World News

by David Skripac

COVID is critical because this is what convinces people to accept, to legitimize, total biometric surveillance.”
Yuval Noah Harari, World Economic Forum

Using the fake “COVID virus” narrative as cover, the privileged, power-mad parasites who pilfer the world’s wealth have sharply accelerated their longstanding plan to create a single global empire that is completely under their command.

This single global empire will ultimately employ the services of all the transnational institutions on the planet in order to regulate and control every aspect of human life.

It is a global empire run by an exclusive club, perhaps 8,000 to 10,000 strong, whose members do not pledge allegiance to any national flag, who snobbishly view themselves as superior to their countrymen, and who are indifferent to political ideology so long as they can control the political structure from within. They aim to erase all national borders and are well on their way to shredding the constitutions of every nation-state.

It is a global empire that, unlike days of yore, needs no standing army to wage war on a battlefield against an opposing empire. For, in this era of the single global empire, the enemy being subdued is each and every one of us.

That mission is being accomplished through a sophisticated information warfare campaign, which is designed to monitor and manipulate our every thought, word, and deed.

Importantly, this offensive attack on us is intended to suppress and stamp out freedom in every aspect of our lives—economic freedom; political freedom (particularly the freedom to impart and receive information and to accept or reject information); physical movement freedom; healthcare decision freedom; and, above all, the independence to think for ourselves—what can be called mental freedom.

Before I expose this global empire in more detail, I would like to share with you, dear reader, a story about my parents. It serves to contrast the 1950s’ version of mass surveillance and harsh restrictions on individual freedoms in certain parts of the world with the 2020s version of repression, wherein all of humanity—regardless of where one lives—is steadily and surreptitiously being herded into an omnipresent totalitarian control grid.
Harking Back To 1955

In 1955, my parents, Maida and Janko, risked everything to leave their homeland, the Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia. It was not a decision they took lightly, for it meant losing everything—possibly even their lives—if Yugoslav authorities ever found out that my parents had no intention of ever returning after visiting neighboring Austria for what they told border guards was simply a fun weekend excursion.

Since the end of the Second World War, Yugoslavia had been ruled by the communists under the leadership of Josip Broz Tito. Although Tito’s government tried to improve the living standards of the average person, his apparatchiks’ authoritarian rule left a lot to be desired.

For instance, a major impediment to progress was the entrenched corruption at every level of the Yugoslav government. Members of the Communist Party received privileges and favors, while everyone else waited months on end for basic necessities, such as foodstuffs and housing. Among party members, kickbacks and bribery were commonplace. Advancement up the social and political ladder was based on party allegiance and on who you knew, not on merit.

Another major drawback under Tito’s reign was the curtailment of individual freedoms. My parents had witnessed firsthand an erosion of their basic rights—their right to assemble; their right to speak freely; their right to travel; and their right to own a business. If anyone bravely spoke out, either publicly or privately, against these injustices, the state would monitor and track his every move. One could even be watched by a nosy neighbour, who might well be working as a snitch for the government.

The surveillance net cast over Yugoslav society and the restrictions imposed on civil liberties became worse as the rift between Belgrade and Moscow intensified in the late 1940s and early 1950s. Starting in 1948, the Soviets actively tried to interfere with Yugoslavia’s domestic political affairs. They even sought to overturn the Yugoslav government, for Moscow disapproved of Tito’s desire to chart an independent course, separate from the Soviet-dominated Eastern Bloc.

In June 1948, for example, the Soviets addressed the Yugoslav people with a call to overthrow their government. Yet, despite Moscow’s shadow permeating all levels of Yugoslavia’s internal political affairs, Tito’s communists managed to retain power. The USSR and its Eastern European allies refused to retreat, though. They still threatened to invade upon any pretext.

At Stalin’s behest, the Soviets tried to assassinate Tito on several occasions. Meanwhile, once-friendly neighbors like Hungary and Romania, now in the grip of the USSR, blocked Yugoslavia’s borders and shot at—and sometimes killed—Yugoslav border guards.

Against this backdrop, my parents made the fateful decision to leave their homeland. For years, they had been hearing through the grapevine about the “Promised Land”: the continent of North America. A land where the post-war economy was booming. A land of endless possibilities and countless opportunities. A land where, if one were willing to work hard, anything could be achieved. It was time for them to make their move.

Fortunately, my mother had stayed in contact with Franc Kopitar, a close friend of her family since childhood. Franc, after having served with Tito’s partisans (his partisan code name was Silvo) during the Second World War, had joined the Yugoslav state tourist and transport agency Putnik. (The agency was later renamed Kompas—a name it holds to this day.)

Although Franc was a patriot, ready to do whatever was necessary to defend his nation against an invading military force, he deeply distrusted the communists. Thus, he was willing to secretly help my parents escape Tito’s iron fist to seek a better life.

In 1955, through his connections in the government, Franc was able to secure the requisite visa and travel documents that enabled my parents to visit Graz, Austria, on a “temporary weekend pass.” The documents were the real deal: They bore the required stamps of authorization and other markings that would mislead the authorities into believing that my parents would return after their weekend sojourn in neighboring Austria.

Franc had instructed my parents to fully furnish their apartment with newly purchased furniture before they left. He knew this would mislead anyone who might be prying into my parents’ travel plans. After all, why on earth would anyone spend all of their meagre earnings to buy brand new furniture for their apartment if they planned to permanently leave the country?

