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Politicians worldwide can no longer claim ignorance of harm – an open letter to an MP

Dear Catherine King MP,

This letter is long overdue, and long. The impetus to finally write it was inspired by the article, Politicians Worldwide Can No Longer Claim Ignorance of the WHO Power Grab, which was compiled by the World Council for Health and published a few days ago. Please consider the following open letter from two residents within the electorate you are currently the sitting member for.

Movements in Australia and globally are watching governments closely to ensure they don’t continue to hand over our basic human rights to unelected, questionable global organisations and so-called philanthropists.

We wish to participate within a democracy but we believe we are right to be skeptical at this time in history. This hand shake between the Australian prime minister (your boss) and Bill Gates (your other boss) earlier this year speaks to our suspicions.

In a poll in late 2022 that included 50,000 Australians, ‘[m]ore than half of respondents either said they regret getting vaccinated, or were unvaccinated and happy with their decision.’ Only 35 per cent said ‘they were vaccinated and would make the same decision again. Not a single person said they were unvaccinated and regret the decision.’ A year on, the figure of 35% is no doubt considerably less, as we will demonstrate a little further on.

It is our belief that large numbers of the population will not tolerate authoritarian governance and overreach again, nor will they tolerate directives from big industries and their captured organisations, such as the WHO.

In late 2021, somewhere between 500,000 and 800,000 people marched in Canberra [see crowd drone shots at 21:50] against mandates for so-called ‘vaccines’ that never prevented the transmission of the pathogen known as Covid. We, like thousands of Australians, were assaulted by LRAD weapons at that peaceful march. It was the Australian government who used this weapon on us, without our knowing. Patrick experienced vertigo for the first time in his life the next morning, and Meg experienced an intense eye bleed while we were at the march. The bleed latest for several weeks.

Will your government, at the very least, admit that mandating a medical treatment that never stopped transmission is akin to manslaughter when people have died from the shots? And will your government recognise that those of us who protested were also harmed and our basic human rights eroded?

We wish to supply you with the growing scientific evidence that the Covid injections have caused and are still causing widespread harm. For the literature please go here, here, here, here, here, and here, to quote just a few of the available studies. It is revealing to us that with the flood of excess deaths since the jab rollouts, and a surge of heart-related deaths, it has not warranted the government to call for a major scientific review of these ‘vaccines’.

We believe that if the TGA wasn’t captured by industry and were a proper scientific institution, thousands of deaths in Australia would have already been attributed to the vaccines and those ministers and health officials who signed deals with pharmaceutical companies who made themselves exempt from legal liability, would be duly held accountable for those deaths. But then again, if the TGA wasn’t captured by industry, fewer deaths would have occurred, and the shots would have been pulled after the first safety signals were recorded.

As of the 16 August 2021, there were over 462 deaths and approximately 49,000 injuries reported relating to Covid vaccines in Australia. We were sent this screen grab of these numbers recorded by the TGA at this time, which disappeared from public view soon after.

In early September 2021 we asked, ‘[w]hy has the Therapeutic Goods Administration taken offline (since August 31) its Database of Adverse Event Notifications (DAEN), including numbers of deaths caused by Covid vaccines?’

Patrick questioned you outside the town hall in Daylesford in March 2022, relating to unvaccinated people still being locked out of public places such as town halls, public libraries, public swimming pools and cafés and restaurants, despite the failure of the jabs to stop or even slow transmission. ‘Catherine,’ he asked you, ‘when will segregation end in Victoria?’ You dismissively replied, ‘When you get vaccinated.’

Do you regret replying in this way? As a non-medical person, do you regret giving personal medical advice concerning a novel therapeutic? Do you not see the human rights abuses and harm you and your colleagues have caused to members of the public who were (a) willing, (b) coerced or (c) unwilling to trust the state-Pharma nexus?

Your government’s misnomered Misinformation and Disinformation Bill is yet another red flag for us, and signals a path to more human rights abuses in the near future. It really should be called what it is – a censorship bill. When in history has it been good for populations to entrust a government (and its hand selected ‘experts’) to solely decide what is truth and what is not? Your government’s censorship bill and your government’s collusion with the WHO sends alarm bells into many communities across Australia.

Please be assured, the pushback to authoritarianism and overreach will grow in step with government fundamentalism, as it always does. As an MP and minister you are a servant of Australian democracy. You are not an agent for big industry, big banks, corporate power and so-called philanthropists.

Throughout Covid you failed us, our family and our community. You backed policies that harmed many in our community, irregardless of their jab status. You helped sow division over a GMO in a syringe that offered no sterilising immunity and was deceptively dressed up as a vaccine.

