The Habit Responsible For the Fact I am Still Alive and Kicking

Attacks to my heart constitute the heaviest attacks I am currently getting at night. My heart region is struck with high power directed energies for hours on end and it is only because of the shields I insist on wearing when I go to bed that I can stay in life. It looks like they want to go for the "died of a heart attack" scenario that has become a common cause of death of top activists.

This is interesting and meant for those of you who still doubt a grown man's words or, worse still, think the strange nature of the things I say is indicative of a mental issue. Those of you who know it is real should also read this as there is information contained in the piece that you will find useful.

Two nights ago, I was woken up in the middle of the night with my heart thumping, throbbing. Thought I was having a heart attack and, knowing the program I am under, I knew THEY (by this I mean the globalist western elite's hired killers using kinetic or directed energy weapons on board either drones or satellites) were behind what was happening.

As I have mentioned elsewhere before, I go to bed with the top of my torso clad in a conducting layer and I have reason to believe I would not be alive today had it not been for this habit.

Metal armour worn around the torso in the western middle ages by knights to shield them from projectiles in the heat of battle ... similar to the armour I wear in bed or under my clothes while out and about

The near heart attack I experienced that night suggests the shield is no longer working. Obviously, they have increased fire power or brought in a better device with improved capabilities.

Now, I understand you will be sitting there going "just make an appointment with a physician and get your heart checked before you get a real heart attack", but wait for it ...

I got up out of bed, out of balance and breath, chest throbbing. As soon as I was upright, I started feeling relief and, soon, the pace at which my heart was beating went down to normal. The only option I thought I had was to increase the layers of protection otherwise I would not see the light of day unless I stayed upright all night and did not fall asleep.

I know from experience that THEY have the technology to force sleep. Thinking I could beat that technology and stay awake till the break of dawn was foolish, so I went to work with available materials to increase the layers of my shield. I realised I was going to need more material than I had in the home to be secure I would not be hit in the heart again because, if I stretched what was available around my torso, it would be too thin. So I decided I was only going to cover the part where the heart was located which is the left front and side of my chest.

I went back to sleep like this, making a mental note to remain sleeping on my back for the duration, with fingers crossed and, joy joy, I woke up in the morning. I got to see a new day and it seemed from the energy in my 3 km walk later in the afternoon that there was nothing to worry about the state of my heart.

Coincidence or maybe there is something I missed? Read further to find out.

The night came again and I put the sleeping shield on and got into bed. I had not had the time to find extra metal so that I covered the remaining areas, allowing me to turn in my sleep therefore, just as had been the case the previous night, the mental note was to sleep on my back, with a slight twist to the right, till morning.

My body must have later on disobeyed this directive because I turned and slept on my front. I woke up to severe pain in the heart region with the heart beating like it was about to burst. The pain I felt extended to the back indicating the entry trajectory. There was also this loud blaring sound in my ear that I am used to every night except it was louder than usual.

I turned back into the safe position and immediately experienced relief. My heart settled back into a normal beat and I noticed that the blaring sound went off.

This is when the idea came to me to check something about this sound.

I waited for some time, listening for the sound, and when I was sure it had not turned on for at least thirty minutes, I deliberately turned and lay on my chest and, almost immediately, the sound came back on again. I stayed put as the two tone whistle blared in my ear and, of course, I turned back to lie on my back when my heart beat started rising ... and all went back to normal.

The sound has been going on for the past +-5 years and I always knew it was not an ultrasound, but the effect of a microwave hitting the eardrums (note: there is a scientific name for that and it is NOT "tinnitus"). Apart from that, I did not know what the frequency was used for. I took it that because it usually started when I was behind shields, it was used to see me behind this cover.

Only the previous night did it dawn on me that they were using something else to see me behind the cover of shields and the sound indicated an actual attack to the upper body region in progress.

