Contessa Isabella Vacani

WHAT DOES IT MEAN TO BE POOR?

2012-03-08T11:33:00.000+01:00

AUTHOR'S NOTE: There are different kinds of poverty.

Spiritual poverty, Emotional poverty, Intellectual and Cultural Poverty

This account is about all imaginable kinds of POVERTY.

The most dangerous is HUNGER because it maims, kills and hardens a man's heart and soul...IF...he/she survives.

The anguish, the ever present pain at the pit of your stomach; hunger because there was not enough to eat yesterday, there will not be enough today and surely not tomorrow or the day after.

There is a Gnostic legend that a poor man wandered from place to place begging for scraps to calm his hunger in exchange for menial work. Few gave him food, even fewer gave him work.The beggar was Lucifer himself.

"You made a fruitless sacrifice dying on the cross," he said to Jesus who was standing beside him and remained silent.

And then a little boy of about ten years old walked out from one of the larger houses. " My mother is ill and no one could come down to ask you to come in and place more wood in the fireplace. I am the eldest you see. Please come in. You can have all the food you wish plus some to take on your journey."

Jesus, who was invisible to the boy turned to Lucifer" There are more good people in the world than you think, poor deluded Lucifer. Why do you think the world has not destroyed itself yet, though it has come perilously close so many times?"

Lucifer sneered.

"Now begone Lucifer. I will enter the house where kindness lies in the heart of so many little ones. I will help them for they surely have me in their spirit."

WHEN LOVE DIES

2011-10-07T14:18:00.000+02:00

Author's Note: This is a continuation of my previous essay " WHEN MEN BOLT AND DESTROY INNOCENT LIVES."

When Love dies, the subject of one's LOVE, be it a son or daughter, a husband, wife or lover, a sibling or a parent ; a piece of yourself dies with that individual. It can never be recovered. Much as in a heart attack, you hope that you will not die, but survive it brilliantly and colorfully instead; and that scar tissue will cover it in time.

These Murderers may be very much alive, how much is open to question. Why? Because those who wound others so thoughtlessly, selfishly, maliciously, deceitfully, carelessly/planned carefully down to the last details are murderers just as much as those who physically kill others. In a way they are worse. True murderers relive their kills, feeling emotions which are negative and bad but emotions nevertheless. But the kind of emotional Murders I am dissecting here commit these acts without a backward glance. The worst are the husbands/lovers. They simply go on to the next victim. Of course they do not view the objects of their new Love (Lust is a far better word) as victims. These people do not know what Love, Dedication and Devotion is like. They feel only SEX. They are passionate exclusively in a lustful howling dog relationship. They can simulate passion, but the only time they FEEL anything is only through depraved coupling. Once that dissolves, its shelf life is about two years, it's on to the next object/victim. Do emotional and marital murderers live contented lives? Perhaps only sociopaths, because they are so good at pretense.

How do these killers end their now cold and boring relationship? In this techno age, you need not even face your partner. Just steal away like a thief in the night. And then the beast gets in touch after he has carefully prepared the explanation/explanations with...what else...an email! Before out techie age, faxes became the rage for breaking off a relationship or running away from a marriage.

Now we come to the vital question.

Are those who wound their families sociopaths/psychopaths? Perhaps. I would dare to answer that in a way one might call them sociopaths. It is not prudent nor wise to blame their parents or their childhoods. I have seen vibrant marriages that have lasted sixty years and more and their progeny, sons particularly are "endowed" with multiple or serial marriages. The example set by the parents serve little or nothing. Why?

Because Love rarely dies a natural DEATH. It dies because we don't know or don't want to keep replenishing its vital source - its elan vital .

I would challenge those who use that odious cliche" It takes two to tango". Not in a marriage dearies.
True, TWO people have to work at it constantly, despite almost insurmountable problems such as money, illness and catastrophic world events. But it only takes ONE of the partners to destroy a marriage or a relationship. I speak from experience.

Love dies of betrayals and deceit and blindness. Of humiliations and negligence, it withers away like a tubercular lung or a rose whose lymph has been eaten away by aphids.

It dies of destructive behavior. Perhaps a partner is a borderline con-man. Real work is beneath him. He's smarter and usually ends up outsmarting himself, plunging those around him in a dramatic if not feast or famine life; into a never ending nightmare of perennial lack of funds.

It dies of mortal wounds. It dies of weariness. The recipients or dare I call them victims? can truly no longer keep receiving these blows, metaphorically speaking.

But wait , there is no REQUIESCAT IN PACEM in these death.

What happens to the recipients of this Murderer's actions? Women and children?

To be continued.

USDA fines family four million dollars for selling bunny rabbits

2011-05-22T10:03:00.001+02:00

When the Dollarhite family of Nixa, Mo., first started raising and selling bunnies as part of a lesson to teach their teenage son about responsibility and hard work, they had no idea they would eventually meet the heavy hand of the US Department of Agriculture (USDA). According to a recent article covered in Breitbart's Big Government, the USDA recently ordered the Dollarhite family to pay more than $90,000 in fines because they sold more than $500 worth of rabbits in a year -- and if they fail to pay the fine by Monday, May 23, the fine will multiply to nearly $4 million.

It all started back in 2006 when John Dollarhite and his wife Judy rescued two rabbits that ended up breeding. The family cared for and raised the new rabbits, and eventually began to sell them to neighbors, friends, and others for $10 or $15 each. Having started by first selling the animals for meat, and later for show, the Dollarhites carefully and humanely raised the small creatures on their three-acre homestead, all while teaching their son honest values in a business environment similar to running a small lemonade stand.

Eventually, the Dollarhites developed such a highly-respected reputation across Missouri that the popular Branson, Mo., theme park Silver Dollar City, and even a local pet store, Petland, began purchasing bunnies from the family in 2009. And according to John, individuals from both Silver Dollar City and Petland, as well as a rabbit competition judge, told him that the family's bunnies were among the best they had ever seen -- healthy, beautiful, and very well-cared for.

All seemed well until a USDA inspector showed up at the family's home in the fall of 2009, and asked to do a "spot inspection" of the rabbitry. The inspector made no indication that anything was amiss, but only that she wished to see the facility. After meandering the premises, the inspector claimed that a few very insignificant aspects of theraisingfacility were in violation of USDA standards, even though the Dollarhites were not USDA certified, nor were they required to be. She then asked if the Dollarhites wished to be part of the voluntary USDA certification system, upon which they told her they would look into it.

After the inspector left, the Dollarhites heard nothing more fromthe USDA until January 2010 when a Kansas City-based USDA inspector called the family and said he needed to have a meeting with them because they sold more than $500 worth of rabbits in a single year. When the Dollarhites asked why this was a problem and what law this violated, the man refused to offer an explanation over the phone.

Upon meeting in person, the inspector said he was only there to investigate the rabbitry and take notes for a report, upon which he instructed the family to contact another USDA office if they failed to hear anything further from the USDA after six weeks. As the eighth week arrived without any communication, John called the office and was redirected to the Washington, DC, office where a lady shockingly and bluntly explained to him that she had his report, and that the USDA planned to prosecute him and his family "to the maximum that we can" in order to "make an example" out of him.

Shortly thereafter, the Dollarhites received a letter from the USDA Animal and Plant Health Inspection Service (APHIS) ordering them to pay a fine of $90,643 for supposedly violating a mystery law that prohibits the selling of more then $500 in rabbits within a year, even though the Dollarhites were in full accordance with Missouri state law, did not sell their rabbits across state lines, and raised their rabbits humanely and in excess of minimum requirements. The letter outlined that the Dollarhites had until May 23 to pay the exorbitant fine, or else face additional fines totaling nearly $4 million -- all for selling about $4,600 worth of rabbits that netted the family a mere $200 in profits.

The whole scenario proves, once again, that the USDA is nothing more than a tag-team terrorist duo with the US Food and Drug Administration (FDA). Both agencies' insatiable lust for power and control over private affairs is never satisfied, as they continue to prowl around like bloodthirsty predators seeking whoever and whatever they can devour. When will Americans finally stand up to their tyranny and say enough is enough?

To read the full account of the Dollarhite saga, click here:

Source: Natural News

Rejoice It's Friday the 13th

2011-05-13T22:35:00.000+02:00

To be or not to be superstitious. Tis Friday the thirteenth!!! And so it is. Some of the best things which have taken place in my life fell on Friday the Thirteenth.

How did the number thirteen come to have such a sinister meaning for those of us who live in the so called ''West?''. It happened thusly.

On a bleak October, Friday the thirteenth, in the year of Our Lord, 1314 the powerful King of France, Philip the Fourth, also known as Philip The Fair, ordered the arrest, torture, and execution of all the Knights Templars in France. This was done with the Blessings of the Pope. The charge – heresy (later recanted by the Vatican by the way).

The Templar's Grand Master, Jacques de Molay, was immolated, (pun intended) at the stake. Inevitably all leaders of rich and potent organizaions who run afoul of even more powerful and wealthy groups are done in and disposed of. It has ever been thus.

A spate of motion pictures and books discuss the Templars. Some, like Dan Brown, chitter - chatter about it in ''The Da Vinci Code''. Others are far more serious and take the time to research their subjects.

Its all great fun, if you have nothing better to do, go and see the ''Kingdom of Heaven'' for more insight.

The Templars - The Poor Knights of Christ and of the Temple of Solomon, were a trans-national, religious-military order, whose members were subject to monastic vows. The order was founded in 1150, supposedly to protect pilgrims going to The Holy Land: its name derives from the location of its headquarters - near or on the site of the Temple of Solomon.

Like Lucifer, they began with the Light, filled with the virtues of Faith, Hope and Charity. Their intentions were noble and pure. However, the easy pickings of unarmed and prosperous Jews, Arabs, and Christians, who happened to live on the routes to Jerusalem, during the Crusades, were too strong to resist.

Rumors abound even today about the Templars discovery of certain secrets whilst digging in the ruins of the Temple of Solomon in Jerusalem. Solomon is a poor example of a Jewish leader, if indeed he was even Jewish. His mother, Bas Shiva was not. He was lustful, so much so that he had a harem (an abomination to the True Jews of the Torah). He was ruthless, greedy,and warlike. Solomon was supposed to be wise. Give me a break! He spent his people's money with no thought for their well being. Extravagant is a mild word to use on King Solomon. He would feel comfortably at home in our time.

The sublime Song of Songs attributed to him in the Old Testament, is just that... an attribution and a supposition.
Back to the Templars. What did the Templars find, digging underneath one of the areas of the Temple? I doubt they found anything of great value. The Romans under the Emperor Titus had destroyed the Temple, so that ''not one stone stood upon another stone".' Thus the prophecy of Jesus was fulfilled. Before him, the Prophet Isaiah had predicted much the same thing. If there was any gold or other treasures, the Pharisees, who were smart men, would not have buried it in the Temple. Consider that the Roman Armies were thorough. Just remember what was done to Carthage almost three hundred years before. It died and it never rose again.

War always brings out the worst in men. Rarely does the best side of Humanity triumph. There would have been Jewish spies and informers. Keep in mind, the Emperor Titus, forced all the Jews to leave Palestine. They had no choice. It was the Diaspora or Death.

This is not to say that the Knights Templar didn't accumulate wealth. They did. A great deal of it. Without the limitless wealth of the Templars, to say nothing of their engineering and architectural expertise, which they learnt from the Arabs - the most stunning Gothic Cathedrals - Chartres, Notre Dame de Paris, Cologne, Santiago de Compostela, Burgos and Avignon to name a few would not be standing today, with their spires soaring towards the heavens.

What about the rumors that they found esoteric knowledge in Jerusalem? I believe it is more likely that the Templars stumbled onto whatever arcane knowledge they learned in Alexandria, Egypt. Since its founding by Alexander the Great, it had been a repository of Arcane and Gnostic Knowledge, as well as a center for the early Christians of the Catholic Church.

Two hundred years is a long time to amass great liquidity, hundreds of castles, estates, industries,and thousands upon thousands of indentured slaves.
The Templars became the biggest usurers/loan sharks in Europe. Kings, Rulers and Popes owed their souls and entrails to them. They were helpless if not prostrate before the Monk/Warriors.

The War machine of the Templars dwarfed the armies of Kings. They had the logistics, technology, and money to crush them without mercy. The Templars had strayed far from the teachings of Jesus.

''If you owe the bank ten thousand Euros, it's your problem. If you owe the bank one hundred million Euros, it's the bank's problem''.

That is flippant and superficial. First of all, those who are so foolhardy as to owe any bank such a vast sum of money, may find themselves drowned, disappeared or suicided. Banks have no hearts and souls. They can, and do, live with all sorts of suspicions. Retribution in this world hardly ever rains down upon any bank.

Over the centuries, the Knights Templar, who had taken vows of Celibacy and Poverty, degenerated into Assassins, Reprobates and Usurers. Their gods became War, Death, Sex (Including pedophilia) and Money.
Unbridled power corrupts absolutely. Unnacountability creates an illusion of invulnerability.

In stepped Pope Clement V. He found the moral strengh and grace to suppress the Order of the Knights Templars in 1312. They were excommunicated and ordered to disband immediately. The order was ignored.

Philip the Fair, King of France, owed so much money to the Templars, his interest payments alone were bankrupting his nation, and de-pauperizing his subjects. Desperate situations call for desperate measures.

The Arabs have an aphorism. ''Never push your enemy so far against the wall, he has no way out except to fight back'' (actually a lot of our "western wisdom" came from the Arabs – for more details read my book on Suleyman the Magnificent)

Philip reasoned, ''What can I and my people lose by implementing the Pope's order? I am the Defender of the Faith''. And the fact that he could wipe away his massive debts and sieze all their land and assets was a compelling incentive.

So, in October,while an early winter storm raged, on a Friday the 13th, in the year 1314, in great stealth, Philip sent his soldiers to arrest the most important Knights Templar. They were imprisoned in various dungeons through out France. The poor, and the feudal aristocracy alike, hated them so, they could not count on their support.

They had no time to gather their far-flung armies. The element of surprise had struck at their arrogance. Many were burnt at the stake. There is nothing left of the Templars today except Rumor, ''they say that'' and legends, which, being legends, never die. Several groups call themselves the Knights Templar and claim fidelity to their vows. I am not passing judgement for or against. Time will prove to be their greatest challenge.

We have writers of fiction who are fascinated with them. Evil exerts these attractions. Like Lucifer, they had everything initially. Like him, they chose
the Negative Way.

The Templars became a barbarous lot, who lived in barbarous times, acted barbarously and met their end barbarously.

So, enjoy Friday the 13th. It is a day of Rejoicing especially if you owe money to somebody. Not a day to fear – unless of course you are some wicked and debauched money lender – then I say watch out.

Obama's Birth Certificate is an Obvious Fake - But That's OK with Me

2011-04-29T11:01:00.001+02:00

Now that the White House has released President Obama's birth certificate, the case is now closed, but they just won't stop ranting about it. Why are these birthers still complaining?

They claim the birth certificate document is a fake. Why does that matter? But of course the document is a fake. It's not "merely" fake; it's so fake that the whole thing has become an IQ test for figuring out how many people can be so easily fooled by a fake.

If I turned in a document like this as part of an effort to get a home loan, for example, and I assembled it layer by layer with obvious cutting and pasting of numbers from multiple sources in order to fake my reported income levels, I would be guilty of a felony crime. At the very least, I would be laughed out of the room. "Are you kidding me? This is your best attempt at falsifying an income statement?" they would say. Even a high school kid with a scanner and Photoshop knows how to make a more convincing forgery than this...

For an explanation of why it's all so obviously a fake, watch this:

But I ask the far more important question:Does it matter that it's a fake in the first place?Given that most of the U.S. government's job statistics are fake, and that the U.S. dollar is being counterfeited on a daily basis by the Fed, and that virtually the entire U.S. economy is built on fake "abundance" that's really just more debt spending... isn't it is some way actually moreauthenticto have a President at the helm who faked his birth certificate?

It's almost like he's more qualified for the job, you see, running the fake economy with fake dollars while the mainstream media distributes all the fake news. And then in between the fake news bits, the advertisers come on and promote their fake foods, and fake pharmaceuticals which are approved based on faked science approved by FDA regulators who are faking it, too.

Couples are now artificially fertilized (fake conception!), and when their children are born, they feed them fake milk (infant formula). They grow up on fake sweeteners and fake (artificial) colors. In school, they're taught fake U.S. history so that they have fake ideas of how the world really works. When they're old enough, they get to participate in faked voting schemes where the winners are already determined.

And thanks to the internet, we live in a world of fake friends, fake emotions and fake sex. Football games are played on fake grass, and today's "reality" TV shows are all faked, too. Professional wrestling is fake (but MMA isn't), and most of the news consumed by the masses is entirely fabricated. Even the science behind most of modern medicine is faked, fabricated or twisted around in order to get the results the drug companies want to see.

And oh yeah, the drugs are faked, too, especially the antidepressants which appear to work only because of the Placebo Effect -- which is real, even though it only exists in the mind.

We need more leaders who embrace fakery. For the most part, we are fake people living in a fake world engaged in fake interactions. So why shouldn't we have a fake President with a fake birth certificate to top it all off?

I don't know what the problem is here with the obviously fake birth certificate. Of course it's a fake. But isn't that what we vote for when we vote for any president? After all, presidential election campaigns are all about making fake promises uttered with fake smiles as part of faked speeches that are actually written by somebody else and read on the teleprompter.

In fact, I would argue that Obama's faked birth certificate makes himmore authenticthan any other President in American history. It is precisely this mastery of fakery that has allowed Obama to deliver fake health care reform, faked world peace (new war on Libya!), and faked preparedness (radioactive fallout from Fukushima? Don't prepare!)

It's perfect for a nation of fake people who live in fake houses with the fake stonework plastered onto the front to make them look as if they were built out of stone. The people go get their cosmetic surgery and botox (faked youth!) so they can meet new fake people and pursue their fake relationships with faked orgasms. Their profiles on Facebook are completely faked; their resumes handed in at prospective employers are faked; and even their apparent "wealth" is faked because they're neck-deep in debt on that luxury car parked in the driveway of the luxury house they can't afford.

At work, they fake like they're getting something done so that they can receive a paycheck that's also largely faked because it's denominated in fake dollars which are deposited in a fake (electronic) bank account so that the money can be multiplied and leveraged in order for the bank to keep creating more fake currency in the form of loans handed out to people who faked their credit history and lied on their loan applications. But who cares? As long as we all fake it together, the system works!

So we go shopping with our fake money and we buy fake "fashion" jeans with fake holes already pre-fabricated right into the pant legs, and we purchase our colognes and perfumes made with fake chemical fragrances that try to put a fake smell on our bodies so that we can meet other fake people who wear their own faked chemical smells to try to fool us into thinking they smell like fresh flowers and honey when, in reality, they stink like a country goat.

They use cosmetics to fake their skin health, and hair implants to fake their hair growth. Young girls are wearing fake contact lenses to fake their pupil dilation as fakes sign of faked sexual arousal. This is designed to get a rise out of their fake date partner who takes them to a fake restaurant to order fake food grown from fake (GMO) seeds and fertilizers with fake soils (made out of composted human sewage) which is contaminated with fake hormones (HRT drugs) and other drugs.

And the next morning they'll wake up and share a bowl of faked blueberries in their faked breakfast cereals. Those have been faked, too.

Authentic leaders would fail. In fact, the whole matrix in which we live today is so universally faked and fabricated that I'm not sure that an authentic, genuine human being would even have a chance at leading the nation.We need fake Presidents to lead our fake nation into fake economic abundance, so all those "birthers" screaming about the faked birth certificate should frankly just shut up and eat their fake ham sandwiches made with that faked processed cheese food-like substance squeezed between two pieces of fake white bread.

Stop complaining and watch your fake "reality" TV shows, listen to the fake news, work at your fake government job and keep swallowing fake food so that you can become a highly-profitable patient in our faked health care system based on faked science and run by fake researchers. This is how the system works today. Reality has nothing to do with it, and you should abandon any such bizarre ideas. They're unpatriotic.

In fact, the release of Obama's birth certificate, with all its layers and Photoshop edits and mismatched numbers that were obviously assembled from multiple sources is not an admission of fakery -- it's a proud statement of authenticity! It says that our President is perfectly in tune with the faked society over which he presides. That's what we need in America today; a genuine man of the People.

After all, only a true fake can achieve the level of fakery required in our world to be embraced as authentic.

And today, I bow down to the master of fakery; the man who is so authentic in his fakiness that he has releasedthe world's first authentic counterfeit birth certificate, proudly assembled from layers that would be widely considered faked by anyone who wasn't sufficiently psychologically invested in the real world, by which I mean our faked society.

From here forward, I think we should all just start faking it. Reality, after all, is overrated.

Source: Natural News

EASTER SUNDAY AT SANTOL MANSION, MANILA

2011-04-24T09:04:00.000+02:00

Dona Esperanza sat spellbound in her bamboo chaise lounge in the verandah. At this hour of the morning she was alone. Soon the frisson of an Easter dawn would overwhelm her and she would give thanks for another Holy Week passed in reflection, meditation and harmony.

“Everything took place without incident (no blood shed by terrorist guerillas) my family has its tensions and frustrations but not one of them is a drunk, an addict, a cruel parent and employer, and a mean-hearted individual. They all work hard to fulfill their duties. The children enjoy school and are all top-notch students. I thank you for my blessings, O Jesus,” she humbly prayed.

“Are we disturbing you Mama?” asked Matt.

“Would you prefer to be alone with your thoughts?”

“This is a welcome surprise,” she thought. “Oh no, hijos, I am happy that all of us had the same thoughts. Dahlia and Allegra had also joined her eldest son and daughter.

“It was a truly sacred Holy Week. A Joyous Easter Mama.”

“I am sorry I was irritated at the beginning of Lent at the thought of spending these holy days in the unbearable heat of Manila.”

“It came to us that perhaps we are all overly spoiled. Some reminders of crude realities have surely made us better human beings.”

“Our children will grow up to be more enlightened and spiritual beings.”

“They, like you and to a lesser degree us, because of you, will be open and understanding towards all religious beliefs, no matter how weird and outlandish they might appear.”

“So long as they are not Satanic and do not involve possession of one’s body and ultimately one’s soul, infestation of one’s house and a Faustian bargain," stated Dona Esperanza.

“I think I speak for all of us, that these last three days of the Passion and Agony of Christ have cleansed us. We feel enriched. We feel kind towards our fellow beings, especially those we do not like,“ Matt told his mother and sisters.

“A Joyous Easter Mama,” they reiterated bending down to hug and kiss her. She clasped each one to her bosom. Dona Esperanza had cried in anguish and in pain over the tragedies that had befallen her clan,

“So far, I have not had to live through the indescribable agony of losing one of my children. I am thankful to God for that. Almost all of the people I know; friends, acquaintances and relatives have all experienced the deaths of one or more children.”

A chorus of “Happy Easter”, from her three sons-in law; handsome and serious Edmund, Camilla’s husband and father of Lucrezia, greeted Dona Esperanza. Armand, debonair, devil-may care and an inveterate gambler married to Allegra her youngest daughter. They had produced Freckie, Zita and Henry, still a toddler. Esperanza’s favorite son–in-law was Rudolf (Rudy) Dahlia’s spouse and father of six-year-old Lola. Rudy was a source of strength, the kind Jesus and the Buddha would have chosen as a disciple. The Japanese had beaten him senseless. They tortured him. His spirit had never been crushed. Rudy remained his good-natured, patient and self-effacing self.

“A queridos, where are you all off to at this hour of the morning? It’s quarter past five in the morning, “ she exclaimed laughing in between their kisses on her cheeks. It was a ritual between them. She always knew where they were headed. They enjoyed telling her.

“By the time I shower, dress and breakfast with Dahlia, it will be nearly six o’clock. It takes thirty minutes to get there. I shall be just in time for the golf game which starts at seven. I am going to do a few rounds with my Roxas-Acuna cousins at Wack Wack Country Club," replied Rudy.