When we did this investigation back in August, the Office of the Gene Technology Regulator (OGTR) of the Australian government proudly stated that, ‘Several of the COVID-19 vaccines are either GMOs or made from GMOs,’ and that ‘[a]n example of GMOs as medicines is gene therapy,’ and they listed as examples of GMO medicines, Pfizer’s and Moderna’s Covid products. This is the screen grab we took then (accessed: August 9, 2023 at 4:43pm).

In early August 2023 we called the OGTR to inquire about their stated ‘Covid GMOs’ and ‘gene therapies’, and all we got were promises that someone will call us back shortly. A return call never happened. However, since that time the OGTR have changed the language on that same webpage. They’ve since deleted any reference to gene therapies. The webpage now looks like this (accessed: November 24, 2023 at 3:36pm):

The OGTR still admit however that both Covid shots, which are still available in Australia, are GMOs. AstraZeneca was quietly removed from use in March of this year.

Another so-called FactCheck stated, ‘[t]here are no genetically modified organisms in the COVID-19 mRNA vaccines.’ but doesn’t say whether these shots are themselves GMOs. So, is this another case of weasel words? Remember, as we’ve just said, the OGTR still states on its webpage several Covid shots (they mean mRNA shots) are ‘either GMOs or made from GMOs,’ thus are either GMOs or have GMO products in them. Can you see the potential confusion or deliberate manipulation here in the ‘FactCheck’?

So, who is misinforming who? Once upon a time there would be robust debate, and genuine points of difference would be respected. It is alarming today how truth is claimed by non-scientific institutions such as the Australian Government who since 2021 has threatened doctors with their livelihoods for speaking against the official health messaging, and boards such as the Australian Health Practitioner Regulation Agency (AHPRA) who gagged doctors throughout the pandemic from speaking about Covid vaccines.

Science is being radically politicised, and as a society we are fast losing the ability to respect different points of view or value what both the heterodoxy and orthodoxy contribute to democracy.

Many of us are watching what you and your government are doing, and we are keeping exact records of all your decisions, statements and policies to be judged by future generations.

As a servant of democracy you have brought much pain to our home, so we’re writing to let you know we are watching, and many of us are watching. While we know your government (it is not ours) spies on people (via the Five Eyes agreement, et al), we’re letting you know that rather than spying, we are watching. Legally, respectfully, critically watching.

 

Catherine, please desist from selling off our human rights to big interests that manipulate the WHO. Please desist from supporting the authoritarian Misinformation and Disinformation Bill, which is clearly designed to attack and erase free speech. Please desist from ever using toxic weapons such as LRAD on peoples who disagree with, and protest against, the government. Please desist from continuing to walk the path of medical fascism.

Yes Catherine, you are free to put whatever you wish into your arm or in your mouth, it is none of our business what you do with your own body, but please desist from pushing onto us, and advising us (as you did in 2022) to use toxic treatments produced and distributed by well documented corporate criminals.

As of a few days ago, ‘the take up of a [Covid] booster dose has stalled. Only 5.5 per cent of Australians aged 18 to 64 years [are] rolling up their sleeves for a jab.’ If this report is accurate, this means few now believe The [industry-captured] Science. Science and public health have been irrevocably damaged in the public’s eyes. The distrust is significant and the only way to attend to this wholesale mistrust of government and their regulators is to sever the very cosy marriage between regulator and industry.

While there are only a few of us who make the time to speak up against the corruption in the state-Pharma nexus, most people know now what’s really going on.

May this open letter inspire others to write similar missives to the politicians who are supposedly representing them, to put them on notice, and to call them out when they erode basic human rights.

Sincerely,
Dr Patrick Jones and Meg Ulman

 

Artist as Family’s Book of Neopeasantry (fifth excerpt – Blue Wren & Magpie)

November 13
Patrick

Each day begins with cleaning out the fire box before I set and light the fire. It is still too cold in the mornings to move this ritual to the outdoor kitchen, and use the brick rocket stove I’ve built there.

Each week I sift the potash from the charcoal, pound the black char into finer lumps, and soak it in urine to activate this forever carbon before it goes onto the garden or back into the forest. The high nitrogen content of the urine is absorbed by the char so when it is put into a soil ecology the nitrogen is then slowly released for plants to take up. If char is broadcast without being activated it will draw up nitrogen from the soil and may starve plants of it.

Similarly, I use the fine potash in the perennial parts of the garden and in the forest. Broadcasting these materials becomes a ritual of gratitude, a ritual of return for all the gifts that flow from these environments.

