By Janet Phelan
I’ve been a reporter for over thirty years. Those who recognize my byline may be aware that, since the early 2000s, I’ve focused the tools of my trade on uncovering and exposing corruption, in its many and varied forms. My method to determine whether or not a public official is on the take is now being employed by other reporters in their research. My long term focus on biowarfare, in which warnings appeared repeatedly that a pandemic would soon be launched, has now morphed into a more focused reporting on the coronavirus pandemic. The plight of the elderly, increasingly targeted by not only court authorized guardianship programs and euthanasia laws, but also by policies attached to the pandemic, has also consumed my attention and journalistic efforts. I’ve also taken on the subject matter of a growing number of targets of US abusive policies, whether they be whistleblowers or simply folks unfortunate enough to be placed into non-consensual weapons testing programs.
Some of you may know that I left the US some years ago. The extent to which I found myself surveilled, attacked and all around messed with by my government, following the cover up of the murder of a family member, was detailed in my 2014 book, EXILE.
As one becomes in a sense “hunted,” one begins to transform, subtly or otherwise, into prey. Humans occupy a slot at or near the top of the food chain. As such, it has been noted that humans, like other predator species, have their eyes positioned at the front of their heads rather than placed on the side of the head, as is common in species which are regularly hunted for food. The side placement of eyes are thought to facilitate a prey’s need to be constantly aware of its surroundings, in case a predator may appear on the scene. In other words, it is a mechanism of survival. In the intelligent or otherwise design of the human being, it was apparently not factored in that this big brain and dominant species would start hunting its own.
So when I am in a public place now, a restaurant, a cafe or a public meeting, I generally sit facing the door. No, I don’t think anyone is going to come in waving a weapon. I just feel more comfortable knowing who is in the room. I sleep with my clothes on now, as well. This serves more than one purpose. The main reason I do so is due to the nature of what is now happening to me.
I am a subject of chemical warfare attacks. My house is repeatedly entered in my absence and chemicals are being liberally applied to my clothing, food, and bedding. It no longer makes any sense to change into a nightgown which may be laced with the heart attack-inducing chemicals. So whatever I was wearing that day also serves as my nightclothes.
I usually spend the first few hours of daylight drying on the line the clothes for that day. Too many times now I have dressed in the morning only to get violently ill when the chemicals began to be absorbed into my skin. So I get up, and while making my morning coffee I wash out the clothes to be worn that day. I put them out on the line to dry and in a few hours, I am fresh as a daisy.
As far as the other items of concern go, food, medicinals, etc., they go into a little carry-all when I leave for the day. I’ve actually passed out from eating from previously opened cans in the fridge and I’d rather be safe than….well, dead.
Things seemed to be lurching along, problematic but not yet critically so, prior to the 2014 publication of EXILE. Not only the does the narrative detail the utterly illegal machinations directed at Amalie Phelan, not only does the appendix contain external documentation (court and police records, medical records and more) which provide a compelling statement of “extra-legal” sanctions in service of her death. As the book advances, it becomes clear that standing up for someone with a target on her back, such as she had, is a distinctly unhealthy choice to make.
At one point, a European NGO took an interest in my situation and volunteered to find a lab to analyze the chemicals which are so disrupting my life and devastating my health. Their worker, Aina, was unable to find a single lab which would agree to analyze my evidence. At that point, the NGO beat a hasty retreat, stage left.
The normal supportive substructures have pretty much been removed from my life. I sleep in my clothes and like a small and defenseless animal, I carry my food with me. In public, I remain vigilant. I avoid contact with police. It has become difficult, if not impossible, to obtain medical care, as well.
Intuitive access to non-verbal indications of a lack of sincerity or potential duplicity has been enhanced, as well. Increasingly, I hark back to the Polanski movie, The Pianist, which stunningly portrayed the devolution of a civilized human being into a creature of prey. During Hitler’s reign of terror an urbane Polish Jew, an accomplished pianist, is forced to flee. His descent into an animal existence is well portrayed by actor Adrien Brody. Repeatedly betrayed by those he trusted, towards the end of the film he was able to find himself a “secret sponsor,” a Nazi with a love for music, who fed him and sheltered him as the war ground to a halt. In today’s surveillance society, such “secrets” are difficult to maintain, particularly if one has ended up chipped (PHOTO attached). You can see it in the right lobe of the lung, close to the heart. This was placed there during a hospitalization in January of 2003, following an assault led by Officer Loren Dawson of the Long Beach Police Department. I was hospitalized unconscious due to the assault.
Through all this, I’ve attempted to pursue my mission as a journalist. My book on the pandemic, which provides devastating evidence as to the longevity and intent behind the US’s covert biowarfare program, is scheduled to be published this spring. Recently, I appealed to yet another international journalist association, the International Federation of Journalists, to try to get me off the watchlist. If the IFJ agrees to try to help, and their decision is pending, I may once again be able to re -enter the world as we know it.
If not, well, it looks as if it is going down pretty hard anyway, doesn’t it? The numbers of those alleging targeting in one form or another have exploded over the years, to include NSA whistleblower Bill Binney — who is now stating he is being attacked with microwave weapons, as well as journalist Bilal Abdul Kareem, whose lawsuit alleging he has been put on a drone kill list was shut down recently after the DOJ attorneys swept into court, invoking the blanket cover of “national security.” And with the launching of the pandemic, one might justifiably state that the entire world now has a target on its back.
If there was ever a time to come together in the hopes for a saner future, it would be now. Differences such as political party or race or religion mean little when facing the barrel of a gun or at the point of another type of weapon, even one cleverly disguised as a countermeasure. Facing the spectre of WWII, in 1939 the poet W.H. Auden wrote, “We must love one another or die.” And though literary types have debated the true meaning of that line for decades, it seems to me that it means exactly what it says.
Janet Phelan has been on the trail of the biological weapons agenda since the new millennium. Her book on the pandemic, At the Breaking Point of History: How Decades of US Duplicity Enabled the Pandemic, will be published in 2021 by Trine Day. Her articles on this issue have appeared in Activist Post, New Eastern Outlook, Infowars and elsewhere. Educated at Grinnell College, UC Berkeley and the University of Missouri Graduate School of Journalism, Janet “jumped ship” and since 2004 has been writing exclusively for independent media. Her articles previously appeared in the Los Angeles Times, Oui Magazine, Orange Coast Magazine, the Long Beach Press Telegram, the Santa Monica Daily Press and other publications. She is the author of the groundbreaking expose, EXILE and two books of poetry. She resides abroad. You may follow Janet on Parler here @JanetPhelan. To support her work, please go to JanetPhelan