“I have an unfinished poker game with Harry and Joe Levine,” said Armand.

Esperanza smiled and said nothing. Joe ran the International Casino for the Mafia or so went the rumors. Joe was one of her most trusted friends since the thirties.

“He won’t let Armand lose his head today of all days. If I know Joe, he’ll see that Armand shows up for the Easter Egg Hunt at 9:00 o’clock this morning.”

“My Beloved Mother died on Easter Sunday of 1944. That’s her anniversary. I shall visit her grave as long as I can. Tong the gardener has made a huge bouquet of waling-waling “(the spectacular Vanda Sanderiana Orchids native only to the Philippines.)

“Queridos, Hasta pronto. Be on the lookout for drunk drivers or for those with hangovers. Easter for some is a time of alcohol, sex and drugs,” she told them, mindful that friends and acquaintances had been injured, maimed and killed because they had been involved in smash-ups with those under the influence or they themselves had been more than a little stoned at the time of their crack-ups.

“In a few hours, we are going to be invaded by 25 children between the ages of 7 and 12, at the very least. Who knows just how many tortured and moody teen-agers will come? Muttered Matthias.

“Mon Dieu, the exclusive schools these children attend including ours, won’t accept more than 15 to a class. That gives you an idea of our bravery,” quipped Allegra.

“Thank God, Easter, comes but once a year. I can barely survive Lent as it is now, replied Camilla the eldest of his sisters and mother to Lucrezia.

“I am always terrified by what choice jewels may issue forth from Fray Paco’s mouth if one of these tweety children provokes him,” said Dahlia, the middle sister and mother of Lola, who was in the province of Laguna spending Holy Week with her paternal grand-mother, Dona Pilar.

“Isn’t Lola coming back this morning for the Easter egg hunt and our song fest?’ asked Allegra, the youngest sister, Her children were Ziti, Freckie and Henry.

“We have just seen Edmund leave for his Easter salute to Dona Zorayda. He has made it clear he prefers to be alone. He says it’s like a break for him,” said Camilla, her voice tinged with sadness.

“His mother Zorayda died a tragic death of tuberculosis on Easter Sunday of 1944. What a beautiful and unusual woman she was. All that unimaginable and incalculable wealth she and her older sister Keramen had in Argentina, Chile and Bolivia. She was so natural and accepting of her great beauty. It reminds me of Lucrezia's what-of-it attitude. Beauty can sometimes be terrifying,” declared Dona Esperanza.

“ I remember her at a ball in the Manila Hotel just a few days before Pearl Harbor was bombed on the 7th of December. She wore a black lace gown under scarlet silk. Few knew that the many buttons on the back of her gown encased in mother –of pearl were all three carat rubies from Burma,” Camilla recalled.

“The Japanese beheaded two of her sons, Edmund’s brothers, Mikel and Willie and then they sent her the photographs. How considerate,” uttered Matthias with sarcasm.

“Fernando, her fifth son, was shot dead in Baguio. It was a gold mine he was protecting for the Buch-von Remo family and for their American partners, the Guggenheims I think. What futile romanticism. I would not die to protect any of my family’s assets,” declared Matt.

His statement startledd his sisters. “Oh don’t be alarmed. I never said I would not die protecting my family, I used the word assets,” he pointed out.

Chocolate eggs from Switzerland had been ordered from the Swiss Trading Company – Marsman and Sons. They only sold Lindt, the best milk chocolates on the market. The eggs varied in size from three inches to 12 inches in length. They contained lovely mementos. Gold pendants in the shape of all the letters of the alphabet for the girls. The boys received carved signet rings with their family’s coat of arms.

“We researched the coats of arms thoroughly. We are all related by blood, marriage, money, business and financial alliances, and of course, adultery,” pointed out Allegra keeping a straight face.

Mother, son and daughters cracked up with laughter.

“There might be some incest it that boiling cauldron you have just so flippantly referred to Allegra.

Her son and daughters looked on in horror. She hastened to clarify.

“It is not a father committing unspeakable acts with his daughter. I think it deals more with some of our men and women indulging in sex with their husbands’ brothers or for that matter with their sisters’ husbands. It is the order of the day in our oligarchy for first cousins to marry. The elders in the family discourage such matches. The Church grants dispensations for matrimony between first cousins after a through investigation of the case. The point is are the young people besotted with each other really first cousins? We have no tests as yet to determine if instead they may be half brother and half sister.”

“How did you get to know so much Mama? “

“Life, my darlings. Just living Life. Let’s move on to a more scrumptious subject – chocolates anybody.”

“For those who preferred the so called ‘Fondente,' chocolate composed of a minimum of 75% Cacao, the plantations in the Bicol Peninsula owned by the Buch von Remos sent kilos of pure cacao to enable the Chef at Santol Mansion to bake them in the shape of cockatoos, Batman and Superman.

Amir, the young son of Ranjit Singh, one of their Chiefs of Security had been thoughtful enough to draw a map. The tropics could be deadly. In no time, insects and pesky ants would get to the chocolates and ruin everything for the children.

Ronnie Laing, an extravagant decorator, florist and artist had engaged his artists in decorating white porcelain eggs from China. They had Islamic, Hindu and Buddhist motifs. Some eggs also had Chinese symbols of good luck, good fortune and Long life. The Ortigas women had ordered gorgeous porcelain eggs hand painted and signed in Naples, which featured the Passion of Christ.

“Those are not to be placed on the ground. They are not free. Anyone who wants these masterpieces, 12 in all can go the Hospice of Saint Joseph and pay $120 dollars for them,” Esperanza had suggested.

“Filipinos, like the Spanish and the Italians are not punctual. We should have said first come first served just as Monsignor Alberti did at the Mass of Holy Saturday. They would have inundated Santol Mansion by now, instead of arriving in trickles,” observed Camilla.

The seven cousins appeared in all their finery, ready to assist and charm their guests. Lola had just joined them.

“You have no idea what you missed by going to Laguna,” declared Dolly.

“I saw the Crucifixion re-enacted. On the Plaza (town square) it scared me and I cried. Did you see one?” retorted Lola nonplussed.

"No we did not. But we went through the Agony and the Passion of Jesus as if we had been there with him,” replied Lucrezia.

“Welcome back to Santol Lola, we all missed you,” said Jaime. They closed ranks and hugged her. “Where is Fray Paco?"

“The dwarves won’t bring him out until the party is well on its way and the Egg hunt is about to begin,” said Heinzie.

“You are the most beautiful one here Lucrezia. Everyone else is pretty and nice looking. No one has the “It” but you and the Dona,” whispered Ah Wei into her ear.

“Thank you Amah, but please don’t remind me all the time because I might become conceited and make even more girls envious and hostile towards me,” she implored AhWei. Also, I feel that my essence is violated every time physical beauty is mentioned, she mused.

“Child is right. She is lovely to look at like a swan and she is not yet eleven. She is naturally elegant and does not have any of the awkwardness of girls her age. I had no idea Lucrezia knew about the anger her beauty and her smarts aroused in other girls. In Shanghai bordello before I ran away to the Temple of the White Mandarins (the Jesuit Cathedral of Saint Ignatius Loyola) we all hated the most beautiful girl even if she was kind to all of us,” remembered Ah Wei with a shiver.

Lucrezia’s dress was a peach colored silk organza, with tiny hand-embroidered rosebuds in cyclamen. That is magical color for Chinese. "May it protect her from harm today. I have bad feeling about this egg hunt, I don’t know why,” said the Amah quietly.

In the torrid heat of the driest part of the summer, it was not elegant to show one’s feet unless one was at the beach or at the country club. All seven cousins between the ages of seven to twelve wore hand woven linen socks, which matched their ensemble. Lucrezia loved her cyclamen colored ballerinas handcrafted by a cobbler in Barcelona. The boys had Italian moccasins made by Zingone in Rome.

It seemed that all their cousins, friends and acquaintances arrived within minutes of each other. Their grandmother and their parents had barely enough time to exchange pleasantries before the children headed their way.

“Well, look at you. You are a tall adolescent but you still have your Amah hovering over you like a shadow,” said Kiya de la Rama artlessly.

In 1907, after a struggle, which took seven years, Don Cesar, Lucrezia's great-great uncle had at last taken over every piece of property, company, enterprise, and precious object that had once belonged to the De la Rama family. He had destroyed them.

Kiya was a direct descendant of that family. She was a great- granddaughter of Don Jesus Maria de la Rama, Don Cesar’s most implacable foe. Her father was a dashing Castilian, one of Manila society’s pedigreed poor. Her mother Mari-Cruz, who was as plain and dowdy as she was rich could set her sights on the comely de la Rama. Her father, Charles Darnay owned 670 and counting pawnshops throughout the archipelago.

“You are just being catty because you are nearly fourteen and I am already an inch taller than you. I want Amah close to me. She’s clever. And oh! I almost forgot Happy Easter and all that stuff,” she answered leading Kiya to her cousin Raff (Rafael,) who was stunning, and closer to her own age.

Kiya was beauteous; wavy ebony hair, fair skin and jet black eyes. She was endowed with an acid tongue and coltish demeanor. Boys fled her company as soon as they could. Raff had promised Lucrezia he would spend at least 15 minutes chatting her up. He had a secret crush on Lucrezia and did not know how to refuse any of her requests.

What neither of them knew was that Kiya liked Raff and was determined to stick to him like glue. Raff sensed it. Boys and Girls are fey about the effect of their pheromones on members of the opposite sex.

Then Fray Paco made his grand entrance. He flew sharply and low and yelled "The Eastah egg hunt will now begin!”

“Phew, saved by Fray Paco,” thought Raff.

His attendants Eneas and Achilles kept a sharp eye out for hawks, his natural enemies. The youngsters scampered, their parents strode, and their elders walked while chatting amongst themselves.

Lucrezia found herself surrounded by Raff and Harry, “They’re cute but way too old for me.”

Heinzie, Jaime, Charlie, Dolly and Lola followed closely behind them. Freckie had joined Kiya and was talking up a storm.

“Ooh, here’s an egg shaped box,” squealed Lola.

“I found one too," repeated Dolly.

“Here’s another box.”

“And another,”

“And yet another.”

Hurrah! I found one, right behind the trunk of the avocado tree,” cried out Lucrezia.

Raff and Harry located their boxes. They opened them, slowly peeled off the silver paper covering the chocolate eggs. "Hey everybody, there’s a gift inside. Pay attention as to how you open them. All right? They espied the signet rings.” Wow! It’s a gas,” they exclaimed in delight.

“If you find a gold pendant inside a chocolate egg and you are a boy, please exchange it with the girl who has the signet ring instead. No one will be left without a gift. We have more of them for any eventuality,” Uncle Matt reminded them.

“Where arrr me gifts? roared Fray Paco.

“You get one of each mi amor,” Dona Esperanza informed him.

“Si, Si, Hai Hai, Ja, Ja, Yes, Yes,” he cried out in childish enthusiasm.

“Oh shut up, you silly old bird. Why does he merit two? He isn’t even a human being,” yelled Freckie.

“Yeah, he’s right,” agreed his friends Eddie and Jackie.

Fray Paco, a raptor was sharpening his talons. “I earned me gifts churl.”

The high-ranking members of the Ortigas Nieto clan froze. Since 1907, during the Night of the Long Winds) the typhoon) no one had ever dared disrespect their wise, savvy and smart-ass cockatoo. Who was this snotty nosed kid, a hooligan in the making, to challenge their tradition to one so deserving of their love.

It was Dona Esperanza who took the thirteen-year-old challenger by the horns.
‘Freckie this is neither the time nor the place to act like the spoiled, thoughtless kid you really are. Fray Paco merits those gifts and more. End of discussion.”

Allegro and Armand approached Freckie. “Find a rock and crawl underneath it son,” suggested his father with disappointment. Try not to commit any more gaffes like this one or you might just be grounded for the polo matches.”

Freckie was due to play his first polo match later that afternoon at the Polo Club. That did it for Freckie. He would eat crow for a few minutes of glory on the field playing with his cousins.

He ran over to Dona Esperanza, took her hand and cried, ”I don’t know what came over me. I love Fray Paco very much. I apologize for my behavior.”

She gazed long and hard into her grandson’s stricken face. “Your apology is accepted dear.

“Fray Paco could not have said it any better with his “I earned me gifts, churl,” she reflected.

The Japanese occupiers had used the ground floor of Santol Mansion as an area where their samurais could practice their plays and thrusts with the Katana. Dona Esperanza had removed every single tile, knocked down its wooden floors and had turned it into a skating rink. Her architects had designed it in such away that narra floor boards could be placed over it, converting it into a dance floor. A center stage was set back against the wall, where a twenty piece orchestra played. Sound engineers from their radio and television station had set up a state of the art PA system. Young and old loved to dance; it’s in their genes,

“The Polynesians gave us not only some of the words of their language, they gave us grace, timing and rhythm,” affirmed Dona Esperanza.

“We are all like flowers, Gran,” stated Lucrezia.

“The dance and song fest is about to begin,” announced Matt over the PA system, which had been placed in strategic places in the vast gardens.

Li Mei and Chung li, granddaughters and grandson respectively of the man Dona Esperanza and her clan affectionately and respectfully addressed as Uncle Wak Nam, begun the short program. They sang a duet "Mek Wei – Mek Wei” in Hakka. Everyone was familiar with the rousing music. Pop singers Frankie Laine and Tony Bennett had just recorded it in English. The song was known as” Rose, Rose I love you.” It had skyrocketed to the top of the charts on radio and in music stores in Asia, Australia, The Commonwealth, Canada and the United States.

“Rose, Rose I love you,
With an aching heart.
Glory is your future,
Now we have to part. Standing on a rickshaw as my steamer pulls away.
Flower of Malaya I cannot stay.

All my life I shall remember,
Loads of scented roses and you in my arms,
Bright powdery beaches and swaying palms
Perfumed peonies in your tresses.
Your beautiful form in your cheongsam dress.

Rose, Rose I love you.
My tears are flowing still.
East is east and West is west.
Our worlds can never be.

Flower of Malaya, I cannot stay.

The Wak Nam children did something unprecedented for that time and place. They invited the seven Ortigas children - Lucrezia, Dolly, Lola, Heinzie, Jaime, Zita and Freckie to join them on stage with their respective Hakka Amahs. Li Mei and Chung Li also had Hakka Amahs.

The Amahs knew and loved one another. It was as if they shared a big secret that only they were privy to. Dona Esperanza and Don Wak Nam knew about their tragic fate in China, since they had been the prime movers of their rescue.

Thus, Chinese and Filipino-European children and their Hakka Amahs sang Mek Wei O Mek Wei in Chinese and then in English.

“I am going to feature you all on our family’s radio station. You should learn more songs in Chinese and English,” said Matt excitedly through the applause.

All seventeen participants took countless bows.

Ayesha and Chandra Singh danced a stylized Bharata Natyam. The girls were sisters and sat behind Lucrezia in her classroom at the College of the Holy Spirit. Bharata Natyam is a form of Hindu mystical dance portraying the Lord Shiva dancing around the planets created by Brahma. The Mudras (hand movements) took years to master.

Jaime, one of the cousins sang “Francisco Alegre Ole” a cappella. The song was about a tragic torero, Francisco Alegre, who is stabbed by a rival just before he is to enter the Plaza de Toros in Seville. He must face the fiercest toro( bull ) of them all. He emerges the victor abd collapses just as he kneels before the statue of La Virgen de la Macarena- The Virgin of Macarena who is a black virgin. Jaime had a crystalline voice and was a marvelous actor. He garnered much applause.

Michi, one of the members of the clan appeared in a costly kimono to sing Sakura, a sad, sublime Japanese song full of hope. Michi was a stately 14, year old, her face and demeanor showed the near perfection of east meeting west in coitus

No one in the clan discussed it openly, but Michi’s mother Cornelia, nicknamed Corni since childhood had had a passionate love affair with one of the most attractive Japanese officers serving in the Kempeitai (the Secret Service).

Given Cornelia’s loveliness; long, flowing light brown hair, caramel skinned and emerald eyed, the Officer asked her parents for permission to “court” her. It was a form of refined sexual coercion. It was nothing but rape.

Michi’s father had a family in Japan with whom he was reunited at the end of hostilities. He continued however to look after her every need. Anything that was in the form of money was politely sent back by her parents. So, he sent her the finest baroque pearls as well as Mikimoto pearls. He sent exquisite porcelain, obis and sets of jade and lacquered combs.

Twice a year, Corni and Mitchi for Mitchiko traveled to Tokyo as guests of the former Colonel, now a nobleman in the entourage of Lady Chichibu, sister in-law of the Emperor Hirohito. Lord Chichibu was his brother and was the brain behind the Japanese war machine.

Ivan was a prodigy on the violin. At ten, he offered them Antonin Dvorak’s Humoresque. He was the natural son of Armand, Allegra’s husband. He had conducted an affair with a White Russian hostess who worked in one of Manila’s most famous nightclubs, They had all understood that Armand, though loving Allegra deeply had a sexual attraction to and for women that exceeded prudence and good sense.

In truth Esperanza had opposed the marriage because she knew from personal experience that sex and gambling, when given free rein turned into obsessions like drugs from which one could not tear himself away. She was not present at her daughter’s lavish wedding to Armand at the Cathedral of Manila. That was the only way she could show her fears and perplexities. She attended the wedding reception, which she hosted at the Casino Espanol and not at Santol Mansion.

“I paid for all the expenses without an aye or bye. I cannot control her destiny. She must live her life. I know it will be a sorrowful one. I am tempted not to show up at the Reception but I must go through with it. I am going to hurt Allegra more than I already have. I want her to know that I love her even if I don’t like what she has done and that she can always count on me.

Dona Esperanza and Dona Apollonia were providing for Ivan’s schooling.

“I could not agree with you more Queridita, the boy is blameless. He is gifted. We must both help out. It is our duty,” opined Apollonia.

“Don’t take offense mia cara. Life will be feast or famine with Armand. I understand from my informers that he rarely sees the boy; He is no longer interested in the mother. She was just a toy to enjoy for a while. We are going to help her out financially as well. We cannot and must not give Ivan an expensive education while he lives a hand to mouth existence with his mother, “ declared Esperanza.

This Easter celebration was the occasion for Ivan to become acquainted with his half-brothers and sister as well as the rest of his cousins in a natural; setting. Esperanza hoped that the power of music and his gift for the violin which was an instrument that touched you in your deepest being would slowly sweep away any resentment.

The finale was the Tinkling, an intricate Filipino dance originating from central Luzon, where rice paddies stunned you with their green colors and the yellow morning mists over the rice paddies caused you to draw in your breath and abandon yourself to becoming enraptured.

Two long and thick pairs of bamboo poles were inserted firmly into stone or cement stands. One person on each side of the bamboo, three people in all slid and struck the poles in syncopated rhythm of One, Two, Three. It was constant and the beat increased in tempo until one could no longer see the feet fly.

It went “One” - bamboo poles struck together. Two and three - hit apart. This enabled the dancers to place their right and left feet inside the open poles dancing in imitation of the long legged thin bird in the rice paddies – the Tinkling. They then ended up with both their feet on the other side. Now the left foot was closest to the pole so that would be the first one inside the open poles at the stroke of two, then the right foot at three. As the poles were brought together at the count of one, both feet would not be on the other side of the poles. It was a dance of dexterity and it was performed in one’s bare feet.

“Lose one beat, and an ankle would be crushed like a leaf.” Most Filipino children easily mastered it, so did the many nationalities such as Chinese, Spanish, Japanese. Etc. The important ingredient in one’s myriads of genes was Filipino blood. That gave one the syncopation and the fascinating rhythm George Gershwin wrote about.

All the children were dancing the Tinkling with the greatest of ease, without incident. The Rondalla played the song Tinkling as Dona Esperanza, her children and the rest of the clan sang the song in Tagalog or Filipino with energy and gusto. Mir, son of their Sikh Chief of Security had changed the words as befitting Easter Sunday.

“Evviva! Bravissimi! Monsignor Albert had shown up unexpectedly.

“I thought you could not make it,” shouted Esperanza amid the din.

“I did not want to raise false hopes, I instructed my driver to drive as fast as he could which is way over the speed limit. Eccomi qua. Here I am. All the Ortigas-Nieto bambini and ragazzi dancing the Tinkling as if they had been doing it all their lives. Look at them. Sono favolosi. They are fabulous. I want them for a film the Vatican is doing on the Philippines. His Holiness is going to love this dance.”

“Someday, when I become a Minister of the Roman Curia, I am aiming for Treasury or Finance, if God and the fates allow, I shall do everything in my power to sponsor poor boys and girls to come to Italy to study. They can tour during the summer months and sing and dance as only they can,” he mused.

“Buona Pasqua a tutti. A good Easter to all,” exclaimed the Apostolic Nuncio as the merriment and gaiety continued.

Midnight Mass in Manila

2011-04-24T08:30:00.000+02:00

Midnight Mass on the Eve of Easter marked the first time since the horrific War in the Pacific had ended in 1946, that an Easter Mass was being celebrated publicly in the evening,

The Japanese had taken particular delight in the mistreatment and maltreatment of Filipinos during the war. Manila was the Pearl of the Orient, the capital of the American Empire. Under MANIFEST DESTINY, Presidents McKinley and his successor Theodore Roosevelt had set their sights on the Philippines, then a colony of a ruined and self-destructive Spain.

The principal reason was to thwart Japan’s expansionism and hegemony in the Pacific. America badly needed a colony in a strategic area of the Pacific. The Philippines was perfect. A population of twenty million souls with a high rate of literacy, higher than their South. Its position in the Malacca Straits meant that its dominion of the Straits constituted an important first step towards the American Empire. Being clever men, the American Rulers did not fail to see the vast natural resources. Sugar, gold, hemp, tobacco, cotton, pearls and copper. Then there was the most precious of all resources – the Filipinos themselves. All this and it was a Christian country too!!

Hiroshima and Nagasaki in Japan had witnessed first hand the horror of several hundred thousand corpses burnt and fried by radiation in a matter of seconds. The Japanese forces in the Philippines not only continued to fight on, they turned as brutal as they could towards the brave-hearted Filipinos who battled on in the swamps, mountains, rain forests and boondocks (boondocks) The Japanese executed 400 Filipinos for every Japanese killed by the Guerillas, They grieved but continued their struggle.

The liberation of Manila was a mass slaughter. The American forces had to take it room by room, forget house to house. Manila bore the brunt of the ugliness and inevitable Death of War.

Monsignor Enio Alberti and the Catholic Church in the Philippines as well as its most enlightened political, business and cultural leaders decided that the Celebration of Holy Saturday would be a genuine act of moving forward and looking ahead rather than turning constantly back to their irreplaceable loved ones and unspeakable anguish.

"As Manila goes so will the rest of the archipelago,” declared the Monsignor in his apostolic letter to the Bishops in the Philippine Dioceses.

In an unspoken but eloquent gesture, the people of Manila had accepted the challenge and their attendance at this High Mass in Latin was the proof.

Dona Esperanza slowly walked down the central nave if the Church of San Beda (Saint Bede) Her son and daughter-in law and then her daughters with their husbands in tow came closely behind. The Hakka Amahs held the hands of their respective "children".

Dona Esperanza had given them the choice of staying at home in their cozy beds and enjoying their well deserved sleep or coming with her, in other words no choice at all.

“Thank you, my Dona. I speak for us all. Even if we are a bit tired. We not miss this event for our Hakka people suffer and die too in Manila,” Ah Wei had replied.

“I have never seen so many people, there must be thousands inside and outside San Beda, marveled Dona Esperanza.

The thousands stretched from E. Mendiola Street where the Benedictine monks to honor Saint Bede, the learned and erudite monk, all the way to Aviles Street, had built San Beda Church in the early 17th century. The people stood before the locked gates of the Presidential Palace – Malacanang. It had been the official residence of most of the Spanish Governor- Generals who had ruled the 3,700 plus islands in the name of the King. The American military Governors had picked the splendidly white marbled Malacanang as their residence as well. They governed in the name of the President, Theodore Roosevelt, an imperial and illuminated political leader.

