From WRSA. I gots mine.
Do you have yours yet?
Marxist Indocrination Centers…errr…”Public Schools” via WRSA. Marxist Indoctrination of American children is a very significant contributing reason that we are where we are….
“A hot mic captured the moment a Pennsylvania House rep admitted to the state’s governor Tom Wolf that face masks are only being worn for the camera as “political theater.”
Do read the whole thing, though. Validating our suspicious nature of politicians….yet again.
Read the whole thing – and then put your thoughts in the comments. Let’s see what our consensus is….
I lived through the end of a civil war — I moved back to Sri Lanka in my twenties, just as the ceasefire fell apart. Do you know what it was like for me? Quite normal. I went to work, I went out, I dated. This is what Americans don’t understand. They’re waiting to get personally punched in the face while ash falls from the sky. That’s not how it happens.
This is how it happens. Precisely what you’re feeling now. The numbing litany of bad news. The ever rising outrages. People suffering, dying, and protesting all around you, while you think about dinner. If you’re trying to carry on while people around you die, your society is not collapsing. It’s already fallen down.
I was looking through some old photos for this article and the mix is shocking to me now. Almost offensive. There’s a burnt body in front of my office. Then I’m playing Scrabble with friends. There’s bomb smoke rising in front of the mall. Then I’m at a concert. There’s a long line for gas. Then I’m at a nightclub. This is all within two weeks.
Today I’m like, “Did we live like this?” But we did. I mean, I did. Was I a rich Colombo fuckboi while poorer people died, especially minorities? Well, yes. I wrote about it, but who cares.
The real question is, who are you? I mean, you’re reading this. You have the leisure to ponder American collapse like it’s even a question. The people really experiencing it already know.
As someone who’s already experienced societal breakdown, here’s the truth: America has already collapsed. What you’re feeling is exactly how it feels. It’s Saturday and you’re thinking about food while the world is on fire. This is normal. This is life during collapse.
Collapse does not mean you’re personally dying right now. It means y’all are dying right now. Death is sometimes close, sometimes far away, but always there. I used to judge those herds of gazelle when the lion eats one of them alive and everyone keeps going — but no, humans are just the same. That’s the real meaning of herd immunity. We’re fundamentally immune to giving a shit.
It honestly becomes mundane (for the privileged). As Colombo kids we used to go out, worry about money, fall in love — life went on. We’d pop the trunk for a bomb check. Turn off our lights for the air raids. I’m not saying that we were untouched. My friend’s dad was killed, suddenly, by a landmine. RIP Uncle Nihal. I know people who were beaten, arrested, and went into exile. But that’s not what my photostream looks like. It was mostly food and parties and normal stuff for a dumb twentysomething.
Collapse is just a series of ordinary days in between extraordinary bullshit, most of it happening to someone else. That’s all it is.
If you’re waiting for a moment where you’re like “this is it,” I’m telling you, it never comes. Nobody comes on TV and says “things are officially bad.” There’s no launch party for decay. It’s just a pileup of outrages and atrocities in between friendships and weddings and perhaps an unusual amount of alcohol.
Perhaps you’re waiting for some moment when the adrenaline kicks in and you’re fighting the virus or fascism all the time, but it’s not like that. Life is not a movie, and if it were, you’re certainly not the star. You’re just an extra. If something good or bad happens to you it’ll be random and no one will care. If you’re unlucky you’re a statistic. If you’re lucky, no one notices you at all.
Collapse is just a series of ordinary days in between extraordinary bullshit, most of it happening to someone else. That’s all it is.
One day, I was at work when someone left a bomb at the NOLIMIT clothing store. It exploded, killing 17 people. When these types of traumatic events take place, no two people experience the same thing. For me, it was seeing the phone lines getting clogged for an hour. For my wife, it was feeling the explosion a half-kilometer from her house. But for the families of the 17 victims, this was the end. And their grief goes on.
As you can see, this is not a uniform experience of chaos. For some people it destroys their bodies, others their hearts, but for most people it’s just a low-level hum at the back of their minds.
Today I assume you went to work. Bad news was everywhere, clogging up your social media, your conversations. Maybe it struck close to you. I’m sorry. Somewhere in your country, a thousand people died. I’m sorry for each of them. A thousand families are grieving tonight. A thousand more join them every day. The pain doesn’t go away, it just becomes a furniture of bones, in a thousand homes.