In Aboriginal burning methods it is ash that is desired, not coals. The potash – the potassium – renews the ecology, helps to grow more life. If coals are produced during a burn then the fire is too hot and can stunt growth. The Indigenous craft of land management with fire to grow abundance while reducing fuel load, requires relationship beyond the human and technological. Fire crafting thus takes place in mythological space and time, integrating the beyond-human wisdoms of Mother Country and Father Fire.

I’ve come to the forest to cut wood for the men’s gathering and brought my chainsaw, my largest wheelbarrow, a small digging trowel and a metal bucket filled with sifted potash.

Before I cut the fallen wood I go through the forest and flick potash from my trowel until my bucket is empty. Fine ash covers the forest and my clothes.

With a barrow of wood cut I push the heavy load to the fire circle. There is sometimes a dread I carry leading up to a gathering. It stems from me fearing I won’t be in a goodly place to facilitate the night, to set the fire and the intention for the gathering, to listen to the forest, to open to Mother Country, to hear the men who come to share and enter into our culturally specific mythos.

In the lead up to this gathering I have spent time sitting and reflecting and making little rituals throughout the day. Superb fairy wrens are present as I light the fire in the late afternoon, and this brings joy. Blue Wren is the name this Country has given me.

 

November 16
Meg

A number of years ago I got up early to walk around lake Daylesford. It was just after dawn and I was walking down a wallaby track through the forest when I saw a magpie on the path just ahead of me. I stopped and she stopped. I want to say we watched each other, but it was more than that. I am going to use the word beheld.

I felt like the magpie and I had known one another forever, that our ancestors had known each other forever. Even though my people are newcomers to this land, I was thinking and knowing this recognition beyond time. It was after that encounter that I started thanking the ancestors of the magpies each time I gave an honouring of Country at a gathering.

The other day I bent down to snuffle our neighbour’s new puppy, Maggie, when she licked my cheek then scratched my nose with her paw and it started bleeding. I grabbed some plantain from where I knew it was growing near our quince tree, chewed it up and stuck it on my nose.

The scratch has been healing well. Today I am in the bathroom putting some of my homemade calendula oil on it and I turn side on in the mirror. I was teased at school about my pointy nose and chin and how one day they were going to join up. I never took to heart the teasing – I knew they were probably right.

Looking at myself in the mirror today I realise for the first time my features are a remnant from my past. That my pointy chin and pointy nose used to be a beak.

 

Until we come together (song)

While reading Chris Hedges this morning, this song sprang forth from our despair. We offer it here as a sketch, suitably unpolished, to mark this time and bear witness to the pain and suffering of so many.

 

They feared us into Jab land
they coerced and they shamed
They destroyed a generation
coz NATO wanted Ukraine
They bombed hospitals in Gaza
killed babies and they maimed
the sick, the vulnerable and dying
the Empire’s gone insane

How we identity
doesn’t really matter
let’s put away our categories
and love one another
let’s rise and unify
as brother, sister, other
coz none of this will stop
until we come together

The US and its allies
have no values
have no shame
the Pharma-Military complex
owns Congress
sets the game
Democracy is dead and buried
under the rain
of censorship rockets
that Big Media maintains

 

 

Artist as Family’s Book of Neopeasantry (fourth excerpt – the accident)

November 3
Meg

It’s Bloodthorn’s birthday and he doesn’t want to go to school. What he really wants to do is go fishing. His mum sends a text to ask if Blackwood is up for some lake time and a text in response is enthusiastically sent back.

It’s a work day for me, so while the boys spend the morning first making yabby spears and then catching their bait in the creek, I sit at the kitchen table with my laptop and a pot of nettle tea. At lunchtime I fang up the street on my bike to go to Himalaya Bakery where I buy two cinnamon fruit scrolls for Bloodthorn’s birthday. I’m imagining candles and singing and sharing the scrolls between the four of us. I put them in my pannier and head home. On my way down the hill, a car overtakes me and then suddenly turns into me and I fly over the back of the vehicle and end up on the bitumen. People come running towards me but the driver doesn’t get out of the car.

‘You nearly fucking killed me!’ I yell, banging on the side of the car, where I landed on the road. ‘You nearly fucking killed me!’

The driver gets out and our two lives adjoin. We are women together, no longer just car and bike rider, flesh meeting metal, but women. One howls on the ground, one tries to be helpful. Are you OK? Are you hurt? Do you need an ambulance? What do you need? Can you point to where it hurts? Can I get you anything? Do you need some water? Would you like to take your helmet off? Can I help you stand up and move off the road?