Giant loudspeakers placed atop trucks laden with heavily armed soldiers to enable the masses of faithful on the streets to follow the Mass inside San Beda. The leaders of the Philippine communities and its religious leaders led by the Nuncio feared terrorist attacks by the Marxist guerillas. Hence the soldiers armed to the teeth.

It was a joint military exercise. American soldiers could be spotted armed with rifles and telescopic sights standing on armored tanks.

“We are at peace? I would like to know from what and from whom. The war never ended. This is just called by another name – the Cold War. I think it is even more deadly than the one we have just survived. Helpless and Innocent people are being murdered in this War with the ugly name - Cold War. God help us,” prayed Esperanza.

“San Beda looks intimidating,” whispered Lucrezia.

“It’s scary,” agreed Zita.

Few candles were lit inside the church. The Faithful used flashlights to find their seats.

“It’s like scenes from the movies,” remarked several voices.

“Ssh. Quiet. “ Unseen voices murmured.

“I think they may be right. This is a form of spectacle,” said Esperanza softly.

“It’s a sacred spectacle Mamma,” affirmed Matthias, eldest son of Esperanza.

‘The waiting is the worst part,” stated Allegra, her youngest daughter, mother of Zita and Freckie.

‘Why did we come so early? “ Asked a perplexed Freckie.

"Cuz…Monsignor Alberti decided not to allow reserved seats for any of the VIPs."

“That would be our family and others like us,” pointed out Dolly.

“It’s first come, first served,” explained Heinzie.

Lucrezia turned her head slowly. Her pupils had by now adjusted themselves to the blackness, but she had difficulty making out the outlines of the altar of gold facing her. The gold glistened.

“Ahhh, that will guide me,” observed Lucrezia.

The Blessed Sacrament – the golden chalice holding the sacred host, which symbolically was both the body and blood of Jesus, was not exposed. There was a larger and more opulent chalice on the altar, but it was empty. The fragments of light striking it from the dome reminded the faithful it must be so.”

Multitudes terrorized her. “Since the ambush in the blue and green hills of Montalban, floods of people make me feel faint. It seems as if elephants are sitting on my chest. If I keep on thinking about it, I shall surely pass out. I must not and I won’t,” resolved Lucrezia.

She turned towards Ah Wei and clutched her hand. “Terrible and sad visions are appearing before my eyes. Why don’t we recite the sorrowful mysteries of the Rosary? (It dealt with the Passion and agony of Christ.)

“Child, you always forget. I pray in Hakka,”Ah Wei reminds her softly. “Bad memories must never crush you. You are never alone.”

Lucrezia sighed deeply. The darkness, the tumult, the roar of the masses of faithful praying sends icicles through her arms, chest and legs.

“Dear Jesus. Dear Guardian Angel Mahasiah who forms part of the chorus of the Seraphim – the Archangel Metatron, help me please. Remove my fears “

She closed her eyes and repeated over and over until she no longer felt her heart beating in her chest and her breath was slow and faint. She let the calmness descend over her.

A symphony of small bells suddenly began ringing. Dozens of altar boys in white carried them and rang them as they walked down the three aisles of the Church towards the Altar. A lone acolyte carrying a candle preceded them and lit the way for Monsignor Alberti. He wore dazzling orange vestments and he was carrying the sacred Chalice containing the body and blood of Christ to bring it back to its rightful place. On Holy Thursday and Good Friday it is removed from the altar.

The High Mass in Latin was about to initiate.

“Porca Miseria, dirty filthy Misery,” swore the Monsignor. He had tripped over a handbag, which had been thoughtlessly left in the aisle. No one took a breath. Even those who did not understand Italian could tell from the tone of his voice that he had tripped. He recovered his composure quickly and proceeded ramrod straight to the central altar.

“Introibi ad altare Dei,” I will go into the altar of God,” he intoned in his fine baritone voice.

“Ad Deum qui laetificat juventutem meam,” replied the faithful.

“It means To God who is the joy of my youth,” Matt translated in a loud whisper for the benefit of is nephews and nieces.

“I know, thank you Uncle Matthias,” Lucrezia whispered back.

“Show off,” said Freckie standing with his parents Allegra and Armand in the pew in front of her.

“Silence,” ordered Dona Esperanza.

The High Mass was being sung entirely in Latin, except for the sermon or homily, which Monsignor always kept short, sweet and to the point. The choir was composed of some of the country’s finest sopranos and tenors.

“It’s electrifying. I have been transported somewhere else. As long as I live, I will never forget this moment,” mused Lucrezia as tears of joy and sadness rained down her face.

Freckie continued to fidget.” He is like those children in the Middle Ages who had been bitten by the tarantula spider. Their nervous systems induced them to move jerkily. In Spain and in Italy it was known as Saint Vitus’s dance,” said Camilla, Lucrezia’s mother.

Aunt Allegra swatted him lightly with her gilded fan. Freckie went on.

“Let us all ignore him,” suggested Dona Esperanza gruffly.

“Frightful Freckie has finally done it. We are embarrassed and mortified. Gran’s right. We must pay no attention,” reasoned Lucrezia.

“Gloria in Excelsis Deo,” Glory to God in the Highest.” proclaimed Monsignor.

And then there was Light once again the Universe. San Beda’s massive chandeliers blinded the faithful with light. They lit the candles which they had all brought with them and sang with the choir,” And on earth peace to men of good will.”

The reason why Saturday of Glory or Holy Saturday was so portentous to the early Christian converts as well as to the Roman, Catholic, Apostolic and Universal Church was because Jesus’ spirit and soul on that night between midnight and dawn of Easter descended into Hell. Some call it the blackness, the Satanic Hole and the dwelling of the Luciferian forces.

Jesus’ death had released many of the condemned. They could accompany him back into the forces of Light if they had once been human. They could once again join the Legions of Angels, if they had once been cast down into the bowels of the earth.

To enjoy eternal life they had to do two things.

“Forgive me Lord for my sin of pride. I believe in you as my Savior.”

The lights suddenly appeared in Aviles and e. Mendiola Street. The huge spotlights on the trucks turned midnight into daylight. The thousands shut their eyes for a few seconds.

“The Gospel on Easter Sunday is the longest ever. It takes about twenty minutes, because it recounts the passion and the agony of Christ as well as his Resurrection. Let us steel ourselves. The faithful realize they have now entered the first few minutes of Easter Sunday,” mused Dona Esperanza.

Monsignor Alberti did not ascend the steep steps into the pulpit to read the long Gospel. He steps down from the altar, and walks among the faithful. This is the first time the people have ever witnessed this.

The long wires of the microphones are smoothed out for him, as technicians try to follow him unobtrusively. All three national radio and television networks are broadcasting this important Easter mass.

“There’s our own DZRH,” pointed out Matt proudly.

Monsignor Alberti adjusted the height of the microphones and begun reading from the longest Gospel in the Easter Mass taken from John the Apostle.

They listened so quietly even the nervous coughing and clearing of throats ceased as if by divine intervention. When he had finished, he closed the golden missal of the New Testament. He gazed at all the faces around him.

"Happy Easter, Maligayang Pasko, and Felices Pascuas,” he boomed in English, Filipino and Spanish.

His greetings had stunned the people. For a few seconds they did not know hot to react.

“Well? Are you not going to wish me a Happy Easter too?”

“Happy Easter,” replied the thousands gaily.

“Louder please. His Holiness would like to hear a special and affectionate greeting from the only Catholic country in Asia. Ready? One, Two, Three. Go!”

Wave after wave of thunderous roars swept the church and the streets. “Happy Easter Monsignor. Happy Easter Holy Father!”

He waited serenely for another 15 minutes until the thunder abated. Then he went on. “Listen to me. You all know after all the years I have spent with you in the Philippines that I am not one for long and wordy sermons. I don’t like to preach to the faithful. The Resurrection of Jesus is about renewal. It is also about change. Jesus means eternal Life, Hope and Love. Many of you here present or watching us on television or listening on the radio must remember the Easter Sunday of 1946. There was Death, Devastation and some of you felt Despair. The stench of death never left our nostrils. Until June, masses of corpses kept being recovered from the ruins and the rubble. You allowed Jesus to take hold of your hearts and souls. Suddenly you felt joy even as you sobbed in grief. Despair had fled. You pulled up your shirtsleeves and began to remove piece by piece the signs of destruction. Manila was struck so horribly; many ruins are still among us.

“The Resurrection of Jesus gave you there-assurance that you would someday be reunited withal your dead. Jesus reminds us constantly that we should always look ahead, to our future and to our children and the future of our children’s children and so on…ad infinitum. This is timeless. I am talking about a future for all, rich, middleclass and poor. Those of you who think the poor want handouts and charity are wrong. Then, I must say that you don’t really know the poor. They want to work. They want jobs where they can give value for value. I pray that you will leave this celebration of Life and Light with the Love of Jesus, therefore with the love of your fellow men in your thoughts and deeds. This is not easy to do. Not for those listening neither to me, nor for me as I speak these words. Those of you, who can kneel, please do so now. The rest of you, please remain standing. I promise you the Lord understands. I am about to bestow His Holiness, Pope Pius Xll’s papal blessing on the Philippines.”

Iit was a very moving scene. Filipinos made room for each other so that many of them could kneel on the pavement and on the streets for the blessing. The soldiers laid down their rifles. Those standing on tanks descended and knelt on the ground.

Monsignor raised his hands and then made the Sign of the Cross. “In the name of the Father, the Son ad the Holy Spirit. Amen." He raised his arms once again.

“May Jesus bless each and every one of those present at this celebration of Easter; all of you who are devoutly listening by your radios wherever you are in the Archipelago, all who are patiently watching on television. The men and women in the prisons and in the jails. The beloved lepers in our own colony of Culion, a thousand miles from Manila. May Jesus bless those suffering from tuberculosis, malaria, dengue fever and meningitis and polio. Dear Jesus, bless the urchins peddling gum and cigarettes who have dropped out of school to help out their poor parents. May Jesus bless Tondo (a notorious slum) Remember Chinatown, where many pious Chinese work and live according to your tenets. May Jesus enlighten the misguided and duped terrorist Marxist and Communist guerillas that are devastating our country-side.

“Our own Manila has risen from the ashes, like a Holy Phoenix. The Pearl of the Orient no longer exists. But let us not forget that Manila is blessed with an incomparable moon shaped bay. The city has a potential to bea turquoise or even a sapphire. We beg Jesus to bless all the Philippine islands. May she bloom, thrive and grow. Thank you and Salamat." (the Filipino word taken from the Arab Salaam for thank you).

In a strong and beautiful voice Monsignor chanted, ”Ite Missa est.” The Mass is ended. Go in peace.

Good Friday: Part 1

2011-04-23T13:15:00.000+02:00

(note: If you haven't already done so - I recommend you read Holy Thursday first, by way of background).

Taking of Christ by Caravaggio

It was twelve o’clock noon in Manila on an unbearably hot Good Friday. The mourning bells of the dozens of Churches and Cathedrals throughout the city began slowly tolling in agony. Twelve times.

In Santol Mansion, the six children; Lucrezia, Zita, Heinzie, Dolly, Jaime and Freckie,followed by their respective amahs, struck a bronze gong in the gardens of Santol with a heavy, ebony doy doy (hammer). Twelve times.

Doña Esperanza and the clan were seated on the first six rows of the auditorium of Ateneo University, the Jesuit University founded in the early part of the 17th century. Father James Reuter, a young American Jesuit orator, was going to deliver the sermon on the Seven Last Words of Jesus.

Uncle Matt was the only one of the clan who had stayed behind to keep the children and the amahs company. All the domestic staff was attending the “Last Words” in Quiapo Cathedral near Chinatown. The priests spoke not only Tagalog but other dialects such as Ilocano, Ilongo and Cebuano. There was a splendid Cathedral in Chinatown . The learned Jesuits officiated at all the religious services because they spoke not only Mandarin, which few Huas Chiao – Overseas Chinese knew and understood. They were fluent in Shanghainese,Cantonese, Fujianese, and Hakka.

The children and their amahs tarried in the gardens of Santol Mansion. N.B. It continued after the short explanation of the Crucifixion.

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WHAT IS A CRUCIFIXION?

The Crucifixion of Jesus, or Yeshua in Aramaic, is recorded in all four gospels of the New Testaments – Matthew, Mark, Luke and John.

THE Crucifixion is the most agonizing way to die by the hand of another. A human being is tied or nailed to a cross or a stake.

The Persians, with their great civilization and culture, first employed the practice of Crucifixion on their hardened criminals, their conquered peoples. The Egyptians learned it from the Persians. The Carthaginians frequently resorted to Crucifixion for their condemned. It is logical to presume that the Carthaginians, a Semitic people had exposed Crucifixion to the Proto-Israelites.

Alexander the Great brought this brutal way of death to the Mediterranean- the West. He was in awe of many Eastern practices. As is inevitable with us humans, he passed on the sublime along with the malevolent.

The Romans had obliterated Carthage. They absorbed the best and the most foul from all the people they conquered and/or wiped out.

The Persians, Babylonians, and the Proto-Israelites also employed crucifixion as the most severe form of execution.

Crucifixion was therefore not confined to the Romans. Indeed, the Roman way was beheading or the use of exotic poisons.

But, the Romans - with their cohesive yet heterogeneous Empire, their Senate, their deep love of Law and Justice, Order (as in order in the Cosmos), engineering, communications, their ideas on the Sovereign State - perfected crucifixion as a means of capital punishment.

Since they happened to be efficient rulers they had permanent stakes plunged into the ground in their designated places of execution. The victim or the condemned carried the crossbar on his back to the stake. They usually weighed between fifty to seventy five pounds. Sometimes the victim was nailed to the crossbar or he was tied to it with rope, which left searing rope burns on his wrists and legs. The crossbar and victim were hoisted into place. One way was to raise the crossbar to fit inside a notch on top of the stake so that the letter T was formed. Another method was to place the cross beam a few feet below the top, creating a cross. The imagination of humanity to kill their fellow beings, then as now knew no bounds. Where there was a scarcity of wood, the condemned was nailed or tied to a single stake in the ground.

A soldier walked in from of the condemned person, carrying a small wooden placard in which was written the crime he had committed. This sign was then nailed to the cross above the head of the condemned.

In the case of Jesus, nails eight inches long were pounded through the wrists (ulna), between the radial (elbow) and the ulna. The nails never went through the palms. The nails would have torn the palms away as they could not hold all the weight of the body.

Out greatest artists did not know this or chose to ignore it with customary artistic license. Leonardo (da Vinci) possessed an intimate knowledge of anatomy because he dissected and studied corpses relentlessly. A crucifixion by Leonardo does not exist or did not survive the upheavals of time. As far as I am concerned only two painters portrayed the Passion passionately and vividly. One is Mantegna, who shows the dead figure of Jesus sculpted in such a way that one would swear it is a fresh corpse. The other is none other than Caravaggio. He portrayed religious themes more realistically with his interplay of light and darkness.

The flagellation of Christ by Caravaggio

Some scholars and forensic experts argue that it may have been possible to plunge the nails through the wrists if the victim had a small stand for his posterior to rest upon.

I think that may have been the case when thousands of early Christians died on crosses in the Coliseum in Rome and in others similar to it throughout the Empire. Nero, Trajan and Diocletian harbored no mercy towards the believers of Jesus. Indeed, every catastrophe was blamed on them.

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The children and their amahs tarried in the garden, fascinated by the reverberations of the gong. It seemed to bounce off their majestic acacia, avocado, and mango trees. It was Freckie who broke the spell.

“I’ll race you all back to the house,” exclaimed Freckie who was a swimmer and a runner.

Heinzie, a bit plump, and Jaime, wiry and thin, refused to lose face. “Okay,” they replied reluctantly.

“I’ll join you boys,” cried out Dolly, not wanting to be left out.

Lucrezia and Zita exchanged “here-we-go-again” looks. “We’re walking back. It’s too hot for contests,” replied Lucrezia.

“I’m with her,” assented Zita.

Freckie crossed and uncrossed his eyes. “Why do you always have to ruin everything?” he asked, addressing Lucrezia directly.

She ignored his remark and tried to think of Jesus.

Zita lashed out, “You’re my brother but you’re such a pain.”

Ah Wei became the referee. “No bad words on Good Friday, eh? They who wants to run, run. They who likes to walk, walk.” She put her arm around Lucrezia’s waist, turned back to reassure Ah Tat, Zita’s amah, who followed her example.

“Hurry, children,” Uncle Matt called out from the veranda as they began to walk up the grand, circular, marble staircase of Santol Mansion. “The broadcast will begin in a few seconds,” said Uncle Matt, adjusting the dials of the Philips radio. “For the first time, we are broadcasting the Agony of Jesus live. In a few seconds, we’ll be right there at the Ateneo Auditorium.”

Uncle Matt ran the radio stations and television channel owned by the Nieto Ortigas clan in the Philippines.

They waited in silence, not moving. Lucrezia clutched her white handkerchief tightly. Then, out of the Philips radio came the familiar, low, caressing voice of Uncle Matt.

“It was pre-recorded,” he told them. The announcement was in English, more widely spoken than the national language, Tagalog, or Spanish, which was known only to the elite or the intellectuals (i.e., the oligarchy).

“I wonder if the children will last three hours?” pondered Uncle Matt. He wasn’t concerned. Their amahs would insist they take the siesta if they noticed any sign of restlessness or sleepiness.

“The Seven Last Words of Jesus. The First Word from the Gospel of Saint Luke. Jesus says, ‘Father, forgive them. They know not what they do,” boomed out Father Reuters voice.

Father Reuters voice was made for broadcasting. He seduced the microphone. His voice was a rich baritone, full of colors. He’d raise his voice, then it would shake, then they had to strain when he whispered.

The Jesuit took all his listeners to Jerusalem on that torrid Good Friday so long ago, to Golgotha, Aramaic for “the skull.” This is where the Romans crucified the condemned. Jesus was nailed to the cross as it lay on the ground. Two thieves - one on his right, one on his left - were also being prepared for crucifixion.

“Let us ask ourselves: do we know what we are doing? Do the leaders of the world in politics, finance, industry, art and culture know? Do we in the church know?” thundered Father James Reuter.

The narra (mahogany) ceiling fans were whirling at their maximum speed, the volume of the radio was pumped up. Good Friday in Manila was scorching. Ninety percent humidity and not a hint of cross currents. Heaps of mangoes, tiny yellow bananas and huge, sweet, green bananas sat on a wicker basket on the side table. There was plenty of cool water and iced calamansi juice to drink. No one moved. They listened in rapt attention.

Lucrezia thought, “I don’t always know what I’m doing.”

Uncle Matt said loudly, “Our autocratic Pope (Pius XII) won’t like that one bit. That might be a barb aimed at him too. We don’t know what we are doing, we just think we do.”

“Are you not the Messiah?” mocked one of the criminals on the cross beside Jesus. The other thief berated him. ”Don’t you fear God? Both of us are guilty. We deserve to die on the cross. But he is innocent,” And then he addressed Jesus. “Remember me Yeshua, when you come as King.”

Over the airwaves, the listening audience, which, numbered in the millions, sat spellbound by Father Reuter’s delivery.

“Yeshua?” asked the children.

“Yes, that was Jesus’ name in Aramaic, the language spoken throughout Palestine, Judea and Syria at that time,” explained Matt.

Father Reuter recites Jesus’ reply in a cracked voice. ”Today, you will be with me in Paradise", from the Gospel of Saint Luke.

“The second death word of Jesus is about acceptance, forgiveness and affirmation in Jesus.”

“My belief in Jesus will inspire me to be a good person so that when I die, I shall also be in Paradise. I still don’t understand why the terrorists did not kill me four years ago in Montalban. I remember Uncle Ben yelling ’’No Victor!” I heard the blast of the gun, and moaning. And then Victor squatted right beside me and stared into my shocked eyes long and hard. I never told anyone that. He massacred all forty-one men, women and children. He only left Uncle Ben and me. He deliberately shot off one leg and one arm of Uncle Ben. What cruelty. Why? Did Jesus in some way penetrate his hard heart? I am not sure,’’ mused Lucrezia.

“I must say this,” began Father Reuter.” The women close to Jesus showed no fear, unlike some of his disciples, apostles and friends. The people typified all oppressed beings through the ages. Why do you think I am using the word oppressed? Because they were so. First by their own harsh Talmudic Judaic Rabbis and of course by the merciless Pontius Pilate.

“So, I repeat, the people were terrified and crushed except when they taunted and lashed out at Jesus. The Apostle John tells us that Maryam, Jesus’ mother Mary, her sister wife of Clopas, Mary of Magdala also known as Mary Magdalene and John himself, were standing by Jesus’ cross. John was probably a cousin of Jesus. He may have been his youngest disciple at the time of the crucifixion. We know from several accounts that Jesus loved him the most.”

“They wept in silent horror and disbelief. Jesus addressed his Mother. “Woman, behold your son.” And then to John who is the Narrator of this Gospel he said,” Behold your Mother.”

“These words are full of passion and love. Listen carefully. Jesus is saying that all women are the mothers of all the children of the earth. Then as now. Semitic cultures - Arab and Jews alike, for they are brothers - looked after their own people in times of tragedy, regardless of blood ties. In a way, they are all born of Woman and therefore sons and daughters. Even as Jesus lay dying an excruciating death, he was thinking of his loved ones.

Lucrezia was struck by something Father Reuter had left out. “Jesus referred only to mothers and sons. Why did he leave out Mary Magdalene and his aunt? That is strange.”

She recalled the words of Great-Uncle Jaime Pardo de Tavera, an influential and rich Sephardic Jew who was linked to the Nieto Ortigas clan as a brother in all but blood.” Both Jews and Arabs are in reality matrilineal societies. The women are more powerful than the men will ever acknowledge.”

Father Reuter continued. ”Darkness covered the land at the ninth hour. From Jesus’ lips a lament pierced the heavens. Eloi! Eloi! Lama Sabachtani? My God! My God! Why have you forsaken me? This is from the Gospel of Saint Mark. Father Reuter paused and then asked the millions listening “ Is this a cry of desperation? Yes!” he cried out.

Lucrezia’s vision was blurred from her tears. “Why was he desperate? Was he asking God if humanity was worth dying for?”

Amah Ah Wei was weeping quietly. Heinzie, who adored Lucrezia but had lost his eldest brother Bubi a couple of years ago, begun to cry. Soon, all the amahs were drying their cheeks and blowing their noses. Matt could not contain himself and covered his eyes with a fine linen handkerchief.

The listeners heard Father Reuter whisper hoarsely, "I thirst, I thirst.”

“To have a proper impression of the state Jesus was in, I am going to ask you to close your eyes and imagine what I am about to tell you,” said Father Reuter with ardent eloquence. The soldiers of Caiphas, the High Priest entered the Garden of Gethsemane to arrest him. They did not know who he was. He was identified by an affectionate kiss given him by Judas, his right hand man. After the shock of this betrayal, he was roughly led away by the soldiers and brought before the Sanhedrim. It was a council composed of Pharisees and Sadducees. The very rabbis he had relentlessly attacked for their corruption, greed and violence. When Jesus questioned Caiphas, the High Priest, a soldier brutally struck Jesus in the head.

“The High Priest has not given you permission to speak, much less query him.”

His captors blindfolded him and punched him in the face repeatedly. With his eyes covered, Jesus could not see and instinctively roll with the punches. The blows would have been that much more deadly. His face was unrecognizable. Like ground meat. Wait! His torture was just beginning.”

“His clothes torn and ripped off his body; Jesus was naked. What better way to humiliate a man than to show him naked before a body of his enemies?”

The faithful listening to Father Reuter seemed paralyzed. They had never stopped to think what the Passion of Christ was all about. After 11 painful years of denial, Filipinos had to confront the holocaust they had survived during the War through the agony of Christ the Savior.