But that’s exactly how collapse feels. This is how I felt. This is how millions of people have felt, including many immigrants in your midst. We’re trying to tell you as loud as we can. You can get out of it, but you have to understand where you are to even turn around. This, I fear, is one of many things Americans do not understand. You tell yourself American collapse is impossible. Meanwhile, look around.
In the last three months America has lost more people than Sri Lanka lost in 30 years of civil war. If this isn’t collapse, then the word has no meaning. You probably still think of Sri Lanka as a shithole, though the war ended over a decade ago and we’re (relatively) fine. Then what does that make you?
America has fallen. You need to look up, at the people you’re used to looking down on. We’re trying to tell you something. I have lived through collapse and you’re already there. Until you understand this, you only have further to fall.
Mike Vanderbeogh’s Chapter 23 of, “Absolved,” titled, “Screaming Eagles”…enjoy!
Fort Campbell, KY: Nine Months and Two Days After the Battle of Sipsey Street.
“Sir, I protest this requisition. If we fill this order it amounts to a full fifteen percent of our existing stocks. It puts us below our own required minimums we may need in case of deployment.” The Captain looked for hope in the bird colonel’s hatchet face. There was none to be seen.
The Colonel was sympathetic but his hands were tied. He replied in a voice of flint, “Captain this order originated in the E-Ring. The Corps Commander protested it and was overruled. I assure you that you have less stoke in this outfit than General Mackey. You understand why these people want our rations, don’t you?”
Of course O’Toole knew. Anybody who read the front page of any newspaper in the United States knew. The Feds and the Brightfire mercenaries carrying out Operation Clean Sweep had started turning up poisoned by their own rations. Thousands had sickened, hundreds had died. Some mess hall or supply chain perpetrators had been caught, but many had not. They no longer can trust their own food so they need ours, and they need it fast.
The Colonel snapped, “This order will be obeyed, regardless of our opinion of it. So shut up and soldier and get it done.”
A lesser man would have withered under the Colonel’s glare. Captain O’Toole could just not bring himself to say “Yes, sir.” The Colonel paused. He hated that they had been tasked with supporting Operation Clean Sweep too. The pained look on O’Toole’s face caused him to add, almost kindly, “Look son, you don’t think that the present National Command Authority is going to deploy us overseas, do you? They promised the voters and the voters, God forgive them, gave them the power. The only military operations they’re interested in pursuing at the moment is against elements of our own people and the services won’t get involved in that, thank God. So if we have to give the Feds and the mercenaries some of our rations, understand that it could be a lot worse. We could be fighting our own people.”
The Captain mistook the Colonel’s softening voice for a weakened resolve and risked an insubordinate observation. “Sir, it’s just that I hate supporting those murdering sons of bi-.”
“Enough.” The command was iron. “Get it done Captain.”
“Yes, sir.” The O’Toole retreated as fast as military decorum permitted. Exiting the G-4’s office, he walked outside, putting his cover back on as he strode across the street to the warehouses beyond. Tall, blond-haired and handsome but for the curving scar that ran from his cheek up through the right side of his nose (a souvenir of Operation Iraqi Freedom), O’Toole was every inch an officer. He was a mustang, not a Pointer, and he was damned proud of it. His rise, courtesy of the killing op tempo of the wars, had been just short of meteoric, but then no one begrudged him that. He was very competent at any task he was assigned and although unknown to O’Toole, the Colonel intended to try to get him a leaf and bring him along with him when he finally got his star.
The Captain entered the relative gloom of the warehouse and removed his beret, crushing it in his right hand with a killing grip. He walked to his office, shut the door behind him and flung the beret across the room in frustration. The cover struck the corner of the black frame of his favorite picture of the war, an image of O’Toole and his men outside Uday and Qusay Hussein’s death house, smoke still rising from the rubble. The force of the blow knocked the picture from the wall, and gravity took over, bouncing it off the bookcase below and then to the floor, where the glass shattered in a hundred pieces.
“Shit!” the Captain began and followed with 40 or 50 words and phrases, all of them profane, some of them scatalogical and some worse than obscene. He hardly repeated himself.
The Good Soldier Schweik
Master Sergeant Joshua Robinson watched him through the glass, smiling at some of the Captain’s more original combinations. He sure still swears like an enlisted man, Robinson thought with a grin. Finally, O’Toole slumped in his chair, defeated, spent. After a few minutes, MSG Robinson entered. The Captain ignored him.
“No luck, Sir?” the big black non-com ventured. The Captain looked up. He was still so angry he did not trust his voice, so he just shook his head.
