WHEN I wrote a TCW article entitled The Horror Driven through our Nation’s Soul in February, I was in the midst of a family crisis battling a bureaucratic nightmare with an 18-year-old female relative sectioned and trapped on an NHS psychiatric ward.
For months on end, we had no right to visit.
Limited treatment was being given and instead of a constructive path to diagnosis the policy was containment.
Containment was ugly. The daily phone reports from often-ambivalent staff broke us.
Requests to move her to a single-sex ward were met questioningly: ‘There is a pandemic, you know.’
A girl of 18 held by the state on a mixed-sex ward of psychotic adults miles from home.
If it sounds like a nightmare – it was.
For me, several months of night terrors, dread and anger filled the void of the post-Christmas Lockdown.
This is 21st century Britain yet we could have been in Soviet Russia. The effect of those months has been profound. Our family were in a hell on earth. It was a winter I wouldn’t wish on anyone.
She is doing well now although there’s a long path to recover from the cruelty of her breakdown and reclaim what it’s taken from her life.
Incensed by what this state had done to us I joined two of the Freedom Marches.
On the first I was in awe of the masses of very normal people who filled the streets. The march snaked for two hours through Central London.
The contemptible BBC never reported what was happening. It was at least equivalent in scale to the People’s Vote, if not the Iraq War demo. The best the corporate press could do was dismiss us as ‘a few hundred anti-vaxxers’.
The second march I attended seemed at odds with an emerging public mood as shopping crowds enjoyed the reopening of London. I questioned its effectiveness as it fragmented into confusion. Against a nation keen to move on, subsequent marches seemed too frequent and lacking leadership.
I am incredibly passionate about how wrong things have been. That energy needed to be constructively channelled so as well as penning work for this publication I turned to talking to people in my own world.
Early on, when normal started to return, I found people didn’t even know they could share dissent, amazed that someone also saw what they had secretly thought and felt.
Most really wanted to express what had gone on for them through this folie à plusieurs. I’ve reasonably suggested my opinion that the response to Covid is a mistake and the damage done immense.
There was usually an expression of exhaustion and apathy, but also private tales of real despair – some heartbreakingly tragic, including disturbing vaccine injuries.
For some, though, the well-to-do and settled homeowners with dogs and minds infused with the mainstream opinions of ‘telly’, the whole affair has been a mere extended change of circumstance.
Of the many dozens of people I’ve now spoken to, not one had a serious story of Covid, the illness, affecting their lives. Rather, time and again the wound imposed by the State was the cause of anxiety, confusion and suffering.
Hard times make strong men they say. My resolve has certainly hardened.
For those of us who suffered like our family did I believe what they have done is a crime against humanity.
Like the corrupted Soviets who had to pretend all was well, it seems to me our establishment are in the grip of an equivalent Big Lie.
Our constitutional monarchy failed us. The House of Commons betrayed us. The politically motivated NHS weaponised our freedoms to strike a government it ideologically despises. The BBC would rather pretend we don’t exist but instead dutifully smear us. And collectively, despite a reality confirmed to Steve Baker MP that the IFR of Covid is 0.096 per cent, they want us all injected, come what may.
I fear the emerging tone reflects the coming reign of Charles. The State’s allegiance to the WEF and the UN green agenda seem beyond its commitment for us and our freedoms.
In the midst of this collectivist hell, Brexit Britain sits on the edge of a setting sun.
Ironically, it’s members of the European Parliament who talk with conviction for personal sovereignty, as Germany’s Christine Anderson eloquently does here.
It’s been a difficult year. Through the summer I was on the verge of my own mental breakdown. Work never stopped – taking breaks seemed futile with new impositions and stresses on the once given freedom to travel.
To be honest I was reluctant to get fully involved in life with the bitter fear it could be revoked with the new deranged precedent.
Ceaseless images of tyranny from the formerly free Western World unmentioned to this day in the mainstream media continued to work on me.
Our world appears to be falling apart.
My choice not to participate in the injection campaign means the prospect of permanent exclusion from normality. I’ve had sleepless nights wondering if I would have a job in the months ahead, let alone the ability to travel or even buy basic items, as witnessed in mainland Europe.
Organised hatred being messaged-out by corporate fascists in the media who liken people like me to ‘terrorists randomly stabbing strangers in the street’ is not pretty.
It’s ironic that the corporate, cultural and educational establishments aligned to the state have spent the past few decades projecting a pseudo-religion of tolerance and diversity on to the world.
I have now taken a break from work, managing to rationalise events, and in place of actual travel I took a self-reflective journey.
The stress, fear and despair I’ve experienced doesn’t belong to me. The weight of anger sitting in my chest for so many months this year is not mine either. The suffering so many of us have been through is not ours to carry.
Behind their collectivist rainbow of thanks and tolerance lies their sinister shadow.
I now believe the Brexit revolution is unfinished business. We are burdened with an existentially sick and morally depraved, self-serving establishment. What they’ve done to us for ‘our own good’ is actually about their own fear of annihilation.
Many of us now see them for who and what they are.
We need – and deserve – far better.