by Jon Rappoport
March 10, 2016
(To read about Jon’s mega-collection, Exit From The Matrix, click here.)
It’s such a secret place, only heavy hitters and big shots can fly in, from private airports—which, by the way, have no TSA security. So they could have been packing heat for all we know. Or bags of blood for nighttime drink fests.
Sea Island is where they met. It’s in the same Georgia gaggle as the infamous Jekyll Island, where the Federal Reserve was born many moons ago. But now the goal was narrow: stop the crazy cowboy; stop Trump.
Were secret effigy-burning rituals held? Hard to say. Did one of the tech giants unveil a new algorithm that would suddenly direct all Trump remarks to a new Hitler Facebook page?
Here are some of the Island attendees, according to the Huffington Post (“At Secretive Meeting, Tech CEOs And Top Republicans Commiserate, Plot To Stop Trump,” 3/7/2016). Get this:
“Apple CEO Tim Cook, Google co-founder Larry Page, Napster creator and Facebook investor Sean Parker, and Tesla Motors and SpaceX honcho Elon Musk all attended. So did Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell (R-Ky.), political guru Karl Rove, House Speaker Paul Ryan, GOP Sens. Tom Cotton (Ark.), Cory Gardner (Colo.), Tim Scott (S.C.), Rob Portman (Ohio) and Ben Sasse (Neb.), who recently made news by saying he ‘cannot support Donald Trump.’
“Along with Ryan, the House was represented by Energy and Commerce Committee Chair Fred Upton (Mich.), Rep. Kevin Brady (Texas) and almost-Speaker Kevin McCarthy (Calif.), sources said, along with leadership figure Cathy McMorris Rodgers (Wash.), Budget Committee Chairman Tom Price (R-Ga.), Financial Services Committee Chairman Jeb Hensarling (Texas) and Diane Black (Tenn.).
“Philp Anschutz, the billionaire GOP donor whose company owns a stake in Sea Island, was also there, along with Democratic Rep. John Delaney, who represents Maryland. Arthur Sulzberger, the publisher of The New York Times, was there, too, a Times spokeswoman confirmed.”
Quite a collection. And they all have hernias and a major case of red-ass about the crazy cowboy running for President.
At the confab, Karl Rove, the old grubby prince of darkness, opined that stopping Trump was a matter of emphasizing how un-Presidential he is. Karl’s come a long way down since his glory days with George W. I’m told he’s about to launch his own Daily Racing Form.
Henry Miller, the American writer who, in his time, in his own way, was as reviled and infamous as Trump is now, once wrote (paraphrasing): People say America needs a President who will restore sanity to the country. That’s wrong. What American needs is a President who’ll drive everybody crazy.
Well, here he is. Trump. The gilded, self-inflating hustler who’s never met a success story (of his own) he didn’t love. Trump. The master of off-the-cuff. The ham-fisted swaggering hair stylist’s nightmare who pushes open the swinging doors to The Secret Club bar and strides in, bat-shit angry, to lecture snooty tight-ass titans on how to make America great again.
“I was telling my wife the other day I should buy Alaska. And by the way, we’re going to dump Common Core, and vaccines cause autism.”
What’s the algorithm that stops that?
Regardless of what happens from this point on, Trump’s major contribution to Presidential elections is smashing standard political rhetoric; and that’s no small accomplishment. Next to him, Hillary and Obama and Mitt and Marco are 100% pharmaceutical-grade Thorazine on a slow Sunday afternoon.
Hillary, in particular, can make bloodthirsty war-mongering with torn bodies lying everywhere come across like row-row-row-your-boat at a picnic in the park, in between her coughing fits.
But here’s the thing, Donald. You haven’t gone far enough.
To destroy the walking-dead politicians of our time, you need to get a lot crazier—on your own live-streaming webcasts, night and day, to five million, 10 million, 20 million people around the world. From your car, by your fireplace in Trump Tower, in a Burger King, in the men’s room at the Pierre Hotel, in a homeless encampment in San Diego, on a lonely snowy street in Cleveland at 3 in the morning. Ramp it up.
You’re standing in the field of a family farm in the Midwest with a hollow-faced man whose life has been blown away by Monsanto, with its GMO crops and cancer-causing Roundup. There you are talking to him, the farmer, destitute, his family destitute, near a giant acre of weeds eight feet high that resisted Roundup and didn’t die. His crop yield shrank. His expenses, courtesy of Monsanto, grew. He went down. Talk to the man. Listen to his story. Beam it out to 20 million people. Tell him how you’re going to help him put himself back together. Lay out a plan to resurrect the small farmer in America.
Stand inside a building in Chicago where people have built their own urban farm and grow vegetables for the local poor community, for themselves. Show what a success it is. Listen to these people. Tell them how you’re going help them build 5000 of these urban farms in poverty-stricken inner cities across America. People are going to rise up. They’re not going to be a permanent underclass eating government cheese for the rest of their lives.
