Margaret Anna Alice Through the Looking Glass

Speech delivered by Vera Sharav for the event We Can’t Forget—How They Are Getting Away with Murder on June 28, 2024 For details, see: • https://margaretannaalice.substack.com/p/vera-sharavs-speech-we-cant-forget Below is the text of the speech: Hello everyone, I am Vera Sharav. And I am here to support your determination not to forget. As a survivor of the Holocaust, I cannot forget. I know—as other survivors do—that what happened then can happen again … As survivors, we have a sacred mission on behalf of the victims who did not survive. Our mission is not only to remember but to warn others against the consequences of blind obedience. I cannot forget that my act of disobedience to authority as a six-and-a-half-year-old child saved my life. I cannot forget that government-generated human catastrophes are facilitated by obedience. History does not repeat itself exactly, partly because technology often changes the playing field radically. A fixation on technology has eclipsed the study of history, philosophy, and all the humanities. Technology has corrupted genuine science and medicine. I cannot forget that the road to catastrophe was paved by the perversion of medicine and the weaponization of technology. Although the term is no longer used, the elitist, racist ideology of eugenics continues to infect those who set public policy—in particular, those who control public health and the military industrial complex. The goal of eugenics was and remains: the elimination of millions of people. People who the ruling class deems “inferior,” “useless,” of no value. Once again, Moral standards have been discarded. Spiritual pursuits have been abandoned. Family bonds have been deliberately fractured. We are at a catastrophic juncture in human history. Medicine has been perverted—again. Doctors and nurses are again deviating from medicine’s healing objective. They are violating the precautionary Hippocratic ethical principle: “First, do no harm.” I never anticipated that I would bear witness once again, to an unfolding global crime against humanity. Medical doctors and institutions are—once again—engaged in a government-dictated murderous operation. Ignorance of history and reliance on propaganda ensured that few people recognize foreboding similarities between today’s public policies and directives and the genocidal Nazi policies. Today’s predators have unleashed injectable bioweapons designed to override our protective immune system. They are also spraying poisonous substances and nanoparticles, including metals, in our sky, and they have installed surveillance technology to control us remotely. Today’s global predators have declared that, “God is dead; there’s no such thing as a soul; there’s no such thing as free will.” These deluded predators claim that they “are now like gods” and that we, the people, are merely “hackable animals” who they can re-engineer using artificial intelligent design. Each of us must decide whether to obey or disobey the next directive. By disobeying, we assert our freedom and our God-given rights as human beings. Those who obey government dictates are consenting to their enslavement or death. And now, I would like to read An Anthem for Justice by Margaret Anna Alice. —— Visit the following link for the hyperlinked poem “Mistakes Were NOT Made: An Anthem for Justice” by Margaret Anna Alice: • https://mistakeswerenotmade.com/

Ahmad Malik (a.k.a. Doc Malik) reads my poem “Eulogy for the COVID Kapos” with all his passionate, courageous heart. For more details, see: • https://eulogy4thecovidkapos.com/ • https://margaretannaalice.substack.com/p/eulogy-for-the-covid-kapos Below is the text of the poem: Eulogy for the COVID Kapos by Margaret Anna Alice “The surest way to work up a crusade in favor of some good cause is to promise people that they will have a chance of maltreating someone. Men must be bribed to build up and do good by the offer of an opportunity to hurt and pull down. To be able to destroy with a good conscience, to be able to behave badly and call your bad behavior ‘righteous indignation’—this is the height of psychological luxury, the most delicious of moral treats.” ―Aldous Huxley, Introduction (July 24, 1933) to Samuel Butler’s “Erewhon,” Easton Press (1934) You mocked us. You blocked us. You wished for our deaths. You shamed us. You blamed us. You called for our jailing. You banned us. You canned us. You cut off our funds. You believed. You decreed. You complied. You denied. You feared. You sneered. You cowered. You lied. You followed the leader. You chanted the slogans. You balked at our questions. You scoffed at our research. You thought you were smarter. You felt you were safer. You knew you were holier. You said you were better. Now you’re starting to wonder. Now you’re starting to doubt. Now you’re starting to remember. Now you’re regretting. You can’t undo what you’ve done to yourself. You can’t undo what you’ve done to your loved ones. You can’t undo what you’ve done to us. You can’t undo what you’ve done to the world. And now you want a mulligan. Now you want to forget. Now you want us to forget. Even though it’s still happening. Even though we’re still suffering. Even though they’re still murdering. It will never end without acknowledgment. It will never end without accountability. It will never end without remorse. It will never end without justice. So make your apologies, and we may listen. Make your amends, and we may forgive. Make your peace, and we may accept. Or not. It all depends on you. Your sincerity. Your willingness to take responsibility. Your ability to name your wrongs. Your actions to rectify what’s been done— what they’ve done, what you’ve done, what they’re trying to do. How do you know you won’t fall for the next one? How do you know you won’t line up for more? How do you know you won’t crumble again? Who were you then? Who are you now? Who will you become? Why should we trust you? Can you see it? Can you say it? Can you feel it? Will you stop it?