I discern attacks to my lower extremity but never hear the sound at such moments, meaning only when the attack is near the eardrums does the sound register. This also suggests those moments when I feel an attack to my lower extremity and hear the sound as well may just indicate either a very high attack intensity or two beams focussed on my body at once.

What this says about my perceptions is that they are spot on and my measures to protect self from harm are doing something in that direction. It cannot be doubted after all this is considered that I am right to say I owe the fact I am still alive to this habit.

The Truth About the Doctor Profession in the Context of an Evil Culture

Veterinary doctor

I almost ended up a vet. It could have been worse, I could have become a doctor and they are always the first in line of health developments in a region that often have to be kept secret.

They have to keep their mouths shut about their observations otherwise they don't get to see their kids grow up and I know I can't keep quiet about major issues ... not because I am foolish, but because I suffer from healthy paranoia. I tend to connect things rapidly, and if the danger appears to come my way, which it most often does in part because I am a slave of the "there but for the grace of God go I" logic, and also because I am aware of the many other things that are done to keep people under in this culture and I know my silence will lead to the death of those I think I will not see if I speak out, the children I am fending for and think I am protecting by keeping quiet, I will share what I know with as many others as I can, as quickly as I can, in the hopes my efforts will correct matters ... then I'll duck.

Obviously, as a practising doctor, I would have ended up dead or living in exile a long time ago.

Here's the truth about doctors in the context of an evil culture that maybe you did not know about. If people are dying in more numbers than usual, the age groups, and all the other details that can make a conspiracy apparent, doctors are the first to know. They chart the developments from the moment people come to see them with minor complaints to when they are serious.

Often, for various reasons that include complicity or pressure from more powerful entities in society, governments want to keep these developments secret and this is where the trouble starts for me.

You see, there are many ways people are assassinated and sometimes, believe you me, entire planes full of passengers are downed just to get one man. Communities getting too clever for their own good can be sabotaged, including the very government officials acting like they are taking up a contract and safe from harm.

One way this can be done is through the food supply chain. So ... it is not just enough if you know your community can be targeted to stop buying from the local groceries or eating at the restaurant if you realise you are the target yourself because the larger community can be attacked in order to take out a smaller one within, or an individual, just like a jumbo can be dropped from the sky to get one activist or just someone people in power fear. Your safety, or that of your loved ones, cannot be guaranteed by evasive measure of this kind.

S**t happens!

Your best bet of saving lives starts when you realise s**t happening is an order of life, and when it happens in your life you need to not just acknowledge it, like a man grabbed by the leg by a croc has to know s**t has happened, and also confront it the best way you can. Trying to wrest your leg free is one way to do this when a cold blooded reptile has clamped its teeth on your leg, the counterpart of which is calling it out when powerful forces in society are behind your woes, if you do not know who they are and where they hang out at.

Make noise and ensure you are heard by as many people as possible. You will not be believed the first time but rest assured people will eventually realise you are telling them the truth and it is not because you are foolish that you are saying something that could bring you trouble, but that, on the contrary, you are already in trouble and what you are doing is the wisest thing someone left with your options can do.

It is, after all, with but two hands that we are put here on earth, and we can only do as much as two hands are capable of doing at a single time.

And You'd think I would have escaped the fate of a doctor because I didn't become one, but I am a target today and, though the death or exile has been postponed, I am going through the motions just as described above. The "two hands we are given" rule is not just a limiting factor, but it also serves as a guide to how I deal with the Target of Covert warfare/Cause stalking status that has befallen me nonetheless.

The devils have been around me forever now, most of my adult life. They are there throughout the day but the hassle bustle of the day almost makes me forget their presence.

At night though, when they choose, sometimes immediately I get into bed or sometime thereafter, the blaring starts and the heating as well. Each single night it seems like a new experience and is unbelievable because it has been ongoing for years.

Years? 24/7?

They must have a crew of people doing shifts on me. Paid ... as in salaried. Can you believe that s**t? But it does happen.

