle No More has been, trumpeting salvation for those who are duped into being the steam in somebody else’s engine – and who gain nothing at the end of the day.

After all, how exactly will any of my dying aboriginal friends on Vancouver’s mean streets benefit from the defeat of Bill C-45? Or all the moms on reservations who watch their kids decay as the housing and jobs and drugs are dealt out to the friends and family of the local “Chief”? In a word, not one bit.

I don’t doubt Chief Theresa’s sincerity. But she is, after all, the front piece of a machine controlled from elsewhere. And what matters is not figure heads but who and what they represent.

Nevertheless, all protest is good. It gets people moving, even if it is in the wrong direction. And who knows? This “Idle No More” thing is just starting. Movements do morph, and sometimes they escape the clutches of the string-pullers and are transformed from below. But that requires alternative leadership, with a different view, and strategy.

So far, no such alternative has emerged. The Idle No More activists, native and white, are still taking their cues from well-funded aboriginal politicians whose notion of revolt is calling for “more consultation” from the government.

Shit. No wonder the world thinks that Canadians are boring.

The whole farce reminds me of the sudden, solitary visit last year of top Apple, “Grand Chief” Sean Atleo of the Assembly of First Nations, to Vancouver’s downtown east side slums.

Sean walked around the streets for an hour or so, saying hi to all the dying Indians who don’t share his $200,000 a year salary. And then Sean made a big splash with the media with his comment about how his organization – and not all those homeless Indians he’d met, apparently – needed lots more money from Ottawa.

As common law reminds us, Let he who will be deceived, be deceived.

Idle No More is not a very well-crafted deception. After all, how many Indians that you know construct expressions like “Idle No More”? That language sounds more like the kind used by an academic-for-hire trying to sound radical: just like the very term “First Nations”. But if it sounds politically correct and makes folks feel good, that seems to do the trick for most of the placard-waving crowd.

The real grassroots movements that pose a threat to Canada’s colonial regime are never reported in the corporate media or listened to by the authorities. Such genuine movements are normally killed off before they can stagger to their feet. I’ve watched that happen more times than I want to remember, usually among impoverished people who have neither the right connections or funding on their side: simply the truth. And that makes them incomprehensible to many of the people presently engaged in respectable protest.

We built such a grassroots movement on Vancouver’s streets after 2005, consisting entirely of aboriginal survivors of the Christian death camps quaintly called “residential schools” .

Through direct and unannounced occupations of churches and government offices, our movement forced the feds to admit that genocide had happened in the Indian residential schools. We scared the churches responsible like nothing has before then, or since. And we even made Idle No More possible, since Christian Canada knew that, after having its cathedrals and church offices seized by angry residential school survivors, no more could the murderers of Indian children simply ignore the ongoing Canadian genocide.

By 2011, that movement of ours had been destroyed from within and from without by well placed operatives, and it cost the lives of at least six of our best activists and friends: all poor and aboriginal, of course. Our bravest and clearest people were killed, in plain sight, and as a warning to the rest of us. And like all uncontrolled opposition movements bubbling from below, our group was not only stamped out forcibly, but smeared and misrepresented by the media and hired mudslingers at every step.

That doesn’t sound like Idle No More very much, does it? I don’t imagine that many of their spokespeople will end up getting beaten to death by Vancouver cops or terminated with lethal injections in Catholic hospitals, as befell our organizers Bingo Dawson and Billy Combes. The protected and controlled opposition doesn’t run that risk.

But at the end of the day, the truth always does come out, and the little jerk behind the big mask emerges.

Just check out the website of the Assembly of First Nations and trace the corporate donors behind them and their local puppet chiefs, and you’ll begin to see who the real “Idle No More” is: B.C. Hydro, Alcan, Power Corporation, North American Water and Power Alliance, Weyerhauser, and Cameco Uranium – to say nothing of all the Chinese resource consortia that own much of Canada’s (formerly) Great White North.

These companies are the same ones that prop up the Harper Tory government, and such Big Money needs the tribal council chiefs to secure them their control over aboriginal lands and resources, freed of all government restraints. And that’s why the contrived spectacle of a “conflict” between these same tribal elites and Ottawa is but the latest stage show managed from the Prime Minister’s Office, to conceal its complicity, and from corporate board rooms, to grab the water, oil and uranium from under the feet of native nations across Canada, while we’re all focused on the pseudo-political drama called Idle No More.

It’s called the Big Distraction, people. But the very fact of its rapid staging right now means that somebody in charge is worried, and in need of deception. And I’ll wager my next year’s non-existent salary that Canada’s upcoming condemnation in European Human Rights Courts for Genocide is not exactly unrelated to this latest Distraction – and Big Money’s rapid effort to grab what it can from us, while it can.

Stupid No More.