A dear mentor reached out to see if I would be willing to share a few anecdotes for her to cite during her speech at the retirement dinner of another cherished mentor. This poem is what poured out. I believe it encapsulates what true education is about, and I feel fortunate that both these mentors and several others nurtured my intellectual curiosity; cultivated my critical thinking skills, analytical abilities, empathy, and moral courage; and challenged me to become the reader, writer, and person I am today. For more details, see: • https://hardlessons.org/ • https://margaretannaalice.substack.com/p/hard-lessons Below is the text of the poem: Hard Lessons Poem for a Mentor on His Retirement by Margaret Anna Alice “What … strikes you about this poem?” Your signature Socratic opening was a running joke among English majors. You never imposed; you elicited. You never told; you listened. Teasing truths from depths we did not know were within us, you allowed the silence to sound the salient, epiphanies blossoming from the quiet like dormant bulbs stretching toward April’s cruel light. You never closed; you opened. You never coddled; you challenged. Leavening poignancy with humor, honesty with empathy, truth with beauty, you watched us wander our way through the brambles, earning our discoveries like wide-eyed explorers penciling in the contours of untraversed territory. You never dulled; you sharpened. You never lowered; you elevated. Eavan Boland, U.A. Fanthorpe, Brian Friel, Eugene O’Neill, William Faulkner, Flann O’Brien— you conducted colloquies with the poets, playwrights, and novelists who illuminate my path today, whose words swathe me during times of loss like a palimpsest blanketing a lacuna. Inspiring us to reach for our highest selves, you strengthened the muscles of our minds, the grit of our characters, the resilience of our spirits. You taught us there is meaning beyond language, myth beyond literature, morality beyond law. Valuing integrity over comfort, conscience over compromise, reality over ruse, you held us to a steeling standard some called harsh, I invigorating. When I exposed corruption, malfeasance, and injustice in probing newspaper articles— from the butchery of campus oaks to the dismissals of wrongthinkers— you championed my truth-seeking, cheered my truth-speaking. If you were impressed, it meant something. If you were disappointed, it meant something. No one knew that better than your daughter, who feared your furrowed brow and prized your proud smile even more than me, who myself considered you the father I’d always wished for, the mentor who was to leave the deepest mark on my being. Remember that day in the library when you found the two of us in the catacomb of discards, nineteenth-century periodicals destined for destruction? We’d been ordered to rip the bindings from their pages, the spines from their signatures. She assumed the task with gusto, fulfilling her assignment like the A+ student she was. I opened the first volume, tentatively tearing the wings from the thorax like a lepidopterist, feeling the rupture in my breast as the musty pages crumbled beneath my fingertips. When I cracked the next volume, my eyes alighted on the table of contents— now lost to memory, these were names I knew, names I felt. “I can’t do this,” I told her, returning the book to its shelf. “This feels like sacrilege.” Never one to give up, she persisted. Then you arrived in the doorway, asking what was happening. I said the acquisitions librarian had told us to destroy these books, but I could not do it. I would not do it. You pulled her aside— your disappointed expression being the only course she would ever need in why “just obeying orders” is the inexcusable excuse of those complicit in tyranny, in genocide. You then rebuked the librarian, rescuing the tomes from demolition and ushering them to shelves befitting of their historic relevance. Painful as it was, this hard lesson carved itself into your daughter’s heart, teaching her righteous resistance, peaceful noncompliance, daring disobedience. I practice this homework daily, reciting the one word that distinguishes the courageous from the culpable, the critically thinking from the conforming, the free from the fettered: “NO.” It was a lodestar she would cradle within for the remaining two decades of her luminous life— until the thunderclap stroke struck her down, teaching you the hardest lesson of all, the one every parent lives in terror of. Now she is within you, her beloved, her son, her brother, her mother, the innumerable lives she graced with her noble presence, following in your formidable footsteps in the very classroom you are now departing. And you are within me and the thousands of other students you shepherded through Translations, “Getting It Across,” At Swim-Two-Birds, Go Down, Moses, Long Day’s Journey into Night, “What We Lost”— every text a page in the Grand Book of Life, taking flight like ah! bright wings as our days count down toward the silences in which are our beginnings … and endings. For good books must always end, but their lessons dwell in our deathless souls for time immemorial.