As I go about informing others, I am also aware there are actions and reactions I can expect from them. I know it must be harder on mature human beings hearing a grown man who is evidently coherent, therefore sane, complaining about some sci-fi stuff happening to him.

I think, in view of all this, most people "choose" to consider me mentally challenged. It is a convenient position to take and most people think it saves them from a similar fate while, in reality, they're hiding their head in sand.

Tupac, another rose that grew in concrete, experienced the full gamut of what I am going through ... much more intensely, though, because he was in the fast lane. Making millions. The poor fellow knew people around him could not save him so he took himself out of hospital even when he knew his injuries needed hospital.

Tupac in a wheel chair

He had to do it all himself because he knew others were sleeping. I have survived by doing all the defending necessary from kinetic or directed energies myself because, even when I realise the value I represent to my community (which is why I am a target in the first place) should have made them jump to my rescue a long time ago, my community does not make the realisation, and where they do, they cannot see how they can help me.

I have to do it all myself just like our slain hero Tupac. Even I had to force an early discharge from hospital going home with a cracked skull when I should have stayed in hospital because I was in danger there. The consequence of this was that some blood got onto my brains and, for a while, I lost my mind.

The Truth About the Doctor Profession in the Context of an Evil Culture

Veterinary doctor

I almost ended up a vet. It could have been worse, I could have become a doctor and they are always the first in line of health developments in a region that often have to be kept secret.

They have to keep their mouths shut about their observations otherwise they don't get to see their kids grow up and I know I can't keep quiet about major issues ... not because I am foolish, but because I suffer from healthy paranoia. I tend to connect things rapidly, and if the danger appears to come my way, which it most often does in part because I am a slave of the "there but for the grace of God go I" logic, and also because I am aware of the many other things that are done to keep people under in this culture and I know my silence will lead to the death of those I think I will not see if I speak out, the children I am fending for and think I am protecting by keeping quiet, I will share what I know with as many others as I can, as quickly as I can, in the hopes my efforts will correct matters ... then I'll duck.

Obviously, as a practising doctor, I would have ended up dead or living in exile a long time ago.

Here's the truth about doctors in the context of an evil culture that maybe you did not know about. If people are dying in more numbers than usual, the age groups, and all the other details that can make a conspiracy apparent, doctors are the first to know. They chart the developments from the moment people come to see them with minor complaints to when they are serious.

Often, for various reasons that include complicity or pressure from more powerful entities in society, governments want to keep these developments secret and this is where the trouble starts for me.

You see, there are many ways people are assassinated and sometimes, believe you me, entire planes full of passengers are downed just to get one man. Communities getting too clever for their own good can be sabotaged, including the very government officials acting like they are taking up a contract and safe from harm.

One way this can be done is through the food supply chain. So ... it is not just enough if you know your community can be targeted to stop buying from the local groceries or eating at the restaurant if you realise you are the target yourself because the larger community can be attacked in order to take out a smaller one within, or an individual, just like a jumbo can be dropped from the sky to get one activist or just someone people in power fear. Your safety, or that of your loved ones, cannot be guaranteed by evasive measure of this kind.

S**t happens!

Your best bet of saving lives starts when you realise s**t happening is an order of life, and when it happens in your life you need to not just acknowledge it, like a man grabbed by the leg by a croc has to know s**t has happened, and also confront it the best way you can. Trying to wrest your leg free is one way to do this when a cold blooded reptile has clamped its teeth on your leg, the counterpart of which is calling it out when powerful forces in society are behind your woes, if you do not know who they are and where they hang out at.

Make noise and ensure you are heard by as many people as possible. You will not be believed the first time but rest assured people will eventually realise you are telling them the truth and it is not because you are foolish that you are saying something that could bring you trouble, but that, on the contrary, you are already in trouble and what you are doing is the wisest thing someone left with your options can do.

It is, after all, with but two hands that we are put here on earth, and we can only do as much as two hands are capable of doing at a single time.