“Sir,” Robinson continued, “I think I have an idea. I’ve been on the phone to a buddy of mine at Bragg. They’ve got the same orders, and well, we talked about and I think maybe we can obey the order and still retain our honor.”
O’Toole, not daring to hope the Master Sergeant was right, asked “How’s that?”
“Sir, have you ever heard of “The Good Soldier Schweik?”
O’Toole smiled broadly for the first time all day. “Yeah I have, first back when I was a smart-ass Specialist, and several times since. I’ve still got a copy of The Fateful Adventures of the Good Soldier Švejk During the World War on my bookshelf at home. Too bad Jaroslav Hasek never got a chance to finish it. But what’s your point?
“Well, Cap’n we’ve got an order here, and we’ve got to obey it but that’s no reason we can’t obey it the way we want to, just like Schweik, is there?”
“Go on,” urged the Captain, still wondering where this was going.
“Well, you know how they’d give Schweik an order, like, ‘Take this important message to headquarters,’ and Schweik would run right over to HQ with the message but then not give it to anybody because they didn’t tell him to?”
“Yes,” said O’Toole carefully.
“Well Cap’n, they didn’t tell us what KIND of rations to send them did they? If you read the order again you’ll see they don’t specify.”
O’Toole didn’t have to consult the text, he had it in his head. “That’s right, so?”
“Well, talking to ‘Willy’ Mayes over at Bragg, we started thinking about all the really crappy stuff that’s built up in the warehouses over the past few years. Stuff we never touched because we were either deployed, or we were on mess hall rations. Stuff troopers wouldn’t eat, or got returned from FTXs unopened. You know we never threw that crap away if it was still within its expiration date, we just tossed it in big palletized cardboard boxes.”
O’Toole nodded, he knew exactly the kind of rations Robinson meant.
“Well, what got me thinking was ‘Willy’ mentioned that they had a whole bunch of overage ‘Four Fingers of Death’ MREs that they’d never got around to throwing away and said it’d serve those bastards right if he sent ’em those. And that’s when I thought about Good Soldier Schweik.” Master Sergeant Joshua Robinson paused. “Sir, you know we’ve got some of those ‘Four Fingers of Death,’ too. And Chicken Fajitas. And Country Captain Chicken. . .”
“Oh, God!” O’Toole blurted. “That crap tore me up during the invasion. . .”
“Yeah,” agreed Robinson, “that stuff was almost as bad as ‘The Four Fingers of Death.’ And you know, sir, those feds and mercenaries, they’re not going to be used to eating MREs. The ones who don’t puke and shit themselves to death will be sealed up tighter than a drum for a month and you know what THAT’S like.”
Meals Refusing Excretion
O’Toole did. M.R.E.’s, “Meal, Ready to Eat,” variously known throughout their history as as military rations as “”Mr. E” (mystery), “Meals Rejected by Everyone”, “Meals, Rarely Edible”, “Meals Rejected by the Enemy”, “Morsels, Regurgitated, Eviscerated”, “Materials Resembling Edibles”, and even “Meals Rejected by Ethiopians”, are high in fiber, chemicals, vitamins, hormones and God alone knows what else. Some called them “Three Lies for the Price of One” – it’s not a Meal, it’s not Ready, and you can’t Eat it. But the nickname Robinson was referring to was “Meals Refusing Excretion.” And that O’Toole remembered well.
When you first eat M.R.E’s with regularity your intestines are a mess. You will not be able to defecate for several days, sometimes weeks. Then you hit the point where you are so bloated you don’t want to eat and you start to feel the contractions and think, “Oh, thank you, blessed Jesus!” But then you run to the head and you are forced to give birth to a 15 pound iron rod. O’Toole’s anal sphincter twinged at the memory of it. It was the kind of thing where you hold onto the seat for dear life, your legs fully extended and there’s this stabbing pain that convinces you your guts are being lanced open from the inside out. And you grip that seat even tighter, and the only thing that you can think about while you groan and grit your teeth and the sweat pours from you is that there was once upon a time when your ass did not hurt that much. And you pray fervently, feverishly, for the return of that day.
Men had been shot by the enemy and later claimed it did not hurt as much as M.R.E. constipation.
Oh, yes, O’Toole remembered. So did his gut.
“You know, Master Sergeant, if we rounded up all the toxic M.R.E.’s and shipped them to the Feds, we might actually create an entire new front in the war.” Robinson laughed. “Yes, sir, we would . . . the Shithouse Main Line of Resistance.” Both men laughed so hard that they were heard on the street outside the open warehouse door by a passing Specialist who wondered what the joke was. Then they began planning how best to emulate The Good Soldier Schweik.