Sit in a homeless camp with veterans of wars and listen to their stories, listen to how the VA threw them in the garbage heap, after they served their time. Get busy, Donald. These vets are all over America. They have something to say. Don’t hold back. Tell them what’s happened in Iraq and Afghanistan since they were there. Some of them already know. Let them tell you how those countries have gone down the toilet. Raise hell.
In a trailer park, talk to a few former members of the American middle-class, who were shoved down into debt and unemployment by the fanatic Globalist export of jobs to faraway hell holes where workers slave for 3 cents an hour. In fact, under heavy guard, visit a few of those overseas hell holes and expose what they look like and feel like and are. Go the distance.
Travel the southern border of America. Live-stream what’s happening. Talk to US border personnel. Listen to their stories. Emphasize that the US already has 60 million immigrants living here, which makes it the most generous country, per capita, in the world. Talk to Mexican corn farmers coming up into America. Let them describe how 1.5 million of them were put into bankruptcy, because the NAFTA trade treaty allowed US companies to flood Mexico with cheap corn.
Crack the egg of slumber in the Big Cocoon. With your live webcasts, pull in more viewers than NCIS and CSI. Drive your former employer, NBC, crazy.
Talk to truckers and limo drivers and shoe salesmen and working wives and newly minted PhDs who can’t find work. Talk to people on the street, people in bars, people coming out churches and strip clubs and malls.
Tear down the walls between politicians and people.
You’re starting to sound a bit mainstream these days. You’re not going to “work with Congress.” Congress isn’t going to work with you. Get off that horse. Okay, you want to sound like a “unifier” who “likes people”? Do that for a day. But then get back to doing what you were before. Mangling politicians and media buffoons.
People talk like robots because they are robots. That’s your opening, Donald. Keep pressing it. Destroy political-speak. Rake it over the coals. Offend more human androids. Your numbers will keep rising.
I keep writing about the Trump phenomenon because it’s explosive. It intrudes on so much business-as-usual political life in America. I really want to drive home this point. People, so many people, are so timid and scared and provincial and tight—and they think that the usual parade of ghouls who run for office in this country is acceptable because the candidates mouth empty dead words. People expect the walking smiling dead to run for office. Big grins, empty words. That’s considered safe, despite the fact that these hideous creatures are perfectly ready and willing to send planes anywhere to drop bombs on populations for no goddamn good reason. But as long as the candidate has a wan shit-eating grin, and as long as says he’s caring, it’s all right. Then Trump comes along and he’s suddenly the Dangerous One. He’s suddenly a threat. You mean all those other ghouls weren’t? He’s Hitler, and they were messiahs? Are you kidding? All of a sudden we have a dangerous Presidential candidate where there were none before? REALLY? People are getting so worked up about the first dangerous candidate in recent memory? REALLY?
I see. Building a wall is the worst idea ever to occur in America? Nothing like it? Ever? What about Vietnam? 1.4 million dead bodies, countless wounded, and even more suffering cancers and birth defects from Agent Orange. That was nothing compared to the suggestion of building a wall on the southern border? What about bombing Libya, ripping that country to shreds? Might have been a mistake, but it was nothing compared with the suggestion to build a wall? Putting in economic sanctions between the two wars in Iraq and thereby killing 500,000 children? Sad, but nothing compared to the suggestion of building a wall?
The White House funding, backing, creating, arming ISIS in conjunction with US allies? Yes, perhaps a regrettable error in judgment, but nothing compared to the suggestion of building a wall?
Bush 1, Clinton, Bush 2, Obama? Angels from heaven.
Trump? The anti-Christ.
Well, that settles that.
Get busy, Donald, push harder. Do a webcast to 20 million people from a bar off Wall Street, where you chat with an ex-broker about the giant ongoing con called investment banking, the astonishing ripoffs, the real details of the bailout.
Visit a half-deserted town where a factory closed and went to Asia to make their products on the cheap. Talk to the people of that town as they sit and wait for something to happen that’s never going to happen.
Assemble a group of media people who were drummed out of their profession for speaking the truth about vital scandals and let them talk. Have a conversation about what lies under the surface of American life, about the themes the stuffed media shirts who still have their jobs are concealing, as they attack you around the clock. Break open the whole stinking mess and show it to the American people, and reveal what their robot-talking politicians have been doing to them.
For a long, long time.
Coda—I realize I’m branching out into an area where the actual Donald Trump doesn’t exist. The disruptive force that he is may have, behind it all, severe limits. He may only want to upset a few apple carts. He’s only a moon rising, and never goes full. On the other hand, we’ve never seen a politician who is what he should be. And we need to flesh out a better idea about who that is, as an intensely disruptive radical force, in the best and original sense of that word.
“Radical” equals “root.”
Politics as it never was. But could be.
Not the skunk-ridden Leftist hideous mask of “we care,” behind which commissars try to drive us all into a shit heap of senseless lowest-common-denominator equality. Not the Rightest pork-fat scumbags pushing predatory corporations to make more weapons and take over more countries in the name of fatuous democracy. Not the Centrists who work both sides against the middle.
The place where the individual has a vision and follows it. The place where such individuals come together and make futures of freedom.