And You'd think I would have escaped the fate of a doctor because I didn't become one, but I am a target today and, though the death or exile has been postponed, I am going through the motions just as described above. The "two hands we are given" rule is not just a limiting factor, but it also serves as a guide to how I deal with the Target of Covert warfare/Cause stalking status that has befallen me nonetheless.

The devils have been around me forever now, most of my adult life. They are there throughout the day but the hassle bustle of the day almost makes me forget their presence.

At night though, when they choose, sometimes immediately I get into bed or sometime thereafter, the blaring starts and the heating as well. Each single night it seems like a new experience and is unbelievable because it has been ongoing for years.

Years? 24/7?

They must have a crew of people doing shifts on me. Paid ... as in salaried. Can you believe that s**t? But it does happen.

As I go about informing others, I am also aware there are actions and reactions I can expect from them. I know it must be harder on mature human beings hearing a grown man who is evidently coherent, therefore sane, complaining about some sci-fi stuff happening to him.

I think, in view of all this, most people "choose" to consider me mentally challenged. It is a convenient position to take and most people think it saves them from a similar fate while, in reality, they're hiding their head in sand.

Tupac, another rose that grew in concrete, experienced the full gamut of what I am going through ... much more intensely, though, because he was in the fast lane. Making millions. The poor fellow knew people around him could not save him so he took himself out of hospital even when he knew his injuries needed hospital.

Tupac in a wheel chair

He had to do it all himself because he knew others were sleeping. I have survived by doing all the defending necessary from kinetic or directed energies myself because, even when I realise the value I represent to my community (which is why I am a target in the first place) should have made them jump to my rescue a long time ago, my community does not make the realisation, and where they do, they cannot see how they can help me.

I have to do it all myself just like our slain hero Tupac. Even I had to force an early discharge from hospital going home with a cracked skull when I should have stayed in hospital because I was in danger there. The consequence of this was that some blood got onto my brains and, for a while, I lost my mind.

Taliban Tunnels and Why They are a Must if you are on the list of the US's Hgh Profile Targets

Ronald Reagan meets Afghan Mujahideen Commanders at the White House in 1985

The Taliban and the United states elite were once upon a time bed fellows or the best of mates, of sorts, so how, you may ask, did it come to the point where the US found it necesary to drop the mother of all bombs on their hideout?

They fell out, period. It's that simple.

The Taliban does not comprise burrowing mamals and here again, you might wonder why they took to life in tunnels dug into the ground? Again, the answer is simple. In a world where no part of the sky doesn't have a spy satellite hovering menacingly about, with hi-tech gadgets that can see through almost anything, tunnels dug deep into the ground are the best way of evading their prying eyes, and there's more.

Tunnels are a way of ensuring one does not just prevent being seen on a screen connected to an apparatus that can see through a wall or roof, avoiding being visible for the sake of it, but, once built properly, they can prevent those with the technology from using it to know the exact whereabouts of the person or persons they are looking for.

Depending on how intricately built a system of tunnels are, well thought out and formidable attempts to force one's way through the defences to the one being defended, the leader, can be foiled, otherwise the one being sought is allowed the time required to escape, using an exit that leads through another series of tunnels not under attack. They can thus, allow a fugitive to evade capture and if intelligence within the tunnels is good enough, it is possible to know the parts that are still safe to remain in right away.

Vietnamese tunnels during the Vietnam War

The areas can be certified safe because they are as of yet unknown or, by calculating the amount of time and effort in manpower and armament it took the intruders to reach a certain point in the tunnel system, some areas can be certified safe because they will allow the fugitive ample time to make it to safety if an intrusion appears headed that way.

But there is another thing that these tunnels do apart from just give the safe feeling to those who choose to dig them and hide away in them. This reality is best seen in one of the most common means of control that those who rule apply on those they rule, which is poisoning.

The fact they will go to extreme lengths to get poisons into the food chain of the poor tells us it is a very effective method of keeping them in chains, and the reason for this is in how poisons affect animal life.