I ask her if she can please rub my back while I breathe, to just give me a minute so I can assess the extent of my injuries. My clarity and assertiveness surprise me. I keep crying while I try to gauge the damage to my body. One of the people who’s gathered around lifts up my bike and stands with the others as witness while we two women work through what happened and what needs to happen.

She says she didn’t even see me – not down the hill and certainly not when she pulled in front of me. Her name is Jo and she has just had a session with her chiropractor. She says she was feeling light headed after her appointment and about to faint so she pulled over.

One of the gathered men passes me my bag that had flung out of my front basket and I take some squirts of Rescue Remedy from the front pocket. I offer some to Jo. Zero goes with me everywhere in my bike basket. But today he opted to stay on his mat by the fire. I cry harder as I think about my little companion and what could have happened to him.

I need to go home. Jo keeps telling me how sorry she is and asking if she can do anything, but I can’t think of anything. I just want to be home with Patrick. Jo and I hug goodbye. I thank the people who came running and I cry all the way home, the whole left side of my body aching, my bike squeaking and rattling, my cries feeling ineffectual as I can’t breathe deeply enough because it feels like my ribs are sticking into my lungs.

Patrick hears my cries when I come home and comes straight out. He runs me a bath with Epsom salts and I lay on my side feeling smashed about but so grateful for the quiet and stillness. I can’t stop thinking about my mother. Later, after Patrick has helped me out of the water, I phone her to let her know I am OK.

 

November 3
Patrick

The day of the grateful living. Meg hobbles in from emptying the house wee bucket onto one of the citrus. “There might be a frost in the morning,” she says, holding herself gingerly as she steps through the front door. I go out and find the frost covers under the house and place them over the potatoes.

Potatoes can handle winter temperature soils, but not frost on their leaves. We plant them in August and cover them as they grow. I’m pleased they haven’t got sick with all the rain of spring. The tomatoes are already hothoused in their rows and doing well enough, considering the low temperatures. The bees have lost hundreds of workers. It happens every year. After a warm spring spell they convert their hive to a summer thermostat, then the following week the temperature plummets and we head back into winter. This is the time hives get a major set back or don’t make it at all because their winter honey stores are depleted and it’s too cold to go out and forage.

I dig up several comfrey roots in the garden. Wash them, discard the leaves in the poultry run, and pulverise the roots into a crude paste with a mortar and pestle. Meg is lying on the couch in considerable discomfort. I gently apply a large patch of paste to her left ribs and wrap a bandage around her torso to hold the poultice. I am so thankful this is the extent of the injury. A moving car, a driver not present, a bicycle rider. Aye yai yai.

Blackwood, off his own back, cooks frittata for dinner. In reading the situation he acts with resourcefulness and care. Using our duck and chicken eggs, gifted broccoli from one of the generous Forest & Free parents, Meg’s raw milk cheese and pepper berry from the garden. We eat the delicious creation our ten year old fashions upon the family hearth and we honour the food, its origin stories, and life herself with a thick flow of gratitude for all that sings and lives.

~

Wrong story, right story (in song form)

Yesterday we sketched out a new song, and we’re sharing it here for those who like our songs that are still bubbling away in the Pandorean brewing pot. It’s a peace song with a pinch of trickster energy. The first two lines of the chorus derive from one of our favourite quotes, ‘The majority is always wrong; the minority is rarely right’ by Hendrik Ibsen. We hope you enjoy our latest musical offering.

 

 

It’s the cult of
having to be right
It’s the game of
proving your might
But have you sought to
lay down your gloves
and walk that gentle road
home to your loves?

 

The majority is always wrong
the minority is rarely right
Can we sing a different song?
Can we give away this fight?

 

Strong positions on
global affairs
Stirs the guns of
ideological warfare
We may be right or
we may be wrong
Or perhaps we could be listening 
to someone else’s song

 

The majority is always wrong
the minority is rarely right
Can we sing a different song?
Can we give away this fight?
The majority is always wrong
the minority is rarely right
Can we sing a different song?

Can we give away this fight?

 

[Who bombs never wins
Right and wrong is the game that kills our friends
Each of us lose when we parrot the news –
The experts paid to spruik the establishment’s views]

Go ahead call us conspiracists and fringe
and feel free to take that GMO syringe
We won’t fight you to stop you doing harm

just don’t expect us to put it in our arms

 

The majority is always wrong
the minority is rarely right
Can we sing a different song?
Can we give away this fight?
The majority is always wrong
the minority is rarely right
Can we sing a different song?
Can we give away this fight?

 

It’s the cult of
having to be right
It’s the game of
proving your might
But have you sought to
lay down your gloves
and walk that gentle road
home to your loves?