Father Reuter did not mince words. He was not the sort of priest who would do that. He wanted the faithful to realize the suffering Jesus had undergone to save all of Humanity. Nothing any human being suffered would ever compare with the ordeals of Jesus. That is what he wanted them to realize. They needed to do that to move on. The bloodletting in the Orient never stopped. After the war in the Pacific, there was Korea. It had ended with an angry peace, a sort of truce with no clear Victor. Now Vietnam was in the throes of once again throwing off its foreign Masters. The Japanese had been driven off, then the French. Now the Americans had come by the thousands as advisors. The People in the Philippines did not wish to confront these realities. Theirs had been so overwhelming. He cleared his throat as quietly as possible and continued.

“Then the scourging initiated. A soldier used a flagrum, a whip made of leather thongs imbedded with sharp metals and glass fragments. Small, heavy metal balls sewn into the end of each thong ensured maximum piercing and carving out of flesh, bit by agonizing bit. The flagrum was brought down with fiendish fury against the back of Jesus. Thirty-nine lashes was the number of mercy according to Judaic Laws. The flagrum tore off his skin, pierced his tendons and muscles. Perhaps they even exposed his spinal column. Jesus’ back was a mass of mutilated flesh. He was in unbearable pain, flitting in and out of consciousness due to loss of blood and bodily fluids. Yet, he did not ask for water.”

“A robe of rough linen was brusquely placed on his butchered body. A crown of thorns was crushed with great force on his head.”

Father Reuter stopped to ask the faithful abruptly. ”Do you know what happens when that many thorns are inside your head?”

There was only a reverential and awesome silence from the faithful.

“I’ll tell you. The thorns penetrated his scalp and skull and ripped at the skin. Slivers of scalp and hair mixed with the thorns. Heavy hemorrhaging followed, along with yet more excruciating pain. Jesus was covered with spittle from his torturers who knelt before him, mocking and laughing and yelling’ Hail, King of the Judaics.”

“The sight of this young, dying man covered in blood, saliva and gore, who bore all this with dignity and acceptance, enraged his torturers even more. What did they do? He was senseless yet they beat him again and again.”

“I thirst,” rasped Jesus, as the Apostle John tells us. A Roman soldier offered him some wine; it was probably vinegar, which had been doused on a cloth wrapped around a sharp end of a lance. Jesus refused it. I will say it again. Jesus refused the assistance, as he lay on the cross. Was it because he refused to lighten his agony? Did he thirst for water? Perhaps he meant compassion? Love? Tolerance?

Consumatum Est. It is finished,” he whispered. His loved ones barely heard him. John the Apostle informs us.

This reminded Lucrezia that she longed for water for her dry throat. “Wait. Don’t be soft on yourself. Wait a few more minutes. Are you feeling faint? No, then wait!” she scolded herself.

“Remember,” pronounced Father Reuter. “Jesus was already dying when he was led away for crucifixion. That is why he could not carry his own cross. That is why he fell down three times. That is why a strong man, a stranger from Cyrene named Simon was ordered by the Roman centurion to carry the cross for Jesus.”

Father Reuter said something, which brought chills to all the millions of faithful. “We Jesuits are familiar with the physical aspects of crucifixion. Not only as medical doctors, scientists and biblical scholars. Many of us together with thousands of Japanese Catholics were crucified in Japan in the 16th century. In North America, Jesuits were once again nailed to the cross in the 17th and 18th centuries.’

‘Now listen carefully. Do you know what happened when those eight-inch long nails were hammered into his wrists? The median nerves are severed, producing a burning pain and inevitable paralysis in the hands. Once Jesus was lifted to the cross, his feet were nailed to the beam, which sank I the ground. In order to do this properly, his killers bent his knees and raised his feet so that they could lie flat against the stake. When a body hung this way, the force of gravity dragged the weight of the body down. As a result, both shoulders and elbows were dislocated. They popped out of their joints, ripping all his tendons and ligaments.”

“Oh! This is horrible. I can’t bear this,” cried out Lucrezia.

Her cousins agreed, except Freckie who called out ”You are all nothing but silly ninnies”

“Silence!” ordered Matt, who was visibly touched himself by Father Reuter’s realistic portrayal of the Agony of Jesus on the Cross.

“Freckie, I am going to ask you to go to your room unless you apologize to us.”
“Sorry,” said a chastised looking boy of thirteen.

“Those of you here in this auditorium who came expecting a sermon on the Seven Last Words of Jesus may be disappointed by my unsparing description instead of his suffering. You may leave. I will understand,” explained Father Reuter.

For a full minute, the microphone was silent.

“No one will dare to leave this auditorium. They fear the comments of their peers and their families more than the wrath of God. Of such stuff are we humans made of,” pondered Dona Esperanza with sadness and a little bitterness in her heart.

“You are all staying until Jesus breathes his last. Whatever prompted you to remain in your seats, I am grateful to God. Those of you listening in may leave the room or turn off the radio.”

No one did. On that portentous Good Friday of 1957, the faithful got a clear idea at last about the acute Passion of their Savior, Jesus Christ.

“I have not minced any words so let us go on the same way,’’ said Father Reuter.

“Jesus’ arms were now almost against his chest. The chest cavity was ever so slowly being crushed. Every breath was sheer torture. Jesus had lost a great deal of blood from the unrelenting and severe beatings, the scourging and the crown of thorns. He was dehydrated. Therefore, there would have been less oxygen in his blood. His heart begun to beat faster in a vain attempt to compensate for the oxygen, which he needed badly, but which was denied him. In order to take one tortuous breath, Jesus had to propel himself on the nails in his feet. This was almost impossible for him. Indeed, every few seconds he would pass out. His back, in pieces because of he scourging, would constantly scrape the stake full of splinters. The whole agony of trying to inhale and exhale became more intense and unbearable as the hours passed. The heart literally exploded or the man died from asphyxiation.”

“Suddenly the sky was now black. Jesus was near death. He used his last remaining breath to say,” Father, into they hands I commend my spirit.”

“He stopped breathing. Jesus had fulfilled his mission on earth. God and the Cosmic Forces had taken their son back.”

Father Reuter waited a few seconds and then explained. “Because Jesus had been savagely beaten, scourged, tortured with the crown of thorns and forced to carry his cross; he died in a very short period of time. The Romans did not break his legs to make sure he was truly dead. One of them pierced his side with a spear. There was no blood on the spear, just liquid trickled out.”

Not a sound came from the faithful at the Ateneo Auditorium. “As I look at some of you, weeping silently, many of whom I know and love, I can’t help but remember the first Holy Week we all observed a few months after Manila was liberated. Destruction was everywhere. The dust was so thick no one could breathe without a cloth or bandana over his or her mouth. The stench of death penetrated our nostrils. We moved like automatons. No doubt about it, we were all in shock. Pontoon bridges were hastily built by the US navy Seabees - there was not a bridge large or small left standing. So many of us dead, missing, maimed, mutilated and wounded. So many of our homes, churches, schools and buildings bombed if not obliterated. That did not deter us from observing the Passion and rejoicing in the Resurrection of Jesus and of our once beautiful city. God bless the Philippines. May the Filipinos endure and prevail

In the hushed auditorium of the Ateneo University, Dona Esperanza blew her nose and stanched the tears from her face. Almost everyone was occupied with the same actions. Fray Paco stood on a black silk cushion on her lap. Not a peep for three hours had ensued from his beak. Not a piece of feces had marred the perfection of the black silk. He was used to this services on Good Friday. Fray Paco had first accompanied his Beloved Don Cesar to church on Good Friday for the sermon on the Seven Last Words. At that time, the service was in Castilian. This tradition continued for 40 years. The learned Jesuits had given him the name of Fray (Little Friar in Castilian) and Paco (the diminutive of Francisco – Francis) in irony because of his blasphemous and oath filled beak. They said that he did not fully understand the meaning of the Passion but that he was intelligent enough to sense that it was an event, which had shaken and changed the world. It would continue until the end of planet Earth and perhaps beyond it. Hence, his long silence year after year for forty years during the observance of the Seven Last Words.

Good Friday: Part 2

2011-04-23T13:10:00.000+02:00

Father Reuter had finished his Elegy on the Seven Last Words of Jesus. High up in the hills of Santa Mesa, where Santol Mansion sat like its most magnificent pendant, the dirge of the bells tolling the death of Jesus came from all directions.

Without a word, because all of them felt cleansed and purified by the cathartic and awesome effect of Father Reuter’s words, the six cousins – Zita, Freckie, Dolly, Heinzie, Jaime and Lucrezia, together with their Hakka amahs struck the bronze gong in their garden.

Rex and Ruhr, the handsome German Shepherds, sat in perplexed silence.

Uncle Matthias followed from a distance. He was lost in his thoughts. His beautiful baby girl Teresita, she of the ebony curls and skin like Snow White had died on a Good Friday.
Her death remains a mystery. She was on her mother Fautina’s breast for over a year, which meant that Teresita’s immune system would have been strong enough to fight off any infections. Matt himself put her in her crib for her nap. When it seemed to Faustina that Teresita was sleeping way beyond her time she hurried to pick her up.

‘Dio Mio. E morta! Ma perche?’’

His family and clan wept with him long into the night of Good Friday, Holy Saturday and Easter Sunday. Something splintered inside Matthias’ heart. He could see Faustina corroding herself with grief. After the funeral they both decided to practice birth control: the church be damned. She had lost her parents, both sets of grandparents as a result of the Japanese Occupation. She could not cope with the mere thought that she might lose another child.

“We are emotional cowards when it comes to having children of our own. Our numerous nieces and nephews really are a joy to us. We give thanks for that,” he ruminated.

He saw the pygmies Lakan and Danga. They had crouched behind the broad trunk of the balete tree nearby. They began systematically banging their heads softly against the bark of the tree, enough to bleed copiously but not enough to injure themselves seriously.

Why do they always do this on Good Friday?’ asked Lucrezia.

“It is their way of mourning. We must respect that,” explained Matt.

“It is really too damp and sticky out here,” whined Freckie.

“We can go back to the house. We have all struck the gong twelve times, said Matt.

Now the flamenco cante jondo would be played on the high fidelity system. Cante Jondo are the laments of the Andalusian gypsies, the race of Cale, who came from India in the 13th century Spain under Arab domination. Christians, Muslims, and Jews lived in such harmony that it created an intellectual and philosophical flowering hardly ever seen again.

The gypsy – Gitano- zingari chants of Good Friday are called saetas. It is a word lost in time, probably of Sanskrit origin. If you want to hear music from the depths of the soul, listen to the saetas, No other instruments are ever used. Sometimes the sound of a hammer on a nail is heard,” said Matt.

Lucrezia felt herself quivering.

“There is something atavistic about the human voice chanting from its entrails to lament the Crucifixion of Jesus. Many of them have their own beliefs, which are never revealed to us. This much we know, they are attached to the Virgin Mary. Jesus, his life and his death seem to have struck them in particular.”

"Sometimes the cantaoras (female flamenco singers) chant the saetas in unison," Zita told her cousins.

Other saetas are sang by a lone cantaor,” said Dolly.”

"Our ancestors did not come from Southern Spain,” spoke up Heinzie. "We are Aragonese, German Jewish and Chinese."

“Well? Where do you think we come from?” asked Jaime, “Aragon, Catalonia and Milan."

“No one is more mixed up racially than we are,” opined Lucrezia pointing to herself, Zita and Freckie. "Let’s see, I’m Italian, Ausro-Hungarian, Jewish, Aragonese and Filipino-Chinese.”

“I am the only mestiza (half breed of three quarters European in this group. The rest of you are really mongrels,” stated dotty Dolly with disdain.

“Look children,” Uncle Matt intervened, raising his voice over the ululating voices of the cantaoras. No one in the world is pure anything except for autochthonous people like the pygmies, aborigines, the Maoris. Inca, Yaqui, Aztec and other Amerindian tribes. We Europeans drove them away at best, enslaved or exterminated them at worst.”

Then Amah Ah Wei made one of her unfailingly true statements. 'Too much marry same-same not good. Make for idiot children and very ugly children. Look at Japanese and Jews. God love them, but difficult to find beautiful people there.”

No one replied to that. And then Lucrezia asked, “What about you, Amah and all the other Amahs?

“We Hakka first, Chinese second.” Replied Ah Wei without hesitation. After a long pause, she added, "before all, we are for Jesus first. Him we love, the son of Light who dies for everybody white, yellow, black, brown, round eyes and slitty eyes. All.”

“The tahong (fresh water clams) with fresh pieces of ginger and kangkong (a leafy, green vegetable brought from Southern China by Chinese merchants centuries ago) were delicious,” said Dona Esperanza to the assembled family members.

On Good Friday, dinner was served early in Santol Mansion. In the background, the saetas’flamenco laments still played softly on the hi-fi system. The cousins ate in silence. Tonight, conversation was limited only to the necessary. Time enough tomorrow-on Saturday of Glory and on Easter Sunday to exchange impressions and opinions about Father Reuter’s impassioned oratory.

Fray Paco, perched on a small, carved ebony chest from Tonkin muttered softly, no one knew what. Matt rose from his chair, walked towards the matriarch and slid her chair quietly. Dona Esperanza knelt beside her chair on the rare narra (mahogany) floor. With a minimum of noise, everyone followed her example. The amahs and the staff entered with their padded and embroidered silk chinelas (slippers) and proceeded to kneel as well.

“Let us recite a prayer to Michael the Archangel,” murmured Dona Esperanza.

Everyone knew it well as the celebrant and the faithful recited it at the end of every mass. It is a beautiful and powerful prayer.

“Saint Michael the Archsangel,”intoned the Mater Familias.

“Arrrkangelo Mikel,” repeated Fray Paco reverently. Fray Paco’s religious mangling was drowned by the strong voices of adults and children.

“ Defend us in battle. Be our Protector against the snares of the devil. We humbly pray, O Prince of the heavenly host, by the power of God, thrust into Hell Satan and all the evil spirits who wander through the world for the ruin of souls. Amen.”

As soon as they were all seated. Dona Esperasnza nodded her head discreetly at Lucrezia.

“Ah! That’s my signal,” she said softly as she rose from her chair. Instinctively, she waited for all eyes to be upon her.

“Nena, va! (Child, go),” shrieked Fray Paco.

“Trust him to always hug the limelight and try to steal the show,” thought Lucrezia in amusement. She began.

“How did this prayer to Saint Michael come about? It was the late 19th century. The great Pope Leo Xlll, while attending a Mass of Thanksgiving at Saint Peter’s Basilica, saw in a vision demonic spirits gathering on the Vatican. The Pope walked out in the middle of the Mass, gray and stunned. He headed straight for his private study. His entourage followed anxiously. This prayer is the fruit of that experience. Leo Xlll himself wrote every word and instructed that it be printed and sent to all the Bishops around the world. It is the prayer that we recite at the end of every Mass. It is an ardent plea to Michael the Archangel to drive Satan away from us, back to their dark world.”

Freckie overturned a glass of water on the table.

“That’s Sevres crystal. I hope he did not do that accidentally on purpose. He is awfully good at those tricks," mused Lucrezia.

Everyone ignored the accident. Of course the glass of Sevres crystal broke into pieces, but their Grandmother was not attached to objects, which she could replace. She was more concerned with human beings.

“Are you all right Freckie?” she asked.

He was fine. He nodded respectfully towards his Grandmother.

Camilla and Edmund, Lucrezia’s parents, smiled contentedly. This explanation had been their daughter’s idea. Her Grandmother had considered it appropriate.

The cousins were collected by their respective amahs. Their parents hugged and kissed them good night. One by one, they filed past their Grandmother, took her proffered right hand, and respectfully bent and touched their foreheads towards her had. All the amahs followed suit.

“May Jesus and the Angels bless you. I wish you peaceful dreams,” Dona Esperanza told each one in a soft musical voice.

Holy Week In the Philippines: Holy Thursday

2011-04-23T13:05:00.000+02:00

Author’s Note: I have written (but not yet published) a five book Saga on my clan’s adventures, exploits and tragedies in the Philippines, Indonesia and China called The Saga of Fray Paco.”

This chapter was taken from the fifth book, The Indomitable Contessina Lucrezia, which forms part of "The Saga of Fray Paco."

Fray Paco is a rare, white cockatoo captured by headhunters on the island of Nias, a part of the island chain of Sumatra. He was a smart-ass polyglot brighter than chimpanzees. These cockatoo are almost extinct today. I grew up with Fray Paco.

Manila, known as the Pearl of the Orient, had been crushed to dust under the brutal Japanese occupation and the relentless bombing and shelling by the Americans in order to liberate the city in 1946.

Military historians could not agree: Which city in World War II was destroyed the most - Dresden or Manila? The jury is still out even as I write this.

Filipino ingenuity, hard work and massive aid from the United States, their former colonial masters, came into play immediately after the war. Heavy investments from American, Canadian and Swiss multinationals helped as well. By 1957, Manila was once again a city bustling with panache and elegance.

Except for Intramuros, the superbly walled city fronting gorgeous Manila Bay that was built by the Spanish in the 16th, 17th and 18th century. Intramuros was no more. A chunk of every Manileño's heart was ripped out forevermore. The wounds of Intramuros ran so deep; no one could bear to enter it, not for curiosity and not to clear up the rubble. Everyone felt like violators. Sixty thousand souls had died there before they even had time to realize they were dead. No living thing wandered through. Not even rats and cockroaches.

In Holy Week of 1957, the Philippine peso was even money to the U.S. dollar. The country had the fastest growing economy in South East Asia. In the continent, it ran second only to Japan as the most prosperous. The rate of literacy was higher than Southern Europe's and its infant mortality, lower. Except for the world travelers such as Giovanni Agnelli, David Rockefeller and the Rothschilds, few upper class Europeans and Americans could afford to flit about willy-nilly around Europe and the United States the way rich Filipinos did.

Religious devotion among all classes of society was observed with passion. Nowhere was this lived with more ardor than during Holy Week.

I've adapted the story somewhat for my blog readers, and I look forward to your feedback – as this is the first story I've published from my Fray Paco Series; This chapter begins:

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1957. Manila. Santol Mansion. Dusk. Holy Thursday.

Lucrezia grimaced. "It's so sad. Why can't we go to our chalet in the mountains or our houses by the sea?" asked Lucrezia twisting a long, blonde curl.

"The Montebellos and the Madrigals are spending Holy Week in their seaside villas in Batangas," pouted cousin Zita.

"I mean, what are we rich for?" insisted a soon-to-be-eleven Lucrezia. "I never get to celebrate my birthday because it falls on Holy Thursday, Good Friday or Easter Sunday."

"Child! Doña Esperanza and your parents always give you bang! bang! Birthday party after Holy Week," stated a shocked Ah Wei, Lucrezia's Chinese Hakka amah (nanny) and a convert to Catholicism.

The cousins - indomitable Lucrezia, fiery Zita, sweet Jaime, darling Heinzie, frightful Freckie and pesky Dolly - were sitting in the vast veranda which encircled Santol Mansion, drinking fresh Alfonso mango juice with their respective nannies. Santol Mansion was a 40-room, "Gone With The Wind" house belonging to the rich and powerful Doña Esperanza, matriarch of the Nieto Ortigas clan. She was also their grandmother.

"It's useless to complain," sighed Lucrezia.

"Right. No one will pay attention to us," agreed Heinzie.

"Maybe Jesus would," suggested Jaime.

"You're a dunderhead, do you know that?" replied Freckie angrily. "Jesus can't even help himself," he added for good measure.

“Freckie’s mean and twisted,” thought Lucrezia who detested her twelve-year-old cousin. Today on Holy Thursday she felt guilty about her feelings and tried to dispel them from her heart.

“Nonna locuta, causa finita,” Rome has spoken and that is the end of it, declared Dona Esperanza paraphrasing the Pope’s statement regarding mass murder, abortion, divorce and other crimes against humanity and against the Church. – “Roma locuta, causa finita”

Her high heels clicked –clicked on the rare mahogany floor, her big black baroque pearls swayed with the soft cadence of her hips. Her Pacific blue eyes swiftly swept past her six grandchildren and their tiny Hakka amahs. Freckie was so unruly the Hakka amahs refused to deal with him. Only Librada, a well-muscled Filipina yaya with the patience of a saint, could cope with him.

“Prayer books?”

The children and nannies hold up their hands to enable Dona Esperanza to see them.

“Fans?”

The nannies pried them out of their long pockets.

“Bladders empty? I’ll not have any child urinating in the courtyards or squares of the churches!”

The children nodded without saying a word.

“Our Sikh bodyguards have pure Manila water and cases of Coca Cola in our weapons carriers. I know this is the height of our hot season. I won’t tolerate any fainting due to lack of water or electrolytes. Is that clear?”

The silence was unnerving. Lucrezia (secretly her grandmother’s favorite) cleared her throat. “I think we understand everything, Gran Gran.”

Doña Esperanza swiveled slowly, and then she changed her mind.

“One last thing. Before you all go to bed tonight, I’d like to explain what “The Passion” of Jesus really means and why, despite our wealth, we are staying put in Manila, in this horrifying heat, observing the Passion. Let’s go, everybody.” With that, Doña Esperanza swirled and left the veranda, leaving behind a trail of lightly scented ylang-ylang perfume.

At the porte cochere of Santol Mansion, their parents were entering their respective Buicks and Cadillacs. Edmund, Lucrezia’s father, was the only one behind the wheel, her mother, Camilla, beside him. Everyone else had uniformed drivers. In the Nieto Ortigas clan, almost all its members followed the example set by their great-uncle, Don Alcibiades the banker. He pilled up success after banking success in the Roaring Twenties. He also set many precedents. One of them was to sit next to one’s driver. The clan considered it demeaning and insensitive to be in the back of the car.

Bashir and Ranjit, their giant turbaned Sikh bodyguards, lifted all of the children as if they were rag dolls. “Intjou go,” they said. By now, all the Hakka nannies were a few centimeters shorter than “their children” who seemed to grow by the day. Because many of them had been sold into slavery and prostitution as children, they recoiled from any human touch other than that from “their charges”. Without a word, Ranjit set up a ladder next to the weapons carrier where they and the children were to ride, to enable the nannies to climb inside.

The Sikhs, not being Christian, were not required to follow the Via Crucis (the Way of the Cross) with Doña Esperanza, her children and grandchildren. They kept alert in the churches to any changes in the mood of the churchgoers or unusual occurrences. Like duelists they studied every movement of the elements. They were resplendent in their pristine white Kamezz and Kurta and towered over most of the faithful.

The Catholic domestics of Doña Esperanza were active participants in the Via Crucis. All donned their blackest clothes and their expressive faces betrayed their anguish. They had all lost a relative or a beloved friend during the Japanese Occupation and the ensuing American bombing.

The Amahs always wore their traditional black silk trousers with white ramie shirts. The black sheen of the silk was unmatched by anything the West could reproduce. The Hakkas stubbornly refused to divulge the secret of the shiny black silk.

The children looked somber in plain white frocks, white leather shoes with matching white linen socks. As postwar children they had not actually heard the Mitsubishi zeros screeching eerily down toward their targets They had never heard the screams of the victims but their elders never stopped reminding them how Uncles, Cousin, Aunts, and Great-Uncles had perished in a holocaust of fire.

Dona Esperanza and the Nieto Ortigas clan dressed in black cotton or linen. This practice was followed by all the illustrious families in Manila (be they of Chinese, American or European origin).

Aunt Allegra, mother of Zita and Freckie, was always the coordinator of funerals, baptisms, christenings and the rituals of Holy Week.

Their first stop: Saint Augustine’s Cathedral. Thousands upon thousands of mutilated corpses had lain grotesquely in the aisles, altars and basements of Saint Augustine after the ferocious bombing and shelling in 1946. Pieces of shrapnel, fragments of marble and slivers of wood, which tore through heads and vital organs at a speed and force never witnessed before, killed them.