Chemtrails over the skies of London UK

You see, even though there is no single time in life that any man will be 100% healthy, there is such a thing as optimum health. There is a big difference between how a man with optimum health copes in his environment compared to another whose system is inundated with poisons. Not only can poisonous substances adversely affect the functioning of the reasoning capacities of the poisoned, but they also drain the system of resources given the body engages in an effort to neutralize and evict the alien substances.

People being poisoned will as such find it harder to see their way out of the confines of poverty and any other kind of problematic situation compared to people who are not being poisoned. They will tend to be less inventive because their minds are not working as good, and being inventive is a must for one looking for gimmicks out of a bad situation.

How does this connect to the issue of the Taliban in tunnels? Well, it is not all technologies on prying satellites that only function to spot people hiding behind walls. Some of them, especially the microwave variant, and here we are speaking specific, highly penetrative frequencies, can be used to destroy tissue. In this, they can have the very same effect on the speculative capacities of an individual as poisons.

Artistic impression of a satellite firing a mcrowave laser also called Kinetic Weaponry

Picture yourself going to bed an intelligent being then waking up the next morning an utter idiot. This is what the US would want to happen to you as it makes controlling you easier. This is what spending nights deep underground prevents from happening to you.

Saying "good night" to their pals while deep underground, the Taliban are assured a good night's sleep, and they can wake up the next morning bright, as bright as ever, and you know they are going to add bright to everything they do as they go about their no good deeds. With the vinear of bright added to them, these deeds stand a better chance of making a difference now or later, no?

This, the US doesn't want. It wants to see the Taliban become such fools they will perpetually shoot self in the foot till they are no more.

Detonation of the "Mother of all Bombs" in Afghanistan last week

But then you may ask what dropping the mother of all bombs on an area known to have tunnels dug deep into the earth does that changes things. Why not just beg the Taliban to stick their knecks out so they can be hacked at?

Is is just a matter of pride on the part of the agressor super power?

It would appear from the resolve to use the biggest bomb in their arsenal that the tunnels in question have been dug really, really deep into the ground. The big bomb, then, is the only thing that stands a chance of destroying the system of tunnels by sheer use of the physics of force. The shock waves generated have to be enough to reach as deep into the ground as is needed to destroy the tunnels completely, or at least make them as unusable as will require more effort than can be summoned to rebuild.

But then how do we, the bystanders, get to know whether the effort was a success? The Taliban are not going to tell us, and if you followed the story of how one Osama Bin Laden got his head blasted then the remains dropped into the Indian Ocean because his killers thought his family members will freak out at the sight of the head and there will be no body viewing, and the US of A will get sued silly for allowing the mercenaries to target practice on poor Osama's head, never mind he was already dead when they were getting their balls off, then you know the US will also not tell us anything of use to this end, otherwise what they will divulge will be utter falsehood.

Best to just wait it out in your own personal tunnel and hope good news is all there is to expect to come from Afghanistan.

How Dead Doves Proved My Fears Right

A dead dove

 
Back in 1999, I spent 6 months writing a book I was sure would be a winner once complete. I told some of my friends that I was writing, without giving details of what it really was about.

Someone must have told somebody else till the wrong people came to know because, out of the blues, I started coming across one too many people eager to divulge the finer details of my work. As I walked through the streets, I heard strangers make remarks when I was within earshot that spoke of the stage I had reached in the story I was writing.

Those following the developments of my story closely, who took every opportunity to have me know they knew how far I had progressed with my work were obviously using under handed methods to know what was going on in the privacy of my home. I figured the only way they could have been privy to the finer details of an idea that was not digital yet, an idea being developed behind closed doors, was through break ins when nobody was around.