“We’ll need to swap boxes on them, sir,” Robinson reminded him.
“I’ll get the extra hands from the Colonel, and we’ll reband them, just like new. We’ll still meet the deadline.”
O’Toole paused. “You know when the Feds figure out what we did to them they’ll just shit all over that fancy raid gear of theirs.” Robinson looked at the Captain, shaking his head. “No they won’t.” Both Screaming Eagles laughed until they cried.
Ten days later, outside of Idabel, Oklahoma.
“Sir, the M.R.E.’s are finally here,” said the ASAC’s aide. The supervisory ATF agent sighed with relief, “Great! Finally food we don’t have to worry about. It’s about time. Fish me out one, Harkins, I’m hungry enough to eat a sick snake.”
The agent pulled a brown plastic envelope out of the box and brought it over to the ASAC, placing it on his desk in front of him. The ASAC turned it around and looked at the label: “Meal, Ready to Eat, Smoky Franks and Beans.”
The ASAC snorted in disgust. He was a veteran, he knew what “The Four Fingers of Death” was. “Harkins,” he ordered, “get me another one, I ain’t eatin’ this shit.”
“Sir, they’re all the same in this box.”
“What! No, there’s supposed to be an assortment of meals in each case.”
“I know, sir, Special Agent Marx said the same thing, but we’ve opened all of the ones we received and they all have franks and beans in them. And Charms candy. They sent us extra packs of Charms candy in each box.”
The ASAC knew what Charms candy meant too. No self-respecting soldier ate Charms. They were considered bad luck, evil juju, a death wish. They came in the old M.R.E.’s but nobody but uninformed Fobbits ate them.
Great, a death wish AND digestive terror from our own Army. “Well shit and shove me in it,” said the ASAC.
He looked at the brown envelope. This shit just HAD to be years beyond the expiration date.
“What does it mean, sir? Marx said something about the Charms being bad luck.”
“What it means, Harkins, is that our own Army just told us, ‘Fuck you.'”
“Well, shit,” Harkins blurted, then remembering it was his boss, stammered, “uh, sir.”
“Well, maybe,” said the ASAC, “but probably not. Not for a while anyway.” And then, to no one in particular, “Those dirty stinking bastards. The Four Fingers of Death.” His hunger overcame his disgust. He took out his Gerber, slit the plastic envelope, and removed the contents. “Those dirty stinking bastards.”
“Whenever the legislators endeavor to take away and destroy the property of the people, or to reduce them to slavery under arbitrary power, they put themselves into a state of war with the people, who are thereupon absolved from any further obedience.” ~ John Locke
This quote was also the opening of the late Mike Vanderboegh’s book, “Absolved,” which never made it to print. Pity, as it would have been a best seller.
NIce to know information, if you hadn’t seen this…
Appropriate today as we watch the country continue to suffer assault by Communists, Marxists, and Progressive enemies of Liberty.
Patrick Henry, March 23, 1775
No man thinks more highly than I do of the patriotism, as well as abilities, of the very worthy gentlemen who have just addressed the House.
But different men often see the same subject in different lights; and, therefore, I hope it will not be thought disrespectful to those gentlemen if, entertaining as I do opinions of a character very opposite to theirs, I shall speak forth my sentiments freely and without reserve. This is no time for ceremony. The question before the House is one of awful moment to this country. For my own part, I consider it as nothing less than a question of freedom or slavery; and in proportion to the magnitude of the subject ought to be the freedom of the debate. It is only in this way that we can hope to arrive at truth, and fulfill the great responsibility which we hold to God and our country. Should I keep back my opinions at such a time, through fear of giving offense, I should consider myself as guilty of treason towards my country, and of an act of disloyalty toward the Majesty of Heaven, which I revere above all earthly kings.
Mr. President, it is natural to man to indulge in the illusions of hope. We are apt to shut our eyes against a painful truth, and listen to the song of that siren till she transforms us into beasts. Is this the part of wise men, engaged in a great and arduous struggle for liberty? Are we disposed to be of the number of those who, having eyes, see not, and, having ears, hear not, the things which so nearly concern their temporal salvation? For my part, whatever anguish of spirit it may cost, I am willing to know the whole truth; to know the worst, and to provide for it.