“There wasn’t a family, rich or poor, white, brown or yellow, who had not lost relatives, loved ones or friends,” Doña Esperanza would say often and sadly.

Thus, the Passion - the final hours of Jesus on earth - was something Filipinos of every color, race or creed could identify with even more than most people.

Miraculously, Saint Augustine, on the outskirts of the walled city - Intramuros, now the Ghost City, was still standing after the smoke of endless bombs had cleared. There was heavy damage to its lateral naves.

“Let’s not wait for American or Philippine bureaucracy. We will all dip into our deep pockets and do what has to be done,” said the rich.

Each family and clan competed in generosity. In less than six months, San Agustin was almost restored. The Father Superior, an outspoken critic, anti-war activist and a pious Basque from Guernica, Padre Pedro Rocha, purposely left a gaping hole about a meter in circumference. During the rainy season, the faithful were pelted with water. Superstitious Filipinos (after all, what more could happen to them?) refused to use umbrellas in church. In the summer, the sun fried their heads but no one dared open a parasol. So why did they persist in standing underneath? An act of penance? A sense of guilt? Horror at the consequences of war? Who was right? Who was wrong? It didn’t matter anymore.

The Stations of the Cross were always recited in impeccable Latin by Uncle Matt (for Mattias), Doña Esperanza’s eldest son. (She had wed at fifteen; her Latin was faulty compared to her son’s. Esperanza was self-taught, cultured and street smart, not erudite.) Everyone knelt on the uneven marble floor. The children followed the way of the cross from their prayer books, which were in Latin. Lucrezia stared at the bronze bas-reliefs realistically sculpted by an unknown Filipino master in the late 16th century and tried to think about the suffering of Jesus. Each station of the cross took about five minutes. Then they would all walk as quietly as possible, looking straight ahead until the next station: fifteen in all. This ritual would be repeated three times as the family would troop out of San Agustin and re-enter to begin once more the ritual of the Way of the Cross.

Camilla, Dona Esperanza's eldest daughter, would take over from Matt. Aunt Dahlia, daughter number two, was unable to master Latin in school so her husband Uncle Rudolf filled in the third time around and saved her “face”.

Seven churches in all were visited, creating the number twenty-one which was a mystical number for the Judaic and early Christian observers of Holy Thursday. Other than black pearls and black diamonds, no one wore jewelry. Everything was a sea of black. The courtyards, squares, the aisles inside the churches, the areas for prayer and reflection by the Stations of the Cross, wherever one gazed. Even the statues were all shrouded in black or dark purple.

Dusk came early in the tropics. In keeping with the profound religious mood, the lights emanating from the vast chandeliers were dimmed low. The sounds and whispers of thousands of faithful appeared deafening to Lucrezia’s ears. Many wept silently yet no one reacted. The faithful all concentrated on their own prayers despite their tears.

Rich and poor worshipped at the same churches. In close proximity to the Churches and Cathedrals parked trucks filled with Manila water, Coca Cola and Pepsi Cola kept a silent vigil. The Haves in silent Christian charity had quietly paid to avoid heat exhaustion and heat stroke in the Have-nots.

It was a time honored custom for the rich to leave 500 to 1,000 Pesos/Dollars anonymously in black or grey envelopes delivered personally by one of the young children of the family, into the hands of the parish priest. This was done in accordance with Jesus' admonitions regarding the Pharisees who praised themselves loudly for their generosity. Those who behaved and spoke in an ostentatious manner about their donations were sharply rebuked and quickly brought into line.

Back at Santol Mansion, part of the household staff had volunteered to stay. Most of the Sikh bodyguards and the pygmies also kept a watchful vigil. Robberies and heists took place more often than not during the observance of Lent than at any other time.

Only one-meter tall bees wax candles were lit inside the house. The gardens and the grounds looked like daylight. The Sikhs patrolled them relentlessly with the German Shepherds Rex and Fritz.

Every painting, objet d'art, statue sacred and profane, was covered in black cloth. The absence of freshly cut flowers, which adorned every room of Santol Mansion most of the year, was like a stab in Lucrezia's heart. Only Fray Paco was allowed to enjoy the sight of yellow orchids in his Jungle Room. In keeping with the Passion's spirit of reflection, no radios or televisions were turned on during Holy Thursday or Good Friday.

"Yet this is a family which can't function without music, so we shall have the most sublime sounds man ever created for God," said Uncle Matt. The Dies Irae of Mozart, Beethoven's Missa Profundis, and Bach’s Saint Matthew were played softly as background music on the hi-fi system.

The healthy adults observed the Lenten fast, particularly on Holy Thursday and Good Friday. That meant no alcoholic beverages - a heavy sacrifice for the Nieto Ortigas clan who savored fine wines and Malt Whiskies. The menu was simple, similar to what the majority of poor Filipinos ate. Small, tasty fish called tuyo, tiny freshwater shrimp fried in fresh garlic and eaten with plain white long-grained rice. Tahong, sweet water clams from the tributaries of the Pasig River was always served. A fish sauce, bagoong, made from a variety of fish eggs, abhorred by foreigners, was ever present. Like the ancient Roman fish sauce, garum, one had to acquire a taste for it, Doña Esperanza used to tell her foreign friends to no avail.

The clan's views regarding fruits grown in the temperate zone were well known.

"Poor Europeans! Having to make do with apples, peaches and oranges."

"Paradise must have been a poor place. Imagine getting into trouble for an apple."

"The serpent wasn't a gourmet either."

"No wonder God threw them out."

"They were tasteless nincompoops."

"The Philippine carabao mango is so delicious, one should eat a peach only in desperation."

"They are supposed to come from the same genus."

“So are we and the apes but look at the difference.”

“Don’t remind us of Darwin during Lent.”

“Once you tasted calamansi juice with honey, why would you ever drink lemonade again?”

Calamansi was a tiny, sweet lime which grew only in the Philippines and in Indonesia.

“Freshly squeezed calamansi juice with pure acacia honey is bliss,” thought Lucrezia, draining her glass quickly.

The majestic acacia trees which towered a hundred meters in the gardens of Santol Mansion provided the best honey. Lucrezia went into one of her reveries as she gazed at the acacias.

“Hola chicas! Hola chicas!” Fray Paco had made his entrance on a pole entwined with hemp so that his talons could hold on. His two attendants, heavily muscled twin dwarves (retired acrobats), Eneas and Achilles, proudly bore the bamboo pole on their shoulders. Fray Paco quickly flew and alighted on Doña Esperanza’s shoulder, nuzzling her neck and cooing “Espe! Espe!” into her ear lobe from which dangled a single black baroque pearl.

A chorus greeted the rare, white cockatoo with affection.

“Hola!”

“Ciao!”

“Hello!”

“Fray Paco came to our clan by an act of God,” said Doña Esperanza.

During the Christmas and Lenten seasons, the story of Fray Paco was repeated.

“He was found chained to a branch of an ylang-ylang tree by Great Uncle Alcibiade,” Lucrezia began.

“In the middle of a destructive typhoon in 1907,” said cousin Zita.

“It was New Year’s eve,” stated Jaime with conviction.

“The tycoon, Don Cesar, our great great uncle, had vowed to ruin the De La Rama family,” said Dolly.

“That was because they had tried to kill him several times,” clarified Lucrezia.

“Instead of going to parties or celebrating, Don Cesar, his two brothers Torquato and Mamerto, and an assortment of sons and nephews spent New Year’s Eve at the warehouses of the De La Rama clan by the port of Manila,” Aunt Camilla, Lucrezia’s mother explained.

“Ruined by vices and inept management, the vast empire of the De La Ramas, especially their international shipping lines to Mexico and California, now belonged to Don Cesar and the family’s bank,” Uncle Matt stated patiently.

“The Night of the Long Winds of 1907 was the most destructive typhoon to hit Manila,” Doña Esperanza said, patting Fray Paco who preened, a born showman.

“Trapped in the warehouses, Don Cesar and his family carried on like troopers, doing the inventory of the De La Rama properties and possessions,” Aunt Allegra said, smoothing her wrinkled black dress.

“Precisely! Then as the winds died down, they heard someone crying ‘Help! Help!’” Dramatically declared Uncle Rudy who had always wanted to be an actor and ended up running one of the clan’s international shipping lines.

“Don Alcibiade ran out to investigate. He couldn’t see anyone although the cries for help continued,” Uncle Edmund said, twirling his fingers nervously.

He was a chain smoker of cigarettes. Doña Esperanza loved her cigarillos and the others smoked cigars. Nicotine was a no-no during the observance of The Passion. The tycoon Don Cesar, addicted to cigars, accustomed to giving orders, had begun this tradition in the clan: total abstinence from alcohol, nicotine and sex in observance of the Passion.

Freckie excitedly cried out, “Then Fray Paco yelled, ‘Down here, coño!’” (Cono means vulva in vernacular Castilian)

“Trust Freckie to use dirty words whenever he can,” mused Lucrezia.

“So Don Alcibiade looked down and around and there he was, our hero, our amor, Fray Paco, standing upright but chained to a broken branch of an ylang-ylang,” exclaimed Uncle Arthur, who had the gift of gab and became a gambler.

“The entire Nieto Ortigas clan had been spared; all their plantations, houses and commercial properties intact. Don Cesar interpreted the arrival of the foundling Fray Paco as a message from God,” said Dona Esperanza.

By this time, Fray Paco had perched on Lucrezia’s shoulder, kissing her on the lips with his beak which could tear apart walnuts as if they were jelly.

“Don Cesar offered Fray Paco his freedom. ‘Fly away,’ he ordered on that New Year’s Day,” Lucrezia told them. “Fray Paco turned his raptor’s gaze on Don Cesar. They looked into each other’s eyes. Raptor to raptor. Then he understood. Fray Paco wanted a home and a family. He yearned for love and yet… and yet… he wanted to be free.”

“I promise you, no more cages. You’ll have your own jungle room. You can wander into any part of my villa. You can even fly but not too far, else the hawks will get you,” Heinzie quoted Don Cesar verbatim.

“Time for our prayers.” Doña Esperanza stretched out her black clad arms. “Come, Fray Paco.”

Lucrezia rose from her chair with Fray Paco holding on to her as she walked towards her grandmother. Once he was settled cozily on a small silk pillow on Doña Esperanza’s lap, she called out, “Let’s kneel”.

Almost in unison, everyone in the clan, the domestic staff, the dwarves Eneas and Achilles, followed without a word. Doña Esperanza placed Fray Paco, whose talons had dug into the silk pillow, on the floor in front of her. “As the oldest member of our clan, Fray Paco, please lead us in the Pater Noster.”

The white cockatoo puffed up his plumes and barked hoarsely, “Pater Noster, quis in coelis, sactificeturrrr nomen tum…”

Fifty voices joined Fray Paco in his mangled Latin. Although they pronounced the words properly, did that act alone bring them closer to the creator?

After the Pater Noster, the domestic staff, led by Macario, the majordomo, rose, walked to the far end of the veranda and brought back twenty-five porcelain bowls filled halfway to the brim with water. The ritual washing of the feet just as Jesus had done so lovingly to his apostles and disciples in the gardens of Gethsemane nearly two thousand years ago was re-enacted year after year in Santol Mansion.

The tycoon Don Cesar and Don Torquato and Don Mamerto, his brothers, had begun the practice after the terrifying typhoon of 1907. Indeed, Don Cesar had renounced his religion after winning the notorious lawsuit against the Catholic Church and the Dominican friars of Santo Tomas University in Manila. His hostile takeover of all the De La Rama holdings and wealth with the assistance of the American Marines had not endeared him to many of his fellow oligarchs – even if it had been a perfectly legal act.

The typhoon, which came soon after, their survival unscathed and the discovery of the foundling white and talkative cockatoo touched his heart and soul. He returned to the folds of the Church, preferring always to deal with the Jesuits with whom he remained on affectionate terms until his untimely death.

The clan drew lots, as did the domestic staff. Often one of the clan would be washing the feet of his driver or her maid. The children were instructed by Doña Esperanza whose feet to wash.

“Rats!” reacted Lucrezia silently. “Why did Gran Gran assign me the task of washing odious Freckie’s feet? He must have come out of the womb of a thug!” “Were all of Jesus’ apostles good and just men?” an inner voice (her guardian angel perhaps?) asked. “No,” answered Lucrezia. Then the image of Judas flashed by quickly as she watched Freckie, his soft, brown eyes, curly hair and disarming dimpled smile. “Jesus knew Judas would turn him in, yet He washed his feet. Who am I to complain?”

Freckie gave Lucrezia a self-satisfied smirk. She ignored it and began washing him. A wiggle here, a splash there… In no time at all, her face was soaked. She looked up and smiled like an angel. She could tell her cousin was seething but pretended not to notice. “Judas! Judas! Judas!” she kept telling herself. By the time Lucrezia was wiping Freckie’s feet with the small, white, linen towel, the mantra had become “Jesus! Jesus! Jesus!” Poor Freckie. Why was he so lost?”

Fray Paco squealed. Only Doña Esperanza could bathe him and not face the fury of his beak and talons. He had a small, inflatable pool of rainwater changed twice daily, much as his life long ago in the rain forest.

Now that the basins of water were removed, Doña Esperanza immediately began her explanation.

“I know it’s hot, sticky and difficult to breathe in this oppressive heat. Why then, with all our money, do we not escape to somewhere pleasant? We own dozens of ships. An inter-island cruise on one of them would be lovely. Many Filipino families go on these cruises. Vilas on the beach and chalets in the mountains beckon. We have chapels and diocesan priests who recite Lenten services. We choose to stay here in Manila as our way of participating, in a small way, in the Passion of our Lord. None of us present tonight will ever leave this world alive. Jesus himself died a most excruciating death on the cross.

Four years ago, forty of our friends, supporters and relatives were ambushed and massacred at Montalban by Victor Vencer and his band of Marxist guerrillas. One individual the Mayor of Montalban, our beloved Ben Flores, whose family has been linked to our clan for two generations - and our own precious Lucrezia - survived. None of us know the reason why the terrorist Victor Vencer spared them. (She knew but she would never reveal this to the members of her family and clan) The horrors of the war in the Pacific still haunt us. Otherwise, why are we all in denial about Intramuros?”

No one moved. No one spoke. Doña Esperanza went on.

“As long as God wills it, I will continue our observation of the Passion. Except for the children, you are all here of your own free will. I would not ever think of retaliating if any of your family or staff did not participate. It’s a personal choice. I hope my grandchildren will continue to commemorate the Passion and pass it on to their children when the time comes. Thank you for listening with such patience.”

Uncle Matthias (Matt for short) intoned.” The agony of Jesus really began in the gardens of Gethsemane – Holy Thursday. He was aware of the fate that awaited him. He pleaded with God; he feared he could not go through with the horrors.

“Let this cup be lifted from me.”

Jesus sweated blood from every pore. In medical terms it is called Hematidrosis. It occurred when the tiny capillaries overflowed with blood in the sweat glands and then burst. This caused blood to ooze throughout his scalp, face, neck, arms, back, legs and feet.

“And being in agony, He was praying very fervently, and his sweat became like drops of blood, falling down upon the ground.” From the Gospel of Saint Luke, the physician.

Dona Esperanza crossed herself on her forehead, neck and across her chest. Everyone followed her example in silence.

“Then she said,” Let us then retire to our rooms to rest, pray and meditate. Tomorrow is Good Friday. Laudate te Deum.” We give praise to Thee O Lord.”

Untaimed Spirit ( A Birthday Poem For Isabel Van Fechtmann)

2011-04-16T22:03:00.001+02:00

Untaimed Spirit ( A Birthday Poem For Isabel Van Fechtmann)

by Angelina Sonnetist on Tuesday, April 12, 2011 at 6:30pm

Looking out amongst vast knowledge
I see the morning sun
Spreading its nurturing
Life across the land
Revealing a magnitude for
Understanding ones glory
My thoughts reveal the
Warm acknowledgment of a
Woman who is treasured

A gift of high Intelligence
Measured only by her
Ability to create a vision of
What's possible for others

We allow a moment in our sisterhood to
Place our bare feet on earths
Inconsistent floor
Soft grass, warm sand
Cold mountain stream ripping
Across rugged terrain
I hear your voice raise with excitement as
Your untamed
Glorious inner woman jumps ahead
Calling back to me
Run with me for I am
Joining the wolves
As I run by her side
I observe the
Magnificence of her beauty
I am truly inspired by her
Untamed spirit
Breathing the keys of life
Through an inner soul towards
All whom she loves

Nobility by birth
Understanding knowledge is the
Powerful unstoppable fluidity
That cuts through tuff strong rock
Creating and formulating deep canyons
Flowing over jetted edges creating a
Majestic veil of water falling and continuing

Her fingerprint is in all our lives
Never to be erased
For how can one forget the glow of the moons
Radiance....
Or the sound of the
Wings of a
Dragonfly

Her teachings very among who is
Mentored
My received gift from this
Beloved woman is
"be impeccable and honest in all you do"
She is the gift of high
Intelligence
Measured only by her
Ability to create a vision of
What's possible for others....

Happy Birthday my sister
Isabel Van Fechtmann

Angelina

Saint Isidore of Seville - The Patron Saint of the Internet

2011-04-04T07:00:00.000+02:00

I have to say ladies and gents, I don’t understand the "Church" – and to be quite honest, I don’t intend to understand it. I don’t know if every saint has to be the saint of something, if there’s some sort of rule concerning this, and I won’t research it – because I don’t think it is interesting or useful in any way.

What I do find fascinating however is that Saint Isidore of Seville, who was a very intriguing man in his lifetime, being more or less affiliated with the church, was pronounced the saint patron and protector of internet. Who knew?

Does anybody know who actually makes these decisions -- I mean ok -- saint Catherine of Sienna ran into a burning building saved lots of people and was totally unharmed so they made her the Saint for Firemen. Ok -- I guess that makes sense. If I was a fireman I would want to save people and come out safe too -- and if she could help, I'd be all for it.

But a patron saint for the Internet? Who decided on this ... and why this particular Saint?

By the way -- when did they make this choice? Is that why it's been so popular?

What exactly does having a Patron Saint for the internet mean anyway? I mean how do we use this information? Are we supposed to look him up in Google and pray to him to get better search results, make our blogs more popular, help us with internet marketing -- to get more friends on Facebook, better connections or when we're upset with our ISP or frustrated with slow loading pages?

Does anybody know exactly how we can use this information?

Don't get me wrong -- I'm happy that God cares enough about the internet that he's got a Saint assigned to watch over it.

If you want to keep on his good side - celebrate - because His feast day is on April 4, so since the greater part of the civilized world uses Internet, I warmly suggest we make him one of the BIG saints, what do you guys say ?

Other than that, I can just say that in my humble opinion, it is mildly offensive to be named the patron of something that emerged some 1400 years after your lifetime; just saying.

By the way -- is there a saint for the Telephone (does that also include mobile phones?) What about electricity? How about wisdom ... or relationships -- could really use help with that one

I mean -- who decides?

Also -- does this pertain to non-Catholics -- or is this a strictly denominational benefit.

Are The USA and Israel Partially to Blame for the Fukushima Disaster?

2011-03-30T10:34:00.001+02:00

Michael Rivero is a well-known radio personality on the island of Oahu, Hawaii. He makes insightful
comments about the way in which the Fukushima disaster has played out.

Rivero discusses suspicions that the Stuxnet computer virus, designed by the US and Israel to
crash the Iranian nuclear plant, "broke off" and "went wild" all over the world and that the virus
may have prevented the security system at the Fukushima power plant in Japan from shutting
down the reactor.

Meanwhile, 200,000 U.S. soldiers have been evacuated from Japan to the West Coast of the US ... while the government is telling people not to worry - is quietly buying up all the potassium iodide (although Vitamin D3 would be better to have).

New US Law Now Allows You Be Locked Up for Life - Even After Being Acquitted of a Crime

2011-03-28T01:00:00.001+02:00

Ever wonder why the concentration camps were always outside of Germany?

Because within German borders, German citizens had some level of legal protection. Once they left German soil for the "camps" - voluntarily or involuntarily - that protection was gone.

Believe it or not, the Nazis broke no laws because the legal system they crafted did not provide rights to any German who was not living in Germany.

The original "off-shoring."

This legal strategy may help explain the "appeal" of Guantanamo to the latest generation of Nazis.

Now US "law" says that people the President deems threats to the nation can be kept in jail indefinitely even even after they are not found guilty of any crime.

Not even Hitler and friends had the audacity to pervert the concept of law to this level.

These legal arrangements may not seem significant now, but as in Germany, they are laying the foundation for potential tyranny of the worst kind.

Source: Brasscheck TV

USA Bombing of Libya Has Been Planned for Years

2011-03-27T12:33:00.000+02:00

On March 2, 2007, U.S. General Wesley Clark (Ret.), described a memo he was shown, stating that the Bush Administration planned to take out 7 countries in 5 years: Iraq, Syria, Lebanon, Libya, Somalia, Sudan and Iran, between 2007 and 2012.

As an aside, there appears to be a strong occult connection with the date, March 19. The invasion of Libya via the UN and the 2003 invasion of Iraq were both done on March 19, as with many other military conflicts, cited in the video, linked above.

Newsflash: On March 26, 2011, it was reported that "scores" of protesters in Syria were murdered by the security forces of President Bashar al-Assad. Bashar was forced to make concessions after these murders failed to quell the uprising - but even his concessions have failed to stop the protests.
His days as the Dictator-for-Life of Syria appear to be numbered - and the plans noted in the memo cited by Clarke would appear to be on track.

Libya Frontline Report

On Saturday morning March 26, 2011, President Barack Obama said in his weekly address that, "We are now handing over control of the no-fly zone to our NATO allies and partners, including Arab partners like Qatar and the United Arab Emirates."

Here is the video of the President's Weekly Address:

Source: Forbidden Knowledge

CIA's Visas for Terrorists Program

2011-03-17T13:44:00.000+01:00

Today, we've got a video about another "special" program. I call it a "Visa for Terrorists' program that
was set up specifically for Saudis in ... June of 2001.

It was run by the CIA for the benefit of the citizens of just one country - Saudi Arabia - and was the only program of its kind in the history of the US ..

Why do you think they did this?

AUTHOR'S NOTES TO THE IDES OF MARCH

2011-03-15T13:04:00.005+01:00

March 15, 2012

The world will never see the likes of Julius Caesar again. I say that with absolute certainty. Alexander the Great, the Macedonian ( which was then part of Greece) thus he was Greek; lived and conquered his way almost to the Indus River in India until his soldiers rebelled out of sickness, exhaustion and the tireless ferocity of the tribesmen they were fighting against. The India I am referring to would be known as the Northwest territory -Afghanistan.

Few in history have made the transition from a military history to Statemanship and Politics as effortlessly and as successfully as Julius Caius Caesar. Another Emperor nearly a hundred a fifty years later, the Spanish Roman Emperoror/General/Philosopher - Marcus Aurelius would be formidable. He reconquered lands Caesar had taken. Not the same thing. The Emperor Hadrian would also be an extraordinary General, adding the entire British Isles once again. Caesar had conquered Britannia but after his death the islands pretty much fended for themselves.

Napoleon Bonaparte admired Caesar and endeavored to be like him. Times had changed. The rest of Europe did not want French hegemony. I still consider him a great General and his Napoleonic Code is extraordinary. Most of its laws still in use effectively in France.

I feel duty bound to pay homage to General Alexander Kutuzov who, not only led the Russian Army against Napoleon but prudently and wisely advised Czar Alexander ll on strategy and tactics in War and in Peace.

And then there is the greater than life Admiral Kolchak, who led the White Army against the Godless Bolshevik Marxists and was executed for his bravery and courage. His advancing armies in Ekaterinburg was the excuse Stalin needed to issue the order to slaughter the entire Royal family of Czar Nicolas Romanov.

