When I was very young my father was drafted into the US Army to “Fight the Nazis”. I remember the day he left; I hid under the covers of my bed, as though that would stop his departure.
My mother, older sister, and I moved in with his dad, in the mountains of West Virginia. My grandfather had built that house, situated above the little river, beside a small creek, on the mountainside. The garden was up the hill, as was the grazing pasture for the cow. Even then the house was not new. We did not have indoor plumbing, and got our water from a pipe placed into a spring at the creek. The outhouse was placed over the creek, downstream, of course. That stream ran into the little river, but no one was concerned with pollution; after all, the river was already black from washing coal further upstream. To take a bath we got water from the spring-pipe, carried it into the kitchen, heated the water on the wood–burning cookstove, then, when hot enough, it was poured into a galvanized “wash tub” placed on the floor. Winter heat was with a coal stove. That was just how things were. I don’t recall knowing the word “complain”. Oh, we did have electricity, along with fresh raw milk and butter, which I frequently churned myself, and other fresh organic foods. I think only organic was available, but was not called that. It was just real food.
My dad was in an MP Detachment and was variously located in England, Belgium, The Netherlands, France, and Germany. He virtually never talked about what he did in the war, just about his buddies. The worst time he had seemed to be the Battle of the Luddendorff Bridge at Remagen. I only remembered twice my dad ever crying. Once was at the death of one of his brothers and the other was him remembering about the battle when he visited the site decades later (but he did not talk about it).
As his unit penetrated deeper into Germany at the end of the war they entered a concentration camp. He took pictures, and they were deeply ingrained into my memory at the tender age of about 6. These were pictures of many dead people; gaunt, starved, sickly looking, mostly necked, dead bodies. Piles of dead bodies. A bulldozer trench was filled with these bodies for mass burial.
It is my understanding that the IG Farben drug company ran at least some of these camps and was known to make nerve gas. IG Farben was broken up into four different drug companies after the war. Interestingly enough it is these same four drug companies which have been the major push behind the Codex Alimentarious, the UN has pushed international effort to control all foodstuffs around the world. (I will have another Blog entry about this later.) These are the regulations which are designed to ban things like garlic in a capsule and raw milk, but push irradiated foods, GMO foods, and other un-natural “foods”. Every time I hear Codex what I remember is those photographs.
I know a German woman who grew up in 1930’s Germany. In a very quiet conversation (we were in public) she told me she could not tell the difference between 1930’s Germany and modern Germany. Furthermore, the USA and Canada both were worse than 1930’s Germany. I remembered those photographs.
Every time I read of the government seizing children to forcibly vaccinate them, I remember those photographs.
Every time I hear of “health” Canada inspectors forcibly dragging Citizens out of their vehicles and pushing them into the ground just because they have a container of raw milk on the seat, I Remember the photographs.
Every time I hear about the abuses of the TSA on travelers, I remember the photographs.
Every time I hear about the cops in Tennessee (and other places) stopping vehicles on the slightest whim and seizing their money, I remember the photographs.
When I hear the US Congress has yet again passed unconstitutional laws, which the judges will probably uphold, I remember the photographs.
Every time I am searched for an hour when I drive across the Border into Canada, I remember the photographs. (And it IS every time.)
Every time I hear of a young kid having their lemonade stand smashed by authorities for violating some inane law, I remember the photographs.
Every time the politicians push for more gun control laws, I remember the photographs of an unarmed people.
Every time I cannot obtain health–giving natural remedies for myself or clients while toxic drugs and vaccines are pushed on everyone, I remember the photographs.
Every time I think about my father’s great grandmother, a Cherokee woman who escaped from the infamous “Trail of Tears”, I remember the photographs.
Every time I hear of an alternative health practitioner who is being harassed by “the authorities”, I remember the photographs.
When congress (deliberate small c) passed a law to allow Citizens to be arrested and incarcerated indefinitely without charge or hearing, I was horrified, and remembered those photographs.
When I hear of the insane corruption of politicians, public officials, bankers, and some large businesses, I remember the photographs.
If you quote some things in public that Thomas Jefferson said, you get arrested for terrorism. Remember the photographs?
In far too many instances recently if you protest too much you get beat by the police. Remember those photographs!
Why is it that when we peacefully protest the addition of toxic fluoride and toxic chlorine to our water we are ignored? Next comes the photographs.
Why is it that when we peacefully resist more gun control laws we are ignored and told it does not matter what we want. Load the camera, here come more photographs.
Sadly this list of examples hardly conveys its extent. A large volume would be needed to document all the instances so briefly illustrated here. If we all work together in clear and logical thinking and action we can overcome this situation peacefully. It MUST be done or else there will be more of those photographs.
In all too many (one is too many) cases we are arrested for taking pictures of what the “authorities” are doing. They don’t want us to see those photographs. Wonder why? What do these photographs show? Good honest, peaceful, caring public servants, doing what is necessary to truly protect us? Maybe we will see how those original photographs came about. In which picture do you want to be featured? We need to make sure there can never be any more new photographs like those old photographs. And, no, I do not mean by censorship!