I started working on securing my home from such break ins, taking care to ensure not a single window frame was not so bolted it could not be removed, and where this was not possible I placed tape or whatever material I found suitable, in crucial spaces and places, then after making sure an intruder who went to the extent of dismantling the entire door with frame to enter the home (this is done sometimes) would disturb these pieces, I took pictures of the items and checked each time I returned home if there were changes.
I started doing the same at the entrance to the home. I chained the inside then placed a padlock on the chain that had to be bypassed to gain entry. I taped the padlock's keyhole over after locking it, including areas I knew objects could be inserted to force them open and, given patterns formed during the taping process that were different each time around, I took pictures of this and would check upon return whether there had been any changes which would indicate entry.

Soon hereafter, updates on the status of my story by total strangers on the streets stopped.
As soon as I satisfied myself that the project was finished, I printed it out then sent the manuscript to a publisher.

Very early the next morning I was woken up by loud noises outside my door. Before I could get up out of my bed, my door had been broken down and large, tall Dutch police officers stood in my flat reading me my rights.

They had come to arrest me for outstanding traffic violation offences even when they were already being handled by a lawyer who had assured me there was no risk of arrest as long as the procedure he had started was not concluded.

Had he lied to me? Had he betrayed me?

I was taken to a prison facility in the north of the country, in Groningen, where I was placed in a single cell with lou, a coffee machine and a telly.

The inside of Veenhuizen prison where I spent 5 months on a starvation ration before being transferred to another prison in the middle of the country
 
I settled into this new arrangement and immediately focussed my day to day efforts on getting out as soon as I could. I lived in rented accommodation and I had to see to it that arrangements were made to pay the rent otherwise I risked losing property.

We were locked up most of the time and I spent most of this time reading or watching television. One day, while tuned to a local Dutch channel, I watched an African author answering questions the host asked about a book he had just published.

When asked to give a few details about the book, I was dismayed to discover it was the same as my idea, to the very last detail. It is impossible that two Africans living in two different places had both written novels in four parts or four stories following the lives of men and women who lived through the slave trade, through successive generations into the present. I could not understand what was going on because for all intents and purposes, the African on the telly was not the author of the book under consideration. I was the author of that book and I was in prison while my intellectual property was getting usurped.

Was this the reason they had locked me up? So they could steal my work?

I tried to look at this from every angle I could but only this appeared to be the explanation of the timing of my arrest.

I surmised they had also feared the aftermath in which I would be empowered by the monies that my creation would generate, and, as people who had set it upon themselves to destroy my life covertly, the likelihood I would escape their evil clutches would be increased.

The decision to take away my liberty had been made way before I had completed what I had set about doing. They just waited for me to finish it before stepping in and putting the plan into effect.

I realised with this that the prison I had been sent to may have been prepared for my arrival. The possibility some guards and inmates were aware of the plan and there for me could not be discounted.
And I became afraid for my life.

From that day onwards, I spent long periods without food, afraid they would decide to take me out by poisoning. In the particular prison, food was usually brought in with the inmate's name on the tray. It was easy as such to deliver a ready made cocktail to a particular recipient.

I realised the worst I could do was make them aware I was not eating the hot meals brought to me because then they would change their attack strategy. I started flushing the food down the toilet. The cell window opened enough for chunks of food to also be thrown out. No need to worry because there were doves that sat on the wall fence that went round this side of the prison to eat it right away.

And so I starved myself, the only time I ate something being when cold meals were served. These foods came in plastic containers and were picked from a pile of packets on a trolley. None of the packages had a name on them. Chances a contaminated item would have been reserved for one inmate and delivered with accuracy were slim given the cold meals came in assortments and we, the prisoners, chose what we wanted, but even here I realised it would be wise to take care and avoid being predictable.

Cold meals comprised a half loaf of bread with some cheese, butter, a tin of beef, tinned fish or something else to eat the bread with, otherwise it was cold meals of rice, spaghetti or potatoes with one or other sauce carbohydrates and starches are consumed with, in supermarket packaging.

I continued like this for months, only getting a chance to gorge myself when we got our little pay for the work we did in the prison and were allowed to buy food in the prison's shop.