The closest General in modern times to somewhat resemble Caesar is General Douglas MacArthur. Indeed, he is often called the American Caesar. If he had died a violent death, been assassinated, died in battle - he might well be Caesar's equal. But this glorious individual and General had to suffer the ignominy of being relieved of his post by a little tailor President, Harry Truman. The refrain"Old soldiers never die, they just fade away," fits him somewhat.

As Shogun of a defeated Japan, MacArthur "ruled" the country with respect and grace, displaying no revenge. My family and clan knew and loved him. Great Uncle General Basilio Valdes was his personal
physician and chief of staff regarding all things Philippine, his adopted country.

Today many Generals are not Warriors. They are panderers, killers of women and children, drug dealers, arms dealers, racketeers, entrepreneurs, rapists, and traffickers.

The true Warriors are the young men and women fighting those gangster Generals. Many of their names are, as yet unknown to us. The Cosmic Forces know who they are. They are Black Warriors, Arabs, Jews, Berbers, Moors and many of European descent just initiating their protests. Perhaps these glorious YOUTH wish anonymity for the time being. perhaps it is a wise decision i share. But they are not alone.
Many parents, especially the MOTHERS AND GRANDMOTHERS will join them.

This Ides of March is portentous and tragic once more. Japan, the nation of the SAMURAI and the CODE OF BUSHIDO is once again suffering the effects of radiation. I would be interested in knowing who built the nuclear reactor. Westinghouse built one in Bataan, Philippines during the Marcos era at double its price. It was right on top of an extinct volcano and an earthquake fault. Vulcanologists now assure us that "There is no such thing as an extinct volcano." Vesuvius in Pompei and Mount Pinatubo in the Philippines is concrete proof of this.

Our prayers go out to Nippon even as we remember that an infamous Japanese General directed Unit 721 in Manchuria. It was a mass biological laboratory and hundreds of thousands of Chinese, an unknown number of American , Dutch, and English prisoners of war were used as guinea pigs.

Unit 721 had a sister laboratory on the island of Leyte, in the Philippines - Unit 723. Also a vast biological testing ground for bio-weapons, anthrax, small pox, influenza, bubonic plague, chemical and nerve gases. The General used Filipinos, Spanish and Americans for his vile testing.

I shall write a separate and more detailed blog on this.

What happened to Units 721 and 723 with all their documentations and annotations? The Japanese General made a deal with General MacArthur and both units came to America secretly. (Elementary my dear readers)
The evil General died in his bed some twenty odd years later. NO! He was never prosecuted. Not a word leaked out to the Media or shall I say, the Media NEVER printed anything even remotely connected to Units 721 and 723 dealing exclusively in Bio-destruction of millions.

Was Hiroshima and Nagasaki KARMA? Many times it is the innocent who pay.

IT HAS BECOME SHOCKINGLY CLEAR THAT OUR TECHNOLOGY HAS EXCEEDED OUR HUMANITY.

THE IDES OF MARCH

2011-03-15T06:20:00.005+01:00

THE IDES OF MARCH- 2012

The name Julius Caesar is one of the most recognizable names in the history of the world.

A survey was conducted after the Millennium in China, India, the Middle East, North and South America, the European Community and Africa. Ceasar is the most recognized name worldwide. Schoolboys in primary and secondary education and in Universities knew more details about Caesar than about many of their own past leaders and rulers.

In other words Caesar ranked higher than Napoleon, Hitler, Stalin, Mao, Gandhi, Churchill and Washington.

Why is this so?

For one thing, the ancient Latin pronunciation of the C sounded like a hard K. Thus he was known to his Legions, his enemies, and more importantly to the masses of Romans who loved him as Kesar. It is easy to see how the Teutonic tribes who wished to join the ranks of his legions and those who fiercely fought him to the death would call him Kaiser. This is still in usage today. The Russians, then known as Thracians feared him yet they opposed him almost to the last man, woman and child. They referred to him as Czar, which is still very much in the Russian lexicon.

Caesar was endowed with incredible magnetism. He led his armies into battle – always. He could be seen for miles. A tall, slim warrior attired in a voluminous scarlet cloak, astride a white horse caparisoned in gold and silver. He rode a few meters ahead of his armies.

“Here I am. You can follow the battle by concentrating on me and on my position. Kill me if you can.”

His centurions also wore red, a darker crimson red. As the Latin name implies Centu - Cento, they commanded a hundred men. Caesar loved them all. He trusted and relied on them. They constituted the energy, which flowed from his matrix. He rewarded his centurions generously. His legions belonged to him personally because he paid for their salaries, their pensions and rewarded them with land to cultivate after they mustered out of his service. If any of them died while in his service, their widows and their families were looked after “vita natural Durante.” For as long as they lived.

He rarely lost a battle, what’s more he hated to lose his men and therefore devised strategies and tactics, which would reduce the risk of serious and permanent injury or worse, cause their premature deaths. At the end of each battle he stood before them and wept, if the losses had been particularly high.

In this way he ensured the devotion and the respect of his armies. Historians remark on his sobriety. Caesar drank wine diluted with water during moments of relaxation. In those days the fermentation of grapes rendered a stronger and also a purer wine. Therefore the alcoholic content was much higher than the wine we are used to imbibing today.

On military campaigns, Caesar drank vinegar made from grapes also heavily diluted with water. He wrote the Commentaries on his military campaigns in Gaul, Britain and Egypt with such lucidity, sense of adventure and suspense that to this day it makes for fascinating stuff.

Churchill does not even come close. To be sure he was verbose and thanks to his Roman studies he could be pompously oratorical. But the man was never in the middle of any war, not even a melee. He was someone with bombast who bamboozled the masses by keeping himself far, far away from danger. In World War ll, he made sure he only gave peremptory orders from the safety of his bunker/air-raid shelter in Saint James Park.

Eisenhower was even worse. He was so far from the battlefield the sound of cannon and gunfire could not be heard. And Bush … not only does he not know where countries are located (he thinks Andorra is in Africa) he didn't even show up for his military training … and even though he was more than a thousand miles away he went into hiding on 9/11 and of course. Definitely, not Ceasar-like. I think Putin may be endowed with the necessary bravery if ever he were faced with would be malefactors. King Bhumiphon of Thailand is so loved by his people that his military escorts are non-existent. President Obama seems to be rather cool about the supposed threats against his life. He is part African after all - they have a sense of what the Arabs eloquently call Makhtoum. The will of God, Destiny, the Cosmic Forces and the Heavenly Masters.

As a politician Caesar was magnificent. He represented what today we would define as working class/proletarian and an emerging middle class. He was against the accumulation of wealth for wealth’s sake and considered it indecorous and distasteful.

He did not inherit a fortune. Indeed one might say that aside from his military genius, political mastery, an uncanny ability to read the minds of friends and foes alike, stunning good looks, a gift for languages, and most importantly, an almost magical and seemingly never ending strokes of good fortune (I am fortune’s child, he used to say) Caesar was liquid poor. Given his unending talent for finance and for opportunities to make money his financial penury did not last long.

But Caesar ‘s lineage was superbly blue. His descended from the Kings of Rome which had been deposed 400 hundred years ago, when the Roman Republic had been set up replacing the monarchical rule. There was talk that he also had Etruscan genes in him, which might explain his blonde hair, fair skin and blue eyes.

To judge by the unquestioned esteem, admiration and love he expressed for his mother Aurelia, we must presume that not only was she a devoted mother; she was also his Chief inspiration. Historians of the time refer to Aurelia as the wisest counselor of Caesar. She never left him in the care of wet nurses or nannies. She was his first tutor and mentor. The hand that rocks the cradle is a powerful hand indeed. She was ambitious for Caesar but not if he had to step over the corpses of his friends. She saw to it that they did not live in a wealthy area of Rome. With the name of Julii they could have found the necessary patronage. Instead, Aurelia and her son owned an apartment in the Suburra, the area of the proletariat and the working class. That is where young Caesar grew up. His father spent most of his time in military campaigns in Switzerland and in Northern Italy. By all accounts he was nurtured in a harmonious and loving atmosphere. I have observed that the historians of the period tend to heap praise and lauds on Aurelia.

The Romans we know, became master builders and engineers. Their apartments from the Latin ”apartare” to be a part of but to remain in your own space easily comprised seven to eight floors. Aurelia rented most of the apartments and from the age of four she taught her son how to keep track of money and to spend it wisely. At her son’s suggestion, the Julian family’s apartment had a fire escape, which was revolutionary for those days. It is still innovative in the 21st century; I have seen many modern buildings in the West without fire escapes. Note that the Suburra still exists today, as do most of Rome’s neighborhoods, which existed in the time of the Roman Republic.

The character of Caesar showed its solid steel and granite when he defied his uncle Cornelius Silla or Sulla. He was a seventeen-year-old youth if that. Silla, dictator of Rome had ordered Caesar to repudiate his young wife Cornelia, daughter of Cinna. Cinna was the leader of what we might define as democrats – with tongue in cheek. During the Roman Republic the Democrats fought for the well-being of the have-nots in the Roman Senate. Cornelius Silla was an aristocratic Republican, as were most of his backers, including Caesar’s family – the Jullii. The teen-ager swam against the current.

“Dearest Uncle, with all due respect, I am constrained to refuse your order to put away my good and chaste wife only because you do not agree with her father’s political tendencies. However, if you command me publicly before the Roman Senate I will do so.”

Shamat. Checkmate. Silla pondered a fate worse than death for the young Caesar but his cool and practical advisors prevailed. No! It would not be a good show for the people of Rome to see aristocrats murdering their fellow caste members. Reluctantly, Silla set aside his fury. Aurelia, whose sister Julilla had been Silla’s wife until her mysterious suicide, suggested a change of climate for her son. Caesar cleverly saw her point and left for Rhodes. He traveled to as many Greek cities and islands as he could, all the while perfecting his knowledge of Greek and of the sea.

In one of these voyages to Athens, pirates attacked his ship. They slaughtered the crew and all the passengers except Caesar. One of the pirates had recognized him. At the age of fourteen, Caesar had been appointed Pontifex Maximus – Supreme Pontiff. Silla had thought up this stratagem in order to keep the rising star of Caesar out of politics for as long as he could.

The pirates kept him alive in the hope of asking for a ransom. Caesar told the leaders that he would escape from their ship, and no one could stop him because he was the Goddess Fortuna’s favorite. He would then hunt them down and hang each and every one of them without mercy.

“It’s not personal. You are disrupting trade between Rome and the East and that is an impediment to the economic growth of Rome.”

It is a pity that historians are unable to tell us how Caesar freed himself and ran away. We haven’t a clue as to how he then procured himself a ship and followed the pirates, caught up with them, won a raging skirmish at sea and calmly proceeded to execute all the ringleaders. He took the precaution of hanging them in the presence of witnesses. He also took pains not to punish the members of the crew.

Caesar conquered Switzerland, Belgium, the Netherlands, France and Germany Vritain and parts of EasternEurope. In his day those countries were known as Cisalpine, Transalpine Gaul and Germania and Britania. His Commentaries are still the best reference books. He wrote volumes, which are not only well written, but filled with acute observations regarding his adversary’s customs and traditions are still important today.

He changed the history and the map of Europe forever. I often ask myself what would have happened if the Barbarians had not overrun Italy and the Iberian Peninsula? In the end they became Latinized and Romanized even ore so than the average Roman citizen. Perhaps more good resulted in the incursions than bad.

A group of engineers from Oxford and Cambridge attempted in 2000 to build Caesar’s bridge over the Rhine using materials and calculations of his epoch. It spanned a 100 meters and his engineers had finished it in less than ten days. Even with today’s technology, satellites, super sensitive instruments and so many experts, they gave up because they had only gotten as far as ten meters. It was clear that they could not only equal his feat, they could not duplicate it.

Caesar may have been the first in recorded history to deliberately destroy the environment. He describes it in his Commentaries. A million hectares of wheat and oat fields as well as oak trees burnt to the ground on his orders. This was solely to starve the Gauls and to render them vulnerable since they had no place to hide.

"As Consul of Gaul I am not going to allow the sacrifice of human beings to your sacred oak trees. Fornicating under the oak trees while your Druids slaughter their victims in order to appease the spirits dwelling in the woodlands and forests is barbaric. You are going to be dragged kicking and screaming into a civil world of Roman Law," he told the religious leaders whom he called Druids.

Vercingetorix, the tragic King of Gaul which today is France fought Caesar with guile, force, human sacrifice and courage. Superior technology, intelligence and a sort of enlightened ruthlessness won the day for Caesar.

“Veni, Vidi, Vinci.” I came, I saw, I conquered is ascribed to Caesar. He may have said it with sarcasm and irony. It took him ten long years to secure Gaul for Rome. Those acts may have cost him his life, as we shall see. His wars on Gaul can be considered a World War of sorts. The Roman Senate had no idea just how vast Gaul was. Western Europe today, with the exception of Spain and Portugal and Italy was the Gaul Caesar and his legions had conquered.

As more and more land was taken the Senate trembled and took back its word.

“You have devastated a world without out permission. We authorized you to go into a very small area. You are now an Outlaw. You are denied entry into Roman territory and into the city of Rome itself,” voted a bribed Senate.

His famous phrase ”Iacta Alea Est.” Let the Dice Fly and not as has wrongly been translated The Die Is Cast: came about because the Roman Senate led by Pompey Magnus, Cicero, Cassius, Catiline and Cato lobbied vigorously against his return to Rome. They had good reason to be terrified. The corruption had spread like fungi. It was now intolerable. The poor became poorer. Food was scarce and money even more so. The homeless and beggars abounded. Only the artisans, workers, craftsmen,small merchants and soldiers paid taxes. Caesar and his supporters in the Senate ferociously opposed this taxes.

Caesar was filled with such a cold fury he decided to march on Rome. His uncle Cornelius Silla had also been refused entry 25 years ago and he retaliated by killing nearly one third of the Roman population.

Caesar took only one legion. Today the River Rubicon, which is near Emilia-Romagna, is but a rivulet. Even in Caesar’s time it was more of a stream. The Rubicon marked the frontier between Rome and the outside world of the Barbarians, the foreigners, the others. Caesar stopped his horse, turned around on his saddle, stood up on his stirrups and declared loudly.

“Centurions and Legionnaires of Rome. Iacta Alea Est!”

What it really meant was that it did not matter which way the dice flew. It was onwards to Rome and never look back. Thus, Gaius Julius Caesar crossed the Rubicon and ignited a civil war.

His instincts had proven him right. As he marched toward Rome, towns, cities, provinces and regions acclaimed him “Ave Kesar, Ave Kesar.” He had no need for his four legions, which had encamped a few miles outside the frontier of the Roman Republic. By the time Caesar reached Rome, the people of Rome had swelled his army to thousands.

To restore order, food supplies, commercial routes and stave off starvation and hence - a revolution, Caesar declared himself DICTATOR. There were legal precedents for this. Cincinnatus had done it. So had Marius and Cornelius Silla. It was always implicit that as soon as law and order and civil unrest were restored, the Dictator would relinquish all power and retire back to his estates.

Caesar was a man who inspired total dedication from his legions and admiration from the masses. He could also arouse hatred and envy on the part of his own class – the oligarchs who had run the Roman Republic for hundreds of years. Some of his colleagues in the Senate envied his success in war and in love.

In the civil war that ensued as a result of Caesar’s return, Catilene plotted against Caesar. He went over to the side of General Pompey Magnus. Cicero became aware of the plot but remained silent. Brutus, Cassius, and Cato all backed Pompey and participate actively.

A Roman matron, perhaps seeking to ingratiate herself with Caesar, or perhaps in revenge against a former lover decided to reveal all the details to Caesar. Five of the ringleaders were thrown to their deaths off the Tarpeian cliffs. The rest had fled Rome. Caesar sent word to Brutus, Cassius, Cato and Cicero that for the good of Rome there would be no further blood spilt.

He forgave them all. This act of generosity and chivalry cost him his life. His heir and great-nephew Octavian would heed this when the time came to be merciless. I have often wondered if Stalin, an avid student of history kept this in mind during the great purges.

“As Dictator, Caesar tried to deal with the problems that had brought unrest and civil war to Rome for some sixty years. He felt that the rich were indecently rich. Why should a man own 200,000 hectares of land? Indeed, why should his legions die to sustain an unsustainable way of life? The government, suitable for a small city was outdated and unable to handle the global metropolis that Rome had turned into. Rome had conquered so many lands that like it or not it had become an empire. Running an empire required different abilities and talents. It needed honest and skilled bureaucrats to administer it. Yet those in power in the Roman Senate clung to the old and outmoded republican forms. Kings had been driven out of Rome 400 years ago, and the suspicion, only a suspicion, which had no tangible proof, that Caesar, might want to be King, began the Conspiracy against him.” Quoted and translated from Suetonius, Divus Julius. XLIV, X.

In February of 44 B.C. the Senate voted Caesar Dictator for life. So long as it was Pro Tempore, (for a period of time) the oligarchs swallowed their poison, Once they realized that Caesar intended to govern for a very long time they considered it the worst provocation. The Kings had been driven away. The oligarchs ruled by collegiality and by consensus. In truth life had turned into a daily bloodbath. They objected to breaking up their ”Latifundi” so that the retired soldiers, the landless and the working classes could share in the wealth.

Caesar’s days were numbered on that fateful February.

In the meantime Caesar proceeded at maximum speed to replace the old administrators with the new. Efficient and bright young men replaced decrepit and entrenched administrators who had enriched themselves beyond a quantum of tolerance. Well-informed and new tax collectors begun implementing Caesar's new laws on taxation. Horror and terror permeated the ranks of the oligarchic classes.

“By the end of March or, at the latest the first week of April, I shall be leaving Rome for my campaign against the Parthians,” announced Caesar to a stunned Assembly of Senators and Deputies.

The legend has remained that Caesar fully intended to retrace Alexander the Great’s steps towards Persia and India by going through Russia. Quite a few historians like Pliny the Elder, talk about this campaign. I don’t think that it can be discounted as a mere legend. Caesar had demonstrated to himself and to the world that he was a superior Conqueror and Leader than Alexander. He did not believe in killing for the sake of killing. He was interested in new lands for economic and commercial exchanges. He wanted Rome to grow as a world/global power.

That was the principal reason for the alliance with Cleopatra, Pharaoh and Queen of Egypt. Her country had wheat and other commodities and minerals that Rome needed badly for her expansion into other lands Caesar was aware that the Egyptian sacerdotal class, including the Pharaoh had arcane otherwordly knowledge so powerful that it beggared Rome's in spite of her militay might.

I think the sex was simply the sugar, which was added to the transaction. Caesar was strongly attracted to women, and they found him irresistible not only because he was powerful. Even in his sixties he had retained his lithe body and good looks. From all accounts, his sexual prowess delighted and satisfied their every fantasy.

The conspirators had little time to prepare their murder plot. Sixty-three people knew about the conspiracy to assassinate Julius Caesar. Of these 23 would take part in the killing. That made for too many people to keep a secret. Secrecy was the key to the successful fruition of a murder plot, particularly one involving the greatest military Conqueror of their time. As well, most of the sixty-three with murder in their hearts and on their minds were his friends and acquaintances. Caesar was a practical and pragmatic political animal. The Senate and the Lower Chamber needed dissenters. They compelled him to be ever more creative. In his later years Caesar became somewhat of a Stoic.

“Beware the Ides of March,” repeated the Soothsayer Spurinna several times a day as Caesar walked to the Roman Forum on his way to the Senate. It is important to note that Caesar was a very approachable man inside the perimeters of the Roman Forum. Any richly or poorly dressed individual could stop and talk to him even if he did not know Caesar. He always listened attentively. His villa was easily identifiable because mile long lines of men, women and children waited their turn for an audience with Caesar. The people of Rome loved Caesar. They believed his promises because he had always honored them.

His wife Calpurnia, to whom he was devoted often chided him for his lack of sleep. “You never sleep more than four hours, dearest Gaius Julius.”

“You know dear Spouse that since my twenties four hours of sleep are more than sufficient for me to feel rested.”

She too had come to learn of the Conspiracy to kill her husband. And her concern increased as the Ides of March approached inexorably. Surely Caesar knew the entire Conspiracy in all its gruesome details? He had used spies long before Cornelius Silla nominated him Pontifex Maximus at the age of fourteen. The Suburra, where Caesar had spent his childhood and adolescent years pullulated with every conceivable kind of information. Some of his most trusted centurions came from the Suburra.

Lest we forget, Cleopatra was living in an opulent villa in Rome as Caesar’s mistress. She had a son by him - Caesarion He neither denied nor confirmed his paternity. As with most upper class Italians to this day, he lived with his wife Calpurnia. There are no records of Caesar and Cleopatra ever being seen in public together. The call of the wild penis can be hard to disregard but Caesar’s head ruled over his genitals. It would have been unconscionable for him to disrespect Calpurnia in any way.

Did he tryst with Cleopatra in her villa? She had political ambitions for Egypt. It follows therefore that she would have her own spies, probably Greek who kept her informed of every leaf and stone that dropped in Rome. She traveled to Rome with hundreds of courtiers and experts in her entourage. We presume she brought her own astrologers, The Egyptians possessed the oldest science of the stars and the planets, and they cast astrological charts long before the Babylonians. The Ides of March must have alarmed them. After all, it taxes our credibility to believe that the sixty three people involved in the Conspiracy did not confide in at least one person, who in turn passed the “secret” to yet more persons.

Hollywood luxuriates in its ignorance and arrogance. They have consistently attempted to rewrite history. Allow me to set the record straight. Notwithstanding the 100 million dollar motion picture “Cleopatra”, the Queen of Egypt did NOT make a triumphal entry into Rome. She was accorded the honors which Rulers and VIP’s received when in Rome. Given the fact that Egypt was vital to the economic and financial survival of Rome: she might have received more pomp and ceremony than most.

On his return from Egypt, Gaius Julius Caesar entered Rome in glorious triumph, accompanied only by his legions. He brought good news for the people. Roman ships anchored off the port of Ostia, Civitavecchia, Brindisium (Brindisi) and Genova (Genoa) had arrived from Egypt laden with wheat, oats, beans and fruits. They cheered themselves hoarse.

In the Roman calendar the Ides always fell on the fifteenth day of the month. Caesar was the greatest gambler the world had ever seen. Many of us still remember and often quote him in his famous “Iacta Alea Est” Let The Dice Fly. It is difficult to consider that Caesar was not aware of the Conspiracy. Surely his spies would have informed him. I think he decided to witness the events which would unfold on the Ides of March. He would play out the drama until Death, if everything pointed to the inevitability of his murder. He would go with grace and dignity.

Escape was not for Caesar, the Conqueror, the First Man of Rome, and the foremost Politico, the Patriot and Dictator for Life. Escape was never an option for one such as him. Fortune’s child would become immortal. His life and his many conquests would be the subject of endless plays, dramas, histories, discussions and motion pictures forever. His assassins' names would be obliterated from the Roman lexicon. No one would name his or her son Cicero, Cato, Brutus and Cassius ever again.

He was pleased that he had adopted his great-nephew Octavian, then seventeen years old as his lawful son and heir. Octavian was the son of his affectionate niece Athia, the daughter of Guilia, sister of his beloved mother Aurelia. Caesar believed in bloodlines. Thus, only the line descended from his mother could he turn to in his hour of need. He had no legitimate male sons nor did he ever legitimize any. Again, because he was convinced that” The offspring of my sons carry my name, but the children of my daughters or maternal nieces have my blood.”

“Octavian Julius Caesar is brilliant, brave and highly intelligent. He will choose his administrators wisely. He has no political baggage because of his extreme youth. His streak of ruthlessness, which he masks well underneath a falsely delicate nature, will stand him and Rome in good stead. He will bear the name of Caesar splendidly and successfully. Long live Caesar,“ he pondered as thunder and lightning pelted Rome on the eve of the Ides of March.

I think the Conspiracy to kill Caesar was led by vindictive and jealous men. Cassius, one of its leaders nurtured a rancor, which turned into hatred because Caesar named Brutus Praetor of Rome. He felt and he may have been right that Brutus, whose main occupation was usury, was not the best choice.