I have but one lamp by which my feet are guided, and that is the lamp of experience. I know of no way of judging of the future but by the past. And judging by the past, I wish to know what there has been in the conduct of the British ministry for the last ten years to justify those hopes with which gentlemen have been pleased to solace themselves and the House. Is it that insidious smile with which our petition has been lately received? Trust it not, sir; it will prove a snare to your feet.
Suffer not yourselves to be betrayed with a kiss. Ask yourselves how this gracious reception of our petition comports with those warlike preparations which cover our waters and darken our land. Are fleets and armies necessary to a work of love and reconciliation? Have we shown ourselves so unwilling to be reconciled that force must be called in to win back our love? Let us not deceive ourselves, sir. These are the implements of war and subjugation; the last arguments to which kings resort. I ask gentlemen, sir, what means this martial array, if its purpose be not to force us to submission? Can gentlemen assign any other possible motive for it? Has Great Britain any enemy, in this quarter of the world, to call for all this accumulation of navies and armies? No, sir, she has none. They are meant for us: they can be meant for no other. They are sent over to bind and rivet upon us those chains which the British ministry have been so long forging. And what have we to oppose to them?
Shall we try argument? Sir, we have been trying that for the last ten years. Have we anything new to offer upon the subject? Nothing. We have held the subject up in every light of which it is capable; but it has been all in vain. Shall we resort to entreaty and humble supplication? What terms shall we find which have not been already exhausted? Let us not, I beseech you, sir, deceive ourselves. Sir, we have done everything that could be done to avert the storm which is now coming on. We have petitioned; we have remonstrated; we have supplicated; we have prostrated ourselves before the throne, and have implored its interposition to arrest the tyrannical hands of the ministry and Parliament. Our petitions have been slighted; our remonstrances have produced additional violence and insult; our supplications have been disregarded; and we have been spurned, with contempt, from the foot of the throne! In vain, after these things, may we indulge the fond hope of peace and reconciliation. There is no longer any room for hope. If we wish to be free — if we mean to preserve inviolate those inestimable privileges for which we have been so long contending — if we mean not basely to abandon the noble struggle in which we have been so long engaged, and which we have pledged ourselves never to abandon until the glorious object of our contest shall be obtained — we must fight! I repeat it, sir, we must fight! An appeal to arms and to the God of hosts is all that is left us!
They tell us, sir, that we are weak; unable to cope with so formidable an adversary. But when shall we be stronger? Will it be the next week, or the next year? Will it be when we are totally disarmed, and when a British guard shall be stationed in every house? Shall we gather strength but irresolution and inaction? Shall we acquire the means of effectual resistance by lying supinely on our backs and hugging the delusive phantom of hope, until our enemies shall have bound us hand and foot? Sir, we are not weak if we make a proper use of those means which the God of nature hath placed in our power. The millions of people, armed in the holy cause of liberty, and in such a country as that which we possess, are invincible by any force which our enemy can send against us. Besides, sir, we shall not fight our battles alone. There is a just God who presides over the destinies of nations, and who will raise up friends to fight our battles for us. The battle, sir, is not to the strong alone; it is to the vigilant, the active, the brave. Besides, sir, we have no election. If we were base enough to desire it, it is now too late to retire from the contest. There is no retreat but in submission and slavery! Our chains are forged! Their clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston! The war is inevitable — and let it come! I repeat it, sir, let it come.
It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry, Peace, Peace — but there is no peace. The war is actually begun! The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms! Our brethren are already in the field! Why stand we here idle? What is it that gentlemen wish? What would they have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty or give me death!
Original at Natural News, here. Kudos to Adams for breaking this story — if half of it actually happens, we might take a step or two back from the brink. And I gotta say, anyone who uses their mobile device for comms has fewer brain cells than most of humanity. Just having the phone on your person can provide tower links to establish locations and general whereabouts that point an investigating agency to the person/group in question. In this case, I’m glad they’re (antifa/blm) so arrogant.
Sunday, September 27, 2020 by: Mike Adams
Tags: antifa, Black Lives Matter, BLM, federal agents, insurrection, intelligence, KKK, national security, President Trump, rioting, riots, Sedition, terrorism, Trump, violence
(Natural News) As you might recall, we’ve been reporting on Trump’s plans to invoke the Insurrection Act after the election, deploying military troops on the streets to halt the extremist left-wing political coup attempt that’s expect to be activated shortly after the election. Now, fascinating news has emerged that confirms US federal intelligence officials have, for months, been quietly identifying the participants and leaders of both Antifa and BLM terrorist organizations, including wealthy donors who are funding these operations.