But even with the availability of the option to buy extra food in the prison shop, I would have lost a lot of weight had it not been for the fact guys who didn't like certain foods announced this and gave the food to others rather than threw it away. This was how I got that extra amount of food as neared the minimum that a man needed to consume per day.

Many a time in that prison I found myself wondering whether I was doing the right thing, especially at times when I was very hungry. I wondered whether I hadn't simply lost my mind, until one night, I heard feet rushing to and fro in the small yard between our windows and the wall fence.

Looking out, I noticed guards rushing to and fro between the brush and flowers that grew there, picking up what looked like dead birds, dead doves they were, and many, at that.

But how had so many died in one spot, at a single time.

I remembered that I had thrown food out the window that afternoon and if anything could get that many birds dead at one time, then it was poison, and the only source of that could have been my food.

There weren't that many prisoners with the habit of throwing food out the small gap in the window and, because we could all see the place the food fell to, I knew that I had been the only one who had thrown food out that afternoon. I was in fact the one who threw the most food out the window.

The haste with which the guards dashed to and fro to pick the birds spoke volumes of what had transpired there that day, and if the intention had been to clear the evidence before prisoners saw it then they failed because they did not know how audible their boots had been in our cells.

It was something about the design of the buildings that the sounds of feet on the turf outside the windows carried very far.

The next day as we all went out to get our daily ration of an hour of fresh air, no mention was made by any prisoner of the incident behind our cells the previous night. It was not discussed or even hinted at in any of the conversations I heard between prisoners.

I wondered whether I had been the only one who had seen the event but then again that was impossible. It happened way before the time most people are asleep and the boots had made such a noise nobody could have avoided looking out to see what the commotion was about.

Other than that, I noticed a difference between how prisoners normally behaved and the behaviour that day that suggested they knew, they had seen it. It was in the pace of their walk, how they turned their heads, the look in their eyes, in the way we looked at each other.

There was intense fear in some eyes, and in others you saw rage, while others showed sorrow. And there was more silence and solitude that day than any other I remembered.

I spent the rest of the hour we were allowed to get air in the prison ground trying to see in those eyes if some were aware that I had thrown food out the previous afternoon, whether some knew it was my food that had most probably poisoned the birds. And sometimes, I thought I did, but then again there was no way of being sure.

The one thing I became sure about is the fact I had been right all along. This place, this prison was a booby trap. Some people with power in Dutch society had planned to make the environment the last thing that I saw. I knew right there and then that walking out of the place alive was going to be a tough thing to do.

The Motivation for Activist Exhortations.

Malcolm X

To show how convinced Malcolm X was that he was doing the right thing, he gave an example of his own children, stating his belief even at the young age they realised the battle he was fighting was necessary, and that they would think lowly of him if he ran away from the fight because he would then expose his myopia and risked living to fight another day, while leaving his seed to fight the whole entire battle rather than part or non of it if he was brave enough to take the opportunity he had, to fight till the end keeping in mind success was assured.

Malcolm X understood he could not be held responsible for putting the lives of his own seed at risk as a result of his activities given their lives were independent of his and not directly at threat of harm from his hand. He knew they were automatically at risk because of a status given them at birth by the system they were born into. He was not, by his striving for freedom, negating his parental responsibilities but, to the contrary, taking them by the horn because he was doing something few other parents did for their seed apart from provide food and shelter for them, and he was doing this the only way that he could under the circumstances ... an activity with the potential to remove the status that was the number one threat to their well being.

He, unlike most parents, could not accept that it made sense to leave his children to take their chances in a world where they were disadvantaged enough as it was.

If there is one thing about slain activists, no matter the cause they were fighting that got them murdered or assassinated, it is the fact they were all adamant about their chosen path. They insisted on taking the course they knew led to an abrupt end, obviously convinced it was worth it.
JFK. Malcolm X considering his assassination a case of the hen coming home to roost was a misunderstanding of sorts. JFK's motivation was the same as that of the former ...