“Caesar has passed me over only because Brutus is the son of his long time mistress Servilia,“ he thought.

Something else rankled in Cassius’s heart. His wife Tertullia had once had a passionate affair with Caesar. Gossip ascribed this to Servilia’s controlling nature. Caesar had severed their long relationship before his departure for Gaul. Servilia never stopped loving and hating him. So she ordered her daughter Tertullia to come to Caesar’s bed as a sort of gift.

An objective observation of the principal actors in this conspiracy lead me to conclude that most had been at one time or another, cuckolded by Caesar.

Shakespeare might have portrayed Portia, wife of Brutus as the epitome of fidelity. Perhaps by the time she was married to him she had become a good wife. However, she had nursed an impossible infatuation for Caesar. He was the sort of man who loved women, pleasured them, covered them with gifts and then left them. Indeed, he spent more time in conquest of foreign lands than he ever spent in Rome.

The years had made Portia bitter. She was out for blood. As Cato’s daughter, she wanted nothing more. There is a gamut of motives behind the Conspiracy ranging from the noble (but duped) sentiments of a few to envy, hatred and opportunism. Brutus was not a man who was easily swayed, but if any person or persons could do it, that would have been Cassius first and Portia a very close second.

“Please don’t attend the session at the Senate today. I had a nightmare wherein I saw you covered in blood,” pleaded Calpurnia gazing into her husband’s eyes as they drank freshly squeezed blood red oranges from North Africa.

Caesar reassured his wife that he would not stay long and they would enjoy an enchanting spring luncheon together.

As he strode inside the Forum, Spurinna the Soothsayer stepped in front of him. "Great Caesar. Beware the Ides of March.”

“They are upon us and nothing has taken place,” replied Caesar brusquely.

“They have only just begun,’’ retorted the Soothsayer walking away.

Caesar continued on his way wordlessly. Of course, he was alone. He knew Marc Anthony; his second cousin was away on a mission.

“Iacta Alea Est.”

It was eight o’clock in the morning of the 15th of March 44 B.C. Caesar entered the chambers of the Senate. He noticed a couple of elderly Senators; his allies had already taken their seats. Brutus, Cassius, Decimus and Casca stood in the area where Caesar always sat. They stepped aside so that he could ascend towards his usual place. When he was seated, he noticed that more solons had joined the quartet and that they were on their way up to him.

“They seem to be pushing Tullio Cimbrus forward. They must want favors as usual, he whispered mostly to himself.

Caesar had sent Tullio’s brother into exile in Sicily.

“Look here Cimbrus, thank the Gods and the Goddesses that all I did was send your vicious and treasonous brother away. Other men like the dead Silla or Marius would surely have executed him,” his voice was now sharp.

They were about to reach his seat. He rose swiftly and continued. ‘What do you Brutus, Decimus, and Cassius have in common with that horrid man who is unworthy of being called by his name by me?”

A tense and dangerous silence surrounded him.

Undeterred Caesar went on. "You share nothing with that person or his brother Cimbrus here present. You have no blood ties. Your studies, culture, ideals or way of life are different."

Caesar turned his torso to walk away. Cimbrus suddenly grabbed his toga bordered in purple and pulled at it so violently that the toga came undone, exposing his back. At the same time as this occurred he felt an acute pain between his shoulder and his neck. Casca had stabbed him! Caesar gripped Cascas’s wrists and yelled.

“Curse you Casca, what are you doing?”

He heard Casca call out for help to his brother who was part of the group, which now completely encircled him. Caesar looked for an opening among the men. One unarmed man among twenty-three killers brandishing well sharpened daggers. It was forbidden for legislators in the Senate to carry swords, daggers or knives. Caesar had unfailingly observed this rule.

His well-disciplined mind took over. He felt the stabs and the slashes from a distance. Pain seemed far away. He quivered at the sight of his torn toga now in tatters. I think at that moment Caesar knew that he was going to die. He stopped defending himself. He did not ask for mercy. He never cried out for help. As he stumbled from the loss of blood, his assassins took advantage of this weakness to pass him as if he were a ball. Near death his sense of DIGNITAS, which in ancient Rome meant self-esteem and self respect and pride in doing one’s duty - all rolled into one - became more acute than ever. His dismembered toga exposed his private parts and his abdomen. He used all the strength he had left to fall on his knees and gather the remnants of his toga around his lower torso. Then slowly he lay on his side. The voices and cries diminished in volume. He no longer cared what the voices said around him. He found the force to put himself in a fetal position before abandoning himself into a profound sleep.

According to the medical examiner Antiseo, of the twenty-three stab wounds, only one proved fatal to Caesar - the stab wound to his throat by Cassius.

Of the many unprecedented actions one of them adds even more luster to this glorious human being. His last will and testament provided for every citizen of Rome with 300 sesterces in gold. At the time of his assassination Rome was a city of a million people, perhaps more.

I think he may be the first and last Leader of this magnitude to ever provide for the people of his country. He left millions of ducats for his war against the Parthians. He wished to ensure his Legions would be provided for. Octavian received millions as did Marc Antony. He even remembered the friends who all turned out to be his assassins with thousands of gold ducats.

I can think of no other leader then as now who has ever remembered the people . If any of my readers know any examples please enlighten us.

In conclusion, these words come to mind. "December 7th, 1941, is a day that will live in infamy," pronounced by President Franklin Delano Roosevelt. We now know that the attack on Pearl Harbor by the Japanese Imperial Navy was known by the Pentagon and by the White House. At least three months before the attack, cryptographers working for the US Navy had cracked the Japanese military communiques emanating from one of their bases in the Marshall Islands.

The only authentic day of infamy for much of the ancient and modern world took place on the Ides of March. Two examples will suffice.

In the capital city of Mozambique, Maputo, I was invited to visit a high school on the Ides of March. I entered the classroom with General Veloso. Classes had just resumed after a horrendous civil war. The peace had been brokered in Rome by the Vatican and the United Nations A drawing of Julius Caesar on the day of his assassination covered the entire length of the blackboard.

I was impressed and complimented the entire class. It had been a collective endeavor. Then I asked if they knew what the 7th of December 1941 meant. I was met with blank stares. The class president said they had no idea.

I thought Manila would be different. The Japanese bombed Manila, declared an open city by General Douglas MacArthur on the 9th of December 1941. Surely, the children at the elite school would know? I mean, there was the Battle of Bataan, Corregidor, Lingayen Gulf and the infamous Bataan Death March.

Well my dear readers, the children were not aware of the attack on Pearl Harbor," the day that will live in infamy" but one 10 year old boy volunteered this piece of information.

"We are familiar with the Ides of March because one of the greatest men in history, Julius Caesar was murdered on that day 44 years before the birth of Christ."

That says it all.

Iacta Alea Est.

Janet Napolitano calls US Veterans Terrorists

2011-03-15T03:41:00.000+01:00

IRA fundraiser Rep. Peter King thinks we should keep an eye on Muslims.

After all, they're all potential terrorists, aren't they?

Lest we forget, DHS head Janet Napolitano holds a similar opinion of all US veterans, especially the generation coming back from Iraq and Afghanistan.

Not only were there no weapons of mass destructions - it turns out that our military actually trains terrorists and is bringing them back to the USA. Way to go.

Where is the Major General Smedley Butler of today to speak out and defend the Veterans?

War is a Racket

2011-03-14T15:40:00.000+01:00

In a speech delivered in 1933, by Major General Smedley Butler, USMC declared

War is a racket. It always has been.

It is possibly the oldest, easily the most profitable, surely the most vicious. It is the only one international in scope. It is the only one in which the profits are reckoned in dollars and the losses in lives.

He goes on to explain why ... and proposes a solution - that if adopted would surely make a lot of people rethink their positions.

To listen to parts of this speech and learn more about General Smedley (who buy the way stopped a fascist coup by Wall Street to take over the US government in the 1930's) and to read more about his very interesting views and his proposed solution for reducing the motivation behind war -- click here.

The Stimulus Package Explained

2011-03-14T14:54:00.000+01:00

It is a slow day in the small Saskatchewan town of Moosejaw, and streets are deserted. Times are tough, everybody is in debt, and everybody is living on credit.

A tourist visiting the area drives through town, stops at the motel and lays a $100 bill on the desk saying he wants to inspect the rooms upstairs to pick one for the night.

As soon as he walks upstairs, the motel owner grabs the bill and runs next door to pay his debt to the butcher.

The butcher takes the $100 and runs down the street to retire his debt to the pig farmer.

The pig farmer takes the $100 and heads off to pay his bill to his supplier, the Co-op.

The guy at the Co-op takes the $100 and runs to pay his debt to the local prostitute, who has also been facing hard times and has had to offer her "services" on credit.

The hooker rushes to the hotel and pays off her room bill with the motel owner.

The motel proprietor then places the $100 back on the counter so the traveler will not suspect anything.

At that moment the traveler comes down the stairs, states that the rooms are not satisfactory, picks up the $100 bill and leaves.

No one produced anything. No one earned anything. However, the whole town is now out of debt and looks to the future with a lot more optimism.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how the Stimulus package works.

Omar Maruf

2011-03-10T17:55:00.001+01:00

This article is about Omar Maruf, because his life does count. Because his death deserves outrage and a demand for justice. Because I've looked into the silent faces of Omar’s grieving brothers, because I have listened to his cousins, who spoke all the more, out of anger and helplessness. How can you just murder a young man, they asked me. How it is possible that the Israeli soldier will not be sued, that there is no justice, that no one cares? Why you can just kill people like us, why you can just shoot Palestinians? Why does no one do anything? Why no government in the world is helping us, when the Israeli government believes that international law does not apply for them?

So here it is, the story of the death of Omar Maruf. He was twenty years old, and the father of a two years old son. "Don’t go too close to the border, it's too dangerous," his cousin Talal has previously warned him. He had no choice, Omar had responded. He had a son who needs food. So he went to the border to collect stones. It was 9:30 in the morning of the 28th February 2011, Talal was about 700 meters away from the border, on his own land. Omar was at 400 meters, when the Israeli soldiers opened fire. He was outside the so-called buffer zone, the 300-meter-wide strip of land along the border with Israel, which the Israeli military has banned from entering under threat of death. It is debatable whether it is lawful to declare publicly to shoot any civilian of the neighbour state who is on his own farmland close to the border. But that is not important, Omar was over hundred yards away from this area.

Talal couldn’t see Omar from where he was standing, he didn’t know what had happened to him, whether the shots had hit him. The soldiers fired several volleys, and with the last volley, they shot the donkey, Talal could see how he died. Why the donkey, one wonders, such a pointless additional cruelty. But Talal didn’t know yet what had happened to Omar. Shortly after, two bulldozers and a tank broke into the land, it was impossible for Talal to come closer. Even the ambulance from the Red Cross which he had called received no permission to approach the donkey cart, even after several attempts to coordinate with the Israeli side. The bulldozers began to dig a ditch around the cart with the dead donkey, almost half a kilometer away from the territory of their own state. Why, one wonders. Why did they dig a ditch around the donkey cart? Shortly after, Talal watched from a safe distance how Omar’s lifeless body was brought into the tank. Why, one wonders. Why did they take Omar with them? Maybe they wanted to treat him, said his cousin. Treat? For two hours, the paramedics of the Red Cross were trying to find out what happened to Omar, where he was, whether he was still alive. In vain. Finally, the paramedics received a call from the hospital of Gaza City: A body had been brought in from the Israeli Erez crossing, Omar was dead

"What on earth was this soldier thinking when he shot him?" his cousin askes me. "Did he think he would pose any danger? He doesn’t even have money to buy milk for his child. Did he think he had money for a weapon? Did he think he would have a tank?” As if I would have the answer. So I follow the question of why the soldiers have taken Omar with them. They wanted to help him, the family is convinced. I ask one of his brothers, whether traces of medical treatment were visible on his body. He shakes his head. "No," he says, “I have seen his body. There were no puncture marks of an infusion, no bandages. The bullet had entered at the left side of his body, and had come out again on the other side.” A dumdum bullet, which causes maximum damage. Bullets, which explode on impact inside the body are prohibited according to Geneva Convention 1889, Declaration 3. I don’t mention that that hardly matches the version that soldiers wanted to help. Perhaps the idea is just too reassuring that one of them has actually seen Omar as a human being who needs help.

But something had changed on him. As Omar's dead body reached the hospital, a notice was fixed to his chest. "Terrorist" it said.

Omar Maruf is the eighth civilian being shot dead in the buffer zone in the last two months. Since the beginning of last year, far more than a hundred workers and farmers have been shot by Israeli snipers in the buffer zone, 18 of them died.

Source: Gilad Atzmon (Israeli)

Commentary: We are denuded at the airports, have our freedoms stripped away in order to stop terrorism -- the big terrorists that do multiple damage. But what of the terrorists that kill one person at a time like Omar ... killing tens of thousands over the years. What of those terrorists? Why are we sending billions to support such terrorists?

Truth about Libya - Part 2

2011-03-09T17:41:00.000+01:00

Are events unfolding in Libya, Tunisia and Egypt more about petro-terrorism or about freedom and democracy? How much oil is there in North Africa? Who is in control of that oil? What is the relationship between the West and Muamar Gaddafi? Is he really the terrorist we've all been led to believe he is? Who is the Libyan "opposition" and who are the "rebels" we read about?

Presented with this story are petroleum industry concessions maps ** for North Africa that people might want to ponder in between the Western propaganda on Libya. Amidst the full-court press of propaganda presented by the western media and State Department disinformation apparatus we find that Muamar Gaddafi is even accused of committing genocide against his own people. Are there double standards at work?

From the Halls of Montezuma to the Shores of Tripoli

On September 1, 1969 the pro-western regime that had ruled in Libya was overthrown by Colonel Muamar Gaddafi and his officers. At the time, Libya was home to the largest US Air Base (Wheelus Air Base) in North Africa. Agreements between the USA and Libya signed in 1951 and 1954 granted the USAF the use of Wheelus Air Base and its El Watia gunnery range for gunnery and bombing training and for transport and bombing stopovers until 1971. During the Cold War the base was pivotal to expanding US military power under the Strategic Air Command, and an essential base for fighter and reconnaissance missions. The Pentagon also used the base -- and the remote Libyan desert -- for missile launch testing: the launch area was located 15 miles east of Tripoli. Considered a 'little America on the shores of the Mediteranean', the base housed some 4600 US military personnel until its evacuation in 1970.

With the discovery of oil in Libya in 1959, a very poor desert country became a very rich little western protectorate. US and European companies had huge stakes in the extremely lucrative petroleum and banking sectors, but these were soon nationalized by Gaddafi. Thus Libya overnight joined the list of US 'enemy' or 'rogue' states that sought autonomy and self-determination outside the expanding sphere of western Empire. Further cementing western hatred of the new regime, Libya played a leading role of the 1973 oil embargo against the US and maintained cooperative relations with the Soviet Union. Gaddafi also reportedly channeled early oil wealth into national free health care and education.

Many of the concessions in Libya, Tunisia, Algeria and Egypt involve state-owned oil companies. The US/European/Israeli nexus seeks to dislodge state-ownership -- to whatever extent it actually exists -- and dislodge any Chinese workers or companies involved in the oil exploitation, and replace these with western companies and western agents.

At one time Gaddafi played around with Idi Amin, but his ties to other despots -- such as Tony Blair and George H. W. Bush -- are far more notable, though far less advertised. Remember that Gaddafi has served the prerogatives of imperialism for years, even while being presented as the world's premier terrorist.

The CIA has long wanted to eliminate and replace Muamar Gaddafi. President Reagan bombed Tripoli, killing Gaddafi's infant daughter: the United States bombing of Libya (code-named Operation El Dorado Canyon) comprised the joint USAF, Navy, and Marines air-strikes against Libya on April 15, 1986. The US CIA brought down the Lockerbie Pan Am 103 flight over Scotland in 1988 and blamed this on Gaddafi.

In recent years Gaddafi has played along with the western fiction of Al-Queda, though it seems likely that some of the true mercenaries in Libya today are 'Al-Queda' terrorists trained by the United States to serve US interests in places like Saudi Arabia, Afghanistan, Iraq, Yemen and now Libya. However, the CIA has always had their sites on Gaddafi.

Note the double standard in how the western press presents the accusations of Gaddafi using mercenaries, as if it is something unique to Gaddafi and Libya, and not something we ever do.

National front for the Salvation of Libya

In almost all western media accounts, the so-called "opposition" in Libya includes the unspecified, unnamed, unidentified "rebels" of the National Front for the Salvation of Libya (NFSL). These are not innocent 'pro-democracy' protestors who began with a 'peaceful sit-in' as reported by the New York Times and uncritically repeated everywhere else.

Reportage of atrocities in Darfur, Sudan (2003-2011) and Rwanda (1990-1994) was always blamed on the governments (Omar Bashir in Khartoum and Juvenal Habyarimana in Kigali) with no context to the foreign backed insurgency and intervention occurring, which in both cases involved the US, UK and Israel. Similarly, in Libya today, there is no context or history to the FNSL 'rebels': they are categorically presented as the good guys, no matter that they seem to have appeared out of thin air. No one explains who these people are who are cited by the New York Times or CNN or Democracy Now as sources.

The FNSL was part of the National Conference for the Libyan Opposition held in London in 2005, and British resources are being used to support the FNSL and other 'opposition' in Libya. The FNSL was actually formed in October 1981 in Sudan under Colonel Jaafar Nimieri-- the US puppet dictator who was openly known to be a Central Intelligence Agency operative, and who ruled Sudan ruthlessly from 1977 to 1985. The FNSL held its national congress in the USA in July 2007. Reports of 'atrocities' and civilian deaths are being channeled into the western press from operations in Washington DC, and the opposition FNSL is reportedly organizing resistance and military attacks from both inside and outside Libya.

Italy and France are also said to be backing these opposition groups, as the Italian and French oil companies AGIP and ELF and others seek to chop off and eat their pieces of the predatory pie. The US, Britain and Israel seek to insure control of the petroleum sector in advance of competitor corporations from other European countries.

National Endowment for (non) Democracy

In 1983, the Pentagon, USAID, US State Department, and the CIA were all involved in the creation and implementation of 'Project Democracy' -- National Security Decision Directive 77 (NSDD 77) -- and this led to the creation of the National Endowment for Democracy. After that, many of the tactics used in covert interventions were shifted away from the CIA and onto the NED, whose involvement with covert operations and foreign interventions are nonetheless well-established.

A 'soft' intervention CIA front, the National Endowment for Democracy has been deeply involved in Libya along with the CIA fronted Freedom House (under their Blue Umbrella program and others). These entities have backed 'opposition', supported propaganda campaigns and so-called 'pro-democracy' movements, and are known to be involved with backing armed insurgents and interventions.

NED works its overt intelligence sector magic through four organizations under its (own) umbrella: National democratic Institute; International republican Institute, Center for Private Enterprise, and the AFL-CIO's American Center for International Labor Solidarity. NED is closely aligned with US foreign policy interests and achieves its mission through the revolving doors between US Government and the NED Board of Directors.

Some of these NED directors include: former US Secretaries of State, Henry Kissinger (Nixon) and Madeleine Albright (Clinton), former US Secretary of Defense Frank Carlucci (Reagan), former National Security Council ChairZbigniew Brzezinski (Carter), former NATO Supreme Allied Command in Europe, General Wesley K. Clark (Clinton), and the current head of the World Bank, Paul Wolfowitz (George W. Bush).

Freedom House is supportive of NED programs but has been around since its creation by Elanor Roosevelt and they have been very active against Libya. Freedom House is funded by, amongst others, UNILEVER Corporation, USAID, and the US Information Agency (USIA). Freedom House, in alliance with USIA, has provided covert and overt "Radio Free' disinformation programs all over the world since at least 1952: e.g. Radio Free Europe, Radio Free Asia.

Past and present Freedom House trustees include: former CIA director R. James Woosley; former national security adviser (at the time of the US invasion of Congo-Zaire) Anthony Lake; Harvard professor Samuel Huntington; UNILEVER executive Ned Bandler; CIA insider Andrew Young; former Joseph Mobutu confidant and national security insider Jeanne J. Kirkpatrick; former NED director and International Crisis Group trustee Zbigniew Brzezinski; USAID intelligence operative J. Brian Atwood (USAID administrator who oversaw the US-backed genocide against millions of Hutu refugees in Zaire, 1996-1998) and many more.

Freedom House is also very likely affiliated with the phantom US Office of Strategic Information (OSI), formed after September 11, 2001. OSI is said to have been reorganized, with all its original functions reassigned to the Office of Global Communications, Information Awareness Office (IAO), and the newly reactivated Counter-Disinformation/Misinformation Team (Counter-Information Team). However, then Secretary of War Donald Rumsfeld issued statements affirming that the OSI's operations would continue.

Rogue State Painted with Blatant Propaganda

In the ABC LITELINE report FNSL Leader Speaks from Washington we find the Washington monument in the background for an interview with an Arab agent being used by the western propaganda system as a credible source -- but with zero explanations of who he is or why his claims might be false.

FNSL operative Irahim Sahad speaks freely, making any claim he likes, and nothing he says is challenged or counter-balanced. Sahad suggests that the UN Security Council MUST be convened to stop the genocide being committed by Gaddafi against his own people. Ibrahim Sahad's bias is unveiled by such statements as "The UN Security Council was convened when just one man was killed in Lebabon -- so it should be convened to address the most brutal use of live ammunition, heavy arms and mercenaries." The claim employs a double-standard, saying in short that Lebanese lives are worth more than Libyan, which is not at all the case, and that the United Nations takes serious one man's life in Lebanon, so they should take far more serious the monumental loss of life [claimed] in Libya.

Here are some of the media's rallying cries making headlines everywhere the English language is used:

* Gaddafi killing his own people!

* West worried that Gaddafi may use Nerve Gas!

* Heavy Weaponry Used Against Civilians!

* Heavy Arms Used in Libyan Crackdown!

* Gaddafi Committing Crimes Against Humanity!

The death tolls in Iraq, Afghanistan and Congo -- by US/NATO/ISRAELI forces -- far surpass anything that might have occurred in Libya. Meanwhile, most 'news' on Libya is based on false accusations and false assertions -- such as the THREAT of nerve gas being used.

The 'international community' repeatedly enforced or renewed sanctions against Libya in the 1980s and 1990s. In 2004, it was established that Washington and London were grossly exaggerating claims of Gaddafi's development of nuclear and chemical weapons. In Afghanistan the US is using weapons of mass destruction and has been since the invasion of 2001: these include phosgene and uranium weapons. A deeper issue might be the loss of certain nuclear weapons, as claimed by sources in London, which reportedly went missing from US/NATO stocks. Claims are that these weapons made their way into teh hands of British arms dealer John Bredenkamp, a long time crony of the Robert Mugabe gang in Zimbabwe, and that they may have been sold to Libya, Yemen or North Korea.

Muamar Gaddafi Sides with Empire

"[T]he fundamental problem and issue before the people in the region is that the US rulers seek imperial control and imposition of semi-colonial country-selling regimes; the more autocratic and brutal, the better from the point of the US imperialism that is unrelenting history," reports Ralph Schoenman, in 'US Imperialism Against Democratic ME'. "Every time the population is given the opportunity to shape its own destiny, to seek its national independence, to seek its own control over its own resources, to seeks its own sovereignty and determination of its own future, that is incompatible with the US imperialism.

When Barack Obama was accepted by the US people as the new president, Gaddafi praised Obama and described Obama's White House housesit as "a victory against racism" and he urged the first Black U.S. president "to lead his country boldly and with integrity."

"The Black people's struggle has made tremendous advances against racism in America," Gaddafi said. "It was God who created color. Today President Obama, son of a Kenyan father, a true son of Africa, has made it in the United States of America."