With the deceptive scene of decorated rooms set in place and their deceptive scheme set in motion, my by-now-virtually-penniless parents packed everything they treasured into two small suitcases and set out for the Ljubljana train station on a cold January afternoon in 1955.

Filled with hope and trepidation, they boarded the train that would take them to the Yugoslav/Austria border. Not knowing how this momentous day would end, three questions weighed heavily on their minds:

Who and what was waiting for them at the border?

If their papers were not in order, were they going to be taken to prison and interrogated for days on end?

Worse, if their papers were not in order or their demeanor seemed suspicious, would they be hauled off the train and escorted to a nearby forest, never to be seen again? They knew such a tragic end had befallen many unfortunate souls who had tried to escape Tito’s reign.

The train reached the border with Austria by nightfall. (Austria at the time was divided into four Allied occupation zones: British, American, French, and Soviet.) Before it was allowed to cross into the British occupation zone, Yugoslav military authorities boarded in search of anyone who looked remotely suspicious or was suspected of traveling without authorization.

My parents had been instructed by Franc to look the soldiers straight in the eye and smile when asked to present their documents for inspection. It was imperative to make eye contact. If you were perceived to be avoiding the authorities’ direct gaze or if you looked nervous, you would immediately be ordered to disembark.

But making eye contact was easier said than done. My parents watched helplessly as a passenger interrogated ahead of them was removed from their railway car and dragged into the adjacent forest. Within seconds, they heard the echo of gunshots.

Years later, my parents told me it was one of the most difficult moments they ever had to endure. They recalled feeling morbid fear and dread as they forced themselves to sit calmly and not perspire—while their insides were turning to jelly.

To their enormous relief, when it came time to have their documents examined, everything was found to be in order. Nothing about their papers, their countenance, or their actions betrayed their secret. And so they were allowed to remain on the train and proceed into Austria.

Once they reached the Graz train station, they had no idea what to do or where to go. So they stood on the platform until a man in a grey trench coat approached and asked, in perfect Croatian (though with a British accent), “Are you visiting or escaping?”

After hearing their answer, the man chaperoned them to a processing centre, where they were provided with food and water by the Catholic relief agency Caritas Internationalis. From there they were transported by bus, along with other refugees, to a Displaced Person Camp (DP Camp Nr. 1001) located in Wels, Austria, in the American occupation zone.

There, my parents were interrogated and processed by American officials and then shown to their tight-but-blessedly clean accommodations in the crowded camp.>Although the camp was crammed with refugees from all over Eastern Europe, everyone made a point of getting along. My parents met many wonderful people of every neighboring nationality—Hungarian, Ukrainian, Slovenian, Serbian, Croatian, and Bosnian—and from all walks of life during their stay at the camp. In the evenings, everyone played cards and shared stories—always full of intrigue and often pathos—about their harrowing journey from Eastern Europe.

After spending three months at the DP camp, my parents were invited to move into the home of a wonderful Austrian family as part of the Austrian government’s refugee sponsor program, which was coordinated through the United Nations Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR). The program was intended to help refugees learn the German language while providing them with a trade so that they could better assimilate into and contribute to Austrian society. (On average, about ten percent of all refugees would end up permanently staying in Austria, while the remainder would move abroad.)

Despite having forged an enduring bond of friendship during their sixteen months of lodging with the Austrian family, they nonetheless made the bold decision to voyage across the North Atlantic to the Port of Montreal, Canada, in 1957.

And the rest, as they say, is history.

Advancing To 2023

Lately I’ve asked myself: If my parents lived today in the region now known as the former Yugoslavia and if they sought to move to a country that promised them an opportunity to improve their fortunes, where would they go?

If they were looking for a place in which the inherent, inalienable rights of citizens are respected by the government, could they find such a place on any continent?

Would they still travel to the Commonwealth country of Canada?

Would they venture as far as the two southernmost Commonwealth nations—New Zealand and Australia?

Would they flee to the ostensibly free United States? Or to a US-controlled European Union country?

How about moving to one of the BRICs—say, to Brazil, Russia, or India? (No, they probably wouldn’t be tempted by China!)

One way to answer these questions is to take a look at the current political and economic conditions in the aforementioned countries—and ascertain the “freedom factor”—or lack thereof—in each.

As we make our way from country to country, we will examine the actions of their governments over the past three years and reach a conclusion on behalf of my parents.

Let’s start with the country they adopted and the country I was born and raised in: Canada.

A 2023 Look at Canada

When my parents immigrated to Canada in 1957, it was indeed a land of opportunity and of plenty. It was possible for a middle-class, single-income family with two children to own a house, a couple of vehicles, and perhaps a summer cottage.

My parents had only a sixth-grade education, but they were willing to work hard. In a span of two years, they earned and saved enough to start their own business—a beauty salon. By 1963, they were able to buy their first detached home for $10,000, with a $5,000 down payment. Five years later, they managed to pay off the mortgage from the proceeds of their modest income. Looking back, I find their determination and savings skills incredible!

full story at https://off-guardian.org/2023/06/06/moving-toward-a-global-empire-humanity-sentenced-to-a-unipolar-prison-and-a-digital-gulag/