Some may question the judgement of these individuals and conclude they were wrong in thinking giving their life was worth it in the end. They have gauged the gains against the losses and concluded the cause in question is not worth sacrificing the particular life for.

On the other side are those who think it is. They are alright ... but not yet home until they have known a truth I will divulge further down.

This truth can better be arrived at by analysing then helping those who think it is not worth it understand it is in fact their judgement that ails them in arriving at this conclusion.

This requires going back to what I will for purposes of clarity term "the beginning".

The life of the human animal is complex. Whatever state we are in at any given moment, how free we are, how secure we are from harm by other humans, is a combo of different individual choice outcomes related to what path people chose to take to reach the status of the free.

To better understand this, we need to look at life choices as myriad and the best model that represents this better than any other is a race with a finishing line where humans start off as soon as they start seeking a coping strategy, the finishing line representing the time they find one.

Because choices of the course to take to the perfect coping strategy are myriad, and the strategies differ, let's imagine that instead of one finishing line, we have a myriad and so, when the start whistle is sounded, people rush off in different directions, choosing the one they feel will lead them to the desired coping strategy.

Models play a major role in the outcome of the race with the rich being influential in this usually because most people take it for granted wealth guarantees freedom and the rest that comes with it. The means the rich person who becomes their role model used to amass wealth are sought out, researched then emulated and propagated.

The late David Rockerfeller, one of the wealthiest men on earth while it lasted, is most definitely a role model for many

It is through this process we can go further to make the realisation how free, secure, etc. people are in society depends on the aggregate of choices of coping strategies within the same society, and, because there is such a thing in reality as a semblance of freedom, meaning people can believe they are free while in reality they are not, there also comes into play a reality related to this where we can speak of the "degree" to which members of a given society are free, but only with regards activities they can undertake because a state of freedom cannot be gauged.

We can look at this as a scale the center of which has an arrow pointing to a meter with "free" and "not free" on each end of the scale. When people who are not free, regardless they have the delusion they are free, outnumber those who are free, the scale will point this out very clearly.

The degree of freedom in that society will be tipped in favour of this group with the numbers of people who are free preventing that society from the extreme where the arrow points to the very end of the scale, in which case members of that society can be considered not free in an absolute sense.

Because our activists are prone to the rules of the same "race" and they have crossed the finishing line with their coping strategy fully developed, the things they can get away with depend on the degree to which members of that society are free, determining as well how long it takes before they walk into the wall demanding conformity where they will be forced to ask questions that include why they cannot be allowed to do that which they consider appropriate under the circumstances, if not belonging to same.

Realisation after another and the reality dawns it is about personalities and propensities, and this is the reason why they cannot be allowed to do what they want under the prevailing social conditions and it is this to which they react.

They fight for their rights primarily, and the fight is inevitably extended to other members of society when the realisation dawns being to a large extent inadvertently responsible for the few available freedoms, the success of the venture for total freedom depends on their participation.

Thus start the exhortations aimed at winning hearts and minds from the larger population while engaging in direct acts of assistance to the fallen, scheming, plotting, setting in motion conspiracies that have the increase in freedom as the ultimate objective.

The conscious (activists) eventually realise while at it that they can never be allowed to be who they are and crucially that, whatever they choose to do, their fate will not be wholly their fault. Their society will be as responsible for what happens to them as those who call the shots.

Martin Luther King Jr.

The abrupt outcome of their lives can only be prevented if the arrow was tipped in favour of the free.

They know this beforehand which is why their battle, the fight of the free, becomes not so much a preoccupation, but a means of assuring their personal survival, a way of assuring the survival of those who are like them now, and in future ... who will fall into the same trap if the current generation fails to win enough/the critical number of converts, if they do not convince enough people that the battle is also for their own good.

The conviction that should do the trick of gaining converts reads: treats and trinkets can only amount to status symbols that do not equal freedom, and all the rest of the goodies that come with the package.