At a speech he gave in his private tent in Tripoli in September 2008, Gaddafi rambled and muddled and zipped his all-over-the-place speech up as quick as he began. Is he a desert mystic? Did he write the infamous "Green Book" or was it ghost-written? Is his rambling speech emblematic of his propensity to try to please, to do what he likes, to be careful not to say the wrong thing, while being unable to remain silent when the hypocrisies of the west are (or were) thrown up in his face?

Pentagon Invasion Already Underway

The US will use any propaganda necessary to whip up American fervor over Gaddafi and justify Pentagon or MI6 or NATO operations. US and British warships sit off the coast of Libya -- and they don't sit there idly. The imposition of a 'no-fly' zone means that US/NATO planes can do as they like, with the understanding that what we are really talking about are possible bombing and fighter sorties against Libya.

US troops have already moved ashore in Libya, joining the 'opposition ' and 'rebel' forces in 'rebel' controlled territories. The US, France and Britain have already set up Bases in Libya.

The recent report noted that British and US special forces entered Libyan port cities of Benghazi and Toburk on February 23 and 24.

US covert operatives have been on the ground for weeks, in not much longer, whether they have entered by sea (SEALS) or by way of Niger, where the US has openly published information about its covert operations. (See, for example, the travelology reports by former U.S. Special Forces now 'journalist' Robert Kaplan in America's African Rifles a Pentagon massaged and approved propaganda feature in the pro-war Atlantic Monthly). Any opportunity to attack, destabilize, invade will be exploited by the Pentagon.

Of course, as this is written the US media is preparing the ground for the English news consuming masses to see the Pentagon invasion as a "humanitarian" mission in Libya. There is nothing humanitarian about the Pentagon, and there has never been.

The Desert Mystic

Libya is a country of approximately 6 million people, having a huge geographical area but low population density. Claims that Gaddafi has uplifted his people over the course of his 40 year dictatorship are false. Poverty is high throughout the country, and in Tripoli there are the obvious signs of capitalism: overcrowding, traffic, environmental pollution and destruction of nature. However, Gaddafi's "Green Book" -- if in fact it was written by him -- is worth reading. Had it been written by most anyone else who is opposed to the expansion of western empire with all its horrors, it would be more widely appreciated.

Gaddafi has funded Pan-African organizations and individuals, some of whom have very noble missions and serve to challenge the downtrodden, while he has also funded some armed factions involved in unjust wars or destabilizations. Gaddafi has funded Louis Farrakan and the Nation of Islam. He has funded Jean Pierre Bemba and the Movement for the Liberation of Congo (MLC), the rebellion also backed by Yoweri Museveni, responsible for a very definitive genocide in the Democratic Republic of Congo.

Human Rights Watch has reported that international arms dealer Victor Bout illegally shipped weapons into Congo-Zaire, picking them up in Libya and delivering them to Rwandan Hutu forces. However, Human Rights Watch is deeply compromised when it comes to reporting and not reporting the facts -- or selectively reporting them -- on Central Africa. If Gaddafi did supply or facilitate the provision of arms to Hutu insurgents in Congo, it may be one of the more reasonable actions he took: e.g. the Forces for the Democratic Liberation of Rwanda (FDLR) are forever misaligned by the Pentagon and its propaganda minions precisely because they fought against the illegal invasion of Rwanda by Paul Kagame and Yoweri Museveni. Meanwhile, it is Rwanda, Uganda and their foreign multinational corporate allies that are responsible for the preponderance of killing in Central Africa (not the FDLR).

According to Amnesty International, another selective human rights organ serving western interests, Gaddafi also reportedly armed Sudanese in Darfur -- long before the current conflict began in 2003 -- to fight against western backed interventions in Chad and Sudan.

Gaddafi reportedly owns land in Zimbabwe and may flee there or to other countries where repressive control is maintained in service to western interests.

Muamar Gaddafi is/was the most recent chairman of the African Union, another elite organization designed to serve western exploitation -- or run by a cabal of thieves, at the very least, who all have the goods on each other, and so none will ever challenge the way things are -- while the people, the masses of Africa, everywhere suffer.

The African Union (AU) signed on with Washington for the devastating neo-liberal trade and tarifs agreement known euphemistically as the Africa Growth and Opportunity Act (AGOA). The AU special report on genocide in Rwanda was a complete whitewash serving US/UK interests and protecting dictators Paul Kagame and Yoweri Museveni. The AU has also been slammed by African leaders for inaction and silence in various developments on the continent.

Former AU chairman have included some of Africa's most criminal dictators, such as Dennis Sassou Nguesso, who has reigned with absolute military brutality in the Republic of Congo for some 20 years (with a gap from 1992-1997). Gabon's present ruler Albert-Bernard Bongo is the son-in-law of Dennis Sassou-Nguesso, and both have been sustained with millions of Elf petrol dollars (see, e.g., keith harmon snow: The Crimes of Bongo). Sassou-Nguesso's elite Cobra militia were also trained by French advisers and, like Colonel Joseph Mobutu, Sassou-Nguesso relied on Israeli security and intelligence for protection.

The AU's alliance with NATO began long ago, and it saw expanded joint military operations in Sudan, where the AU served as NATO's "African face" for US/UK and Israeli military interventions in the war for Darfur. For example, forces fighting for the NATO interests, commanded and commandeered under an AU banner, came from Paul Kagame's Rwanda Defense Forces (formerly called Rwandan Patriotic Front/Army) responsible for genocide, war crimes and crimes against humanity in Uganda, Rwanda, DR Congo and, then, Darfur. Rather than condemning western military expansion and different forms of AFRICOM or CIA-backed terrorism, for example, the AU backs the western war of annihilation in Somalia, involving Ugandan troops trained by US Special forces, and the Pentagon's expansion in Ethiopia, and support for dictator Meles Zenawi there. Ethiopia is the site of an ongoing genocide against the Annuak, Omo and Orono people -- and no one has reported the atrocities in the blood drenched oil-rich Ogaden basin there. What say the AU?

In AFRICA: Global NATO Seeks to Recruit 50 New Military Partners, journalist Rick Rozoff reports: "A recent article in Kenya's Africa Review cited sources in the African Union (AU) disclosing that the 28-member North Atlantic Treaty Organization [NATO] is preparing to sign a military partnership treaty with the 53-nation AU." Rozoff explains that this is a likely maneuver against the spread of Chinese interests in the continent.

According to Black Commentator editor Glen Ford, who traveled to Tripoli in 2008, Gaddafi on the Outs, the man who ruled this not-so-little North African dictatorship is about finished.

And Now, The Gaddafi Genocide

Claims made by Libyan 'opposition' and reported in the western press that Gaddafi is committing genocide against his own people represent the height of western arrogance and hypocrisy. At this very moment the wars being prosecuted by the USA and its allies, including Japan, Europe, Israel, South Africa, Canada and Australia, far dwarf the 'atrocities' committed in Libya. While we have no credible reporting about who is killing, who is opposition, how many dead, etc., out of Libya, we have credible report after credible report establishing that the US and its allies have perpetrated massacres, tortures, and other atrocities, in the millions of people, in Congo, Rwanda, Uganda, Afghanistan, Iraq, Palestine and Sudan - for a short list.

The claim of genocide here, akin to the one-sided charges against former Rwandan president Juvenal Habyarimana, or against Sudan's Omar al-Bashir, are one more clear example of the Politics of Genocide delineated in great detail by this writer and others. Reports in western media -- provided, again, by the FNSL and other western intelligence, covert operations or psychological operations flak organizations -- are filled with harsh language and characterizations not seen in reporting on or by western military campaigns. For example, in many western reports we can find, such as Gruesome Footage Proves Libya Using Heavy Arms makes claims that "newspapers obtained shocking footage of corpses with bodies blasted off and several torsos in Libyan hospitals."

So there are several torsos. That is not quite genocide. Where are the images? If such images of death and destruction do appear it will be in sharp contrast to the complete whiteout on dead bodies in the Pentagon's other theaters of war, in the eastern Congo or Somalia, or in Afghanistan.

Images of dead bodies can be produced and published but these are easily stripped of context. How do western audiences and propaganda consumers know that these are authentic and not recycled images of protests from Yemen or Bahrain dumped into the western press (with their willing acknowledgment) by Britain's MI-6, as has been alleged? Al-Jezeera shows its true western colors by not reporting much of anything, and that certainly not critical of western manipulation or involvement.

We saw the tactic of collecting dead bodies and skeletons used in Rwanda by the Pentagon-s agents of the Rwandan Patriotic Front, and in Darfur and South Sudan, where journalist Nicholas Kristof produced some dead shriveled bodies from some desert somewhere and claimed these were from the New York Times' Secret Genocide Archives. The atrocities were committed, we are told, by President Omar al-Bashir and the government of Sudan.

However, there is never any mention of US military involvement, mercenaries (Pacific Architects and Engineers, Dyncorp, others) on the ground in Sudan. Dead men tell no tales, or dead women: these dead bodies are as likely dead from US or Israeli backed 'rebels' -- the Justice and Equality Movement or Sudan Liberation Army backed by the US, NATO, Israel and our puppet dictator in Uganda.

The double-standards and outright lies can be seen quickly, if one knows there are deeper truths, by examining propaganda produced by the International Crisis Group, or such propaganda tracts as Smith College English teacher Eric Reeves' A Long Day's Dying: Critical Moments in the Darfur Genocide -- where there is not one reference to Ugandan dictator Yoweri Museveni and his Pentagon assisted backing of the Sudan People's Liberation Army (SPLA), in South Sudan, and Sudan Liberation Army (SLA), in Darfur, in all of the 386 pages.

Western mercenaries that have been deeply involved, and remain so, in some of the world's bloodiest conflicts, in coup d'etats, in massacres and other atrocities, include British mercenary Tony Buckingham -- whose mercenary past is legendary -- founder of Heritage Oil & Gas, a petroleum company linked by Buckingham to mercenary firms Branch Energy and Sandline International. Buckingham was also a partner in the infamous Executive Outcomes, with former British SAS soldier-of-misfortune Tim Spicer -- the recipient of massive Pentagon contracts in Iraq. Heritage director General Sir Michael Wilkes retired from the British Army in 1995 and is a former Middle East adviser to the British government and a member of the Army Board. Wilkes commanded Britain's Special Air Services (SAS) regiment and was director of Special Forces. Heritage Oil has exploited opportunities in Mali, Uganda, Republic of Congo, Oman and Iraq.

In short, almost everything in the western press on the crises in Libya is slanted by some faction, or interest, or it is tainted by western arrogance, or by anti-imperialist ideology (of 'solidarity'), even in the case of the alternative media. There is very little accurate reporting of any kind (but some good work linked or cited herein).

This report is just another incomplete picture of an incomplete puzzle -- but it seeks to penetrate through and expose the ongoing western media campaign for what it is: a psychological operation against the masses of earth's people who have not and do not benefit from the nasty policies and actions implemented to serve a very small and elite group of people.

People wishing to support the legitimate grievances and actions for freedom and truth in Libya should challenge the western terrorist apparatus out of Washington, DC, Tel Aviv, Brussels, London and Ottawa.

Prayers for the true innocent civilians in Libya, and across the region.

Source: Global Research

keith harmon snow traveled to Tripoli, Libya in 2009 and stayed about 3 days while attending the "2009 International Conference of the Green Book supporters" as a member of the US Delegation invited by former U.S. Congresswoman Cynthia Mckinney (D-GA).

The Truth about Libya

2011-03-09T17:25:00.001+01:00

In contrast with what is happening in Egypt and Tunisia, Libya occupies the first spot on the Human Development Index for Africa and it has the highest life expectancy on the continent. Education and health receive special attention from the State. The cultural level of its population is without a doubt the highest. Its problems are of a different sort. The population wasn’t lacking food and essential social services. The country needed an abundant foreign labour force to carry out ambitious plans for production and social development.

For that reason, it provided jobs for hundreds of thousands of workers from Egypt, Tunisia, China and other countries. It had enormous incomes and reserves in convertible currencies deposited in the banks of the wealthy countries from which they acquired consumer goods and even sophisticated weapons that were supplied exactly by the same countries that today want to invade it in the name of human rights.

The colossal campaign of lies, unleashed by the mass media, resulted in great confusion in world public opinion. Some time will go by before we can reconstruct what has really happened in Libya, and we can separate the true facts from the false ones that have been spread.

Serious and prestigious broadcasting companies such as Telesur, saw themselves with the obligation to send reporters and cameramen to the activities of one group and those on the opposing side, so that they could inform about what was really happening.

Communications were blocked, honest diplomatic officials were risking their lives going through neighbourhoods and observing activities, day and night, in order to inform about what was going on. The empire and its main allies used the most sophisticated media to divulge information about the events, among which one had to deduce the shreds of the truth.

Without any doubt, the faces of the young people who were protesting in Benghazi, men, and women wearing the veil or without the veil, were expressing genuine indignation.

One is able to see the influence that the tribal component still exercises on that Arab country, despite the Muslim faith that 95% of its population sincerely shares.

Imperialism and NATO – seriously concerned by the revolutionary wave unleashed in the Arab world, where a large part of the oil is generated that sustains the consumer economy of the developed and rich countries – could not help but take advantage of the internal conflict arising in Libya so that they could promote military intervention. The statements made by the United States administration right from the first instant were categorical in that sense.

The circumstances could not be more propitious. In the November elections, the Republican right-wing struck a resounding blow on President Obama, an expert in rhetoric.

The fascist “mission accomplished” group, now backed ideologically by the extremists of the Tea Party, reduced the possibilities of the current president to a merely decorative role in which even his health program and the dubious economic recovery were in danger as a result of the budget deficit and the uncontrollable growth of the public debt which were breaking all historical records.

In spite of the flood of lies and the confusion that was created, the US could not drag China and the Russian Federation to the approval by the Security Council for a military intervention in Libya, even though it managed to obtain however, in the Human Rights Council, approval of the objectives it was seeking at that moment. In regards to a military intervention, the Secretary of State stated in words that admit not the slightest doubt: “no option is being ruled out”.

The real fact is that Libya is now wrapped up in a civil war, as we had foreseen, and the United Nations could do nothing to avoid it, other than its own Secretary General sprinkling the fire with a goodly dose of fuel.

The problem that perhaps the actors were not imagining is that the very leaders of the rebellion were bursting into the complicated matter declaring that they were rejecting all foreign military intervention.

Various news agencies informed that Abdelhafiz Ghoga, spokesperson for the Committee of the Revolution stated on Monday the 28th that “‘The rest of Libya shall be liberated by the Libyan people’”.

“We are counting on the army to liberate Tripoli’ assured Ghoga during the announcement of the formation of a ‘National Council’ to represent the cities of the country in the hands of the insurrection.”

“‘What we want is intelligence information, but in no case that our sovereignty is affected in the air, on land or on the seas’, he added during an encounter with journalists in this city located 1,000 kilometres to the east of Tripoli.”

“The intransigence of the people responsible for the opposition on national sovereignty was reflecting the opinion being spontaneously manifested by many Libyan citizens to the international press in Benghazi”, informed a dispatch of the AFP agency this past Monday.

That same day, a political sciences professor at the University of Benghazi, Abeir Imneina, stated:

“There is very strong national feeling in Libya.”

“‘Furthermore, the example of Iraq strikes fear in the Arab world as a whole’, she underlined, in reference to the American invasion of 2003 that was supposed to bring democracy to that country and then, by contagion, to the region as a whole, a hypothesis totally belied by the facts.”

The professor goes on:

“‘We know what happened in Iraq, it’s that it is fully unstable and we really don’t want to follow the same path. We don’t want the Americans to come to have to go crying to Gaddafi’, this expert continued.”

“But according to Abeir Imneina, ‘there also exists the feeling that this is our revolution, and that it is we who have to make it’.”

A few hours after this dispatch was printed, two of the main press bodies of the United States, The New York Times and The Washington Post, hastened to offer new versions on the subject; the DPA agency informs on this on the following day, March the first: “The Libyan opposition could request that the West bomb from the air strategic positions of the forces loyal to President Muamar al Gaddafi, the US press informed today.”

“The subject is being discussed inside the Libyan Revolutionary Council, ‘The New York Times’ and ‘The Washington Post’ specified in their online versions.”

“‘The New York Times’ notes that these discussions reveal the growing frustration of the rebel leaders in the face of the possibility that Gaddafi should retake power”.

“In the event that air actions are carried out within the United Nations framework, these would not imply international intervention, explained the council’s spokesperson, quoted by The New York Times”.

“The council is made up of lawyers, academics, judges and prominent members of Libyan society.”

The dispatch states:

“‘The Washington Post’ quoted rebels acknowledging that, without Western backing, combat with the forces loyal to Gaddafi could last a long time and cost many human lives.”

It is noteworthy that in that regard, not one single worker, peasant or builder is mentioned, not anyone related to material production or any young student or combatant among those who take part in the demonstrations. Why the effort to present the rebels as prominent members of society demanding bombing by the US and NATO in order to kill Libyans?

Some day we shall know the truth, through persons such as the political sciences professor from the University of Benghazi who, with such eloquence, tells of the terrible experience that killed, destroyed homes, left millions of persons in Iraq without jobs or forced them to emigrate.

Today on Wednesday, the second of March, the EFE Agency presents the well-known rebel spokesperson making statements that, in my opinion, affirm and at the same time contradict those made on Monday: “Benghazi (Libya), March 2. The rebel Libyan leadership today asked the UN Security Council to launch an air attack ‘against the mercenaries’ of the Muamar el Gaddafi regime.”

“‘Our Army cannot launch attacks against the mercenaries, due to their defensive role’, stated the spokesperson for the rebels, Abdelhafiz Ghoga, at a press conference in Benghazi.”

“‘A strategic air attack is different from a foreign intervention which we reject’, emphasized the spokesperson for the opposition forces which at all times have shown themselves to be against a foreign military intervention in the Libyan conflict”.

Which one of the many imperialist wars would this look like?

The one in Spain in 1936? Mussolini’s against Ethiopia in 1935? George W. Bush’s against Iraq in the year 2003 or any other of the dozens of wars promoted by the United States against the peoples of the Americas, from the invasion of Mexico in 1846 to the invasion of the Falkland Islands in 1982?

Without excluding, of course, the mercenary invasion of the Bay of Pigs, the dirty war and the blockade of our Homeland throughout 50 years, that will have another anniversary next April 16th.

In all those wars, like that of Vietnam which cost millions of lives, the most cynical justifications and measures prevailed.

For anyone harbouring any doubts, about the inevitable military intervention that shall occur in Libya, the AP news agency, which I consider to be well-informed, headlined a cable printed today which stated: “The NATO countries are drawing up a contingency plan taking as its model the flight exclusion zones established over the Balkans in the 1990s, in the event that the international community decides to impose an air embargo over Libya, diplomats said”.

Further on it concludes: “Officials, who were not able to give their names due to the delicate nature of the matter, indicated that the opinions being observed start with the flight exclusion zone that the western military alliance imposed over Bosnia in 1993 that had the mandate of the Security Council, and with the NATO bombing in Kosovo in 1999, THAT DID NOT HAVE IT”.

© Copyright Fidel Castro Ruz, Global Research, 2011

BURN! WOMEN! BURN!

2011-03-08T12:33:00.006+01:00

Author's Note: Updated on the 7th of March 2012

Until September 11, 2001, this tragedy was the last time women died on funeral pyres in New York City.

On a blustery, voluble and volatile 25th of March day in 1911, the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory in Greenwich Village, caught fire. Firemen and investigatrs believed it came from a spark which flew out of the makeshift fireplace into one of the huge rolls of fabrics placed vertically, that covered the huge room.

"It was wall to wall fabric rolls in there," declared a shocked fireman.

The Triangle Shirtwaist Factory was just across from Washington Square. It was the sweatshop of all sweatshops. Girls and women slaved there for 85 hours a week, seven days a week. To ensure that women had no distractions, the two monsters who owed the factory chained them to their posts. To be sure, the chains rusted and could be easily removed with the long hairpins that women wore to keep their hair in orderly chignons covered in turbans. The idea of being chained rendered the women even more meek and submissive than they already were. They were poor and desperate immigrants who lived in tenements - Italians, Polish, Ukrainians, Romanians, Irish and Palestinians. A hundred and forty seven women drudged away their lives there day in and day out with nary a day off for Christmas or any other holiday. Seventeen young men also formed part of this sweatshop of horrors. Most never had a youth - they had been sewing slaves since their arrival in New York. Ages ranged from 14 to 23.

Minimum wage? Ha! Fixed Salaries? A dollar a day, two sometimes. NEVER more than that. The poor, hapless and helpless women received $0.125 per shirt for twelve shirts per day as decreed by the rich owners. We are talking about $1.50 a day as wages. This cries out to Heaven!

Unions? Not even a shadow of them then. That was but a dream then. A Manager totally under the shoes of the monster/owners decided how much to pay each individual at the end of an endless day. The women had to live with the horror of the Sword of Damocles over their heads. THEY WORKED ON A DAILY BASIS. THEY COULD BE FIRED AT THE END OF A BACKBREAKING DAY.

And then... on the afternoon of March 25, someone yelled "FIRE! FIRE!"

As new immigrants many of the girls/women did not speak English, much less understand the word. Then there were those cursed chains, the huge tall blts of fabrics now blazing infernos around them. The metal sewing machines turned into ovens.

"Dear God. The doors are barred. They can't be opened," they screamed.

Indeed, the fiends who owned the factories had placed yet more bolts of fabrics, heavy machinery, sewing machines, not ony in the hallways but down the stairs. From the 8th floor of the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory practically to the third floor, not even a rat could have squeezed through.

The heroic firemen put out the fire in exactly eighteen - 18 minutes. One hundred and forty five corpses had burnt in the holocaust of fashion. Some of the girls welded together with their sewing machines. A few jumped to their deaths, preferring death by breaking every bone and organ in your body to searing your lungs and respirtory system.

It was almost impossible to identify them. Two survivors, both men (what a surprise) remember "More or Less" where most of the girls sat. That helped. Relatives and Parents could do little , they were in shock. Their next of kin found that those who had perished from smoke inhalation could be identified. They did so through their broken sobs.

In a scene that moved the firemen to tears, they found that all the women sensing that Death was inevitable held hands and embraced each other. In an atavistic, primeval and spiritual sense they all knew deep down that Sisterhood was theirs. They had earned it. They had died for it.

All 145 lie buried in a cemetery called " Forever Green." It is situated between Brooklyn and Queens.
A monument was buit and headstones sculpted for every woman of the Triange Shirtwaist Factory in the Asch Building. Even if one third of the corpses said "Corpse number 33, Corpse number 85", and so on.

All the next of kin knew they had lost their daughters, sisters, grandaughters, wives, girlfriends forever. What they coud not say was...which was which.

Men and Women never forgot the women of the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory. A distinguished and extraordinary researcher and geneaologist, Dr. Michael Hirsch became obsessed with the fire that changed New York and the rest of the world. He has dedicated the last 30 years to identifying those nameless copses.

Thanks to him, the names are all complete. In the monument erected to commemorate that tragedy, their names have now been sculpted , as well as on the individual headstones. These were the last six unknown corpses. Maximillian Florin, Russian. Concetta Prestifilippo, Italian. Josephine Camarata, Italian, Dora Evans, Irish. Fannie Rosen, Romanian.

Maria Giuseppina Lauletti, "Corpse Number 85." Italian from Sicily. She was 19 years old."
She took a century to identify but Dr. Hirsch accomplished it.

Glory to all of you dear and brave women who kept your dignity although you were slaves. You died as loving Sisters when Fire and Smoke consumed you. You were uncaring of nationality, race and religion. You worked for a better tomorrow. We are still working on that dear Sisters.

YOU DID NOT DIE IN VAIN.

The tenements have gone.

In less than a year all buildings in the city of New York had fire escapes OUTSIDE the buildings.

The two Monstrous individuals who owned the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory were tried for Homicide and sentenced to 30 years in prison.