It turns out that Trump’s DHS has been using sophisticated phone “cloning” hardware to impersonate the phones of Antifa and BLM extremists in order to eavesdrop on their phone calls and texts. Through this technology, they have assembled a complete organizational structure and hierarchy map of the leaders involved in today’s left-wing terrorist operations. More importantly, this information is being readied for a nationwide takedown of illegal insurrectionists once the Insurrection Act is activated.
All this is being confirmed by numerous media investigative efforts, including those of anti-Trump publisher The Nation, which reported:
While in Portland, an interagency task force involving DHS and the Justice Department used a sophisticated cell phone cloning attack — the details of which remain classified — to intercept protesters’ phone communications, according to two former intelligence officers familiar with the matter.
Indy media outlet News Thud further reports that the collection of this information points to an “October surprise” during which left-wing terrorists may face sweeping arrests:
So the DHS and the FBI have been listening to Antifa and they know who in the media and in politics they have been talking to. You can tell by reading the report from The Nation, the left is getting real nervous about this because it is the number one report on their website as of the writing of this post.
Further confirmation of all this emerged from Trump’s own words, uttered just two days ago, when he promised to designate both Antifa and the KKK as “terrorist organizations.” Reporting via The Epoch Times:
President Donald Trump is slated to announce a measure that designates far-left movement Antifa and the Ku Klux Klan (KKK) as terrorist organizations, calling for lynching to be made a federal hate crime.
Attorney General William Barr in August said Antifa is a “revolutionary group” that is bent on establishing communism or socialism in the United States.
“They are a revolutionary group that is interested in some form of socialism, communism. They’re essentially Bolsheviks. Their tactics are fascistic,” Barr said in an interview with Fox News on Aug. 9.
Kyle Shideler, director and senior analyst for Homeland Security and Counterterrorism at the Center for Security Policy, told The Epoch Times that Barr and other federal officials need to “treat the group as the subversive and insurrectionist force it is.”
These developments are crucial to note for several important reasons:
#1) Both Antifa and the KKK are creations of Democrats
While Trump may be appearing to balance terrorist designations by pairing Antifa with the KKK — which many Americans incorrectly believe would balance left-wing vs. right-wing — in truth the KKK is a creation of the Left. The KKK could best be described as the Antifa of the 1950s. It was the militant wing of the Democrats, just like Antifa is today. In effect, this designation by Trump is a double declaration against the terrorism of Democrats.
#2) Once Antifa is officially designated a terrorist organization, mass arrests can begin immediately
The official designation of Antifa as a terrorist organization will unleash federal law enforcement resources to wage mass arrests across Oregon, Washington, California and New York, among other states. The entire Antifa leadership will be taken down very quickly, removing from the left-wing coup masterminds their “militant troops” that they hope will carry out their color revolution against America.
#3) Any corporations who funded Antifa will be complicit in financing domestic terrorism, which is a felony crime
The designation of Antifa as a terrorist organization will also ensnare all those US corporations that have donated money to Antifa over the last four years. Those corporations will suddenly find themselves guilty of financing domestic terrorism operations, and they will be subject to arrest and seizure of assets. (I have no doubt much of the funding will be traced back to Big Tech.) This is how Trump fights back against left-wing corporate giants funding illegal insurrection activities to try to overthrow the United States.
#4) Arrests of Antifa terrorists will lead US authorities directly to globalist donors like George Soros
Finally, once the arrests of Antifa begin, investigations will lead authorities directly to the funding sources of this coup attempt. These “money men” include George Soros and other wealthy globalist persons and corporations — even nations like China — that are trying to destroy the United States of America.
The good news in all this is that Trump has a plan to disrupt the “color revolution” coup attempt of the radical Left, which is being run by the CIA against America. This same type of revolution has been plotted and carried out in many other nations around the world, following the same playbook. Even Glenn Beck got it right with his coverage of this topic:
As I’ve previously explained in podcasts, left-wing rioters are going to be charged with sedition once Trump invokes the Insurrection Act and activates the US military across 50 cities, all of whom are being put in place under the cover story of “Operation Warp Speed” which claims the military is needed to distribute vaccines. See my previous story: ANALYSIS: Trump’s “military” deployment of vaccines on Nov. 1 is a clever cover story to prepare for Insurrection Act invocation, mass arrests using military police.
Here are more details on the “Operation Chaos” plans of the Democrats, who are all treasonous actors who must be arrested, prosecuted and executed if found guilty of treason:
…..see the rest at the link at the beginning of the article.