I am overjoyed to share Dr. Mike Yeadon’s incandescent reading of “Mistakes Were NOT Made: An Anthem for Justice” to celebrate the one-year anniversary of my poem. Since it was a conversation with Mike that inspired the poem, he was one of the first people I invited to participate in the video series I launched with Dr. Tess Lawrie’s heartrending reading (https://margaretannaalice.substack.com/p/mistakes-were-not-made-an-anthem-57a) in March 2023. Both videos are set to music by my husband and were filmed by Mark Lawrie, director of the historically significant “A Letter to Dr Andrew Hill.” See my Substack post for more details as well as to read excerpts from my correspondence with Mike about Mistakes Were NOT Made: • https://margaretannaalice.substack.com/p/mistakes-were-not-made-video-dr-mike Below is the text of the poem (see the original hyperlinked version here: https://margaretannaalice.substack.com/p/mistakes-were-not-made-an-anthem): Mistakes Were NOT Made: An Anthem for Justice by Margaret Anna Alice The Armenian Genocide was not a mistake. Holodomor was not a mistake. The Final Solution was not a mistake. The Great Leap Forward was not a mistake. The Killing Fields were not a mistake. Name your genocide—it was not a mistake. That includes the Great Democide of the 2020s. To imply otherwise is to give Them the out they are seeking. It was not botched. It was not bungled. It was not a blunder. It was not incompetence. It was not lack of knowledge. It was not spontaneous mass hysteria. The planning occurred in plain sight. The planning is still occurring in plain sight. The philanthropaths bought The $cience™. The modelers projected the lies. The testers concocted the crisis. The NGOs leased the academics. The $cientists fabricated the findings. The mouthpieces spewed the talking points. The organizations declared the emergency. The governments erected the walls. The departments rewrote the rules. The governors quashed the rights. The politicians passed the laws. The bankers installed the control grid. The stooges laundered the money. The DoD placed the orders. The corporations fulfilled the contracts. The regulators approved the solution. The laws shielded the contractors. The agencies ignored the signals. The behemoths consolidated the media. The psychologists crafted the messaging. The propagandists chanted the slogans. The fact-chokers smeared the dissidents. The censors silenced the questioners. The jackboots stomped the dissenters. The tyrants summoned. The puppeteers jerked. The puppets danced. The colluders implemented. The doctors ordered. The hospitals administered. The menticiders scripted. The bamboozled bleated. The totalitarianized bullied. The Covidians tattled. The parents surrendered. The good citizens believed … and forgot. This was calculated. This was formulated. This was focus-grouped. This was articulated. This was manufactured. This was falsified. This was coerced. This was inflicted. This was denied. We were terrorized. We were isolated. We were gaslit. We were dehumanized. We were wounded. We were killed. Don’t let Them get away with it. Don’t let Them get away with it. Don’t let Them get away with it. —————————————————— Mistakes Were NOT Made Links: • https://margaretannaalice.substack.com/p/mistakes-were-not-made-an-anthem • https://margaretannaalice.substack.com/p/mistakes-were-not-made-an-anthem-57a • https://margaretannaalice.substack.com/p/mistakes-were-not-made-one-poem-to • https://margaretannaalice.substack.com/p/mistakes-were-not-made-video-dr-mike • https://margaretannaalice.substack.com/p/mistakes-were-not-made-translations • https://margaretannaalice.substack.com/p/mistakes-were-not-made-an-anthem-923 • https://margaretannaalice.substack.com/p/wake-up-toolkit#%C2%A7mistakes-were-not-made-an-anthem-for-justice

A collaboration between Margaret Anna Alice (writing, vocals) and Visceral Adventure (video editing), this video was originally published at Margaret Anna Alice Through the Looking Glass. Margaret Anna first published this short story on Christmas Eve 2021. See relevant Substack links below: • https://margaretannaalice.substack.com/p/a-very-boring-story-about-what-could-900 • https://margaretannaalice.substack.com/p/early-blooming-parentheses-a-very “A Very Boring Story About What Could Have Been in Under 200 Words” by Margaret Anna Alice Once upon a time, some people got a little sick. Other people got a lot sick, but that’s because they were already sick with something else first. This sickness was similar to some other sicknesses, but there were little differences, like not being able to smell or taste. Most people didn’t think about it unless they or someone they knew got the sickness. As soon as anybody got it, they took a special combination of natural supplements and safe, cheap pills designed to stop it. The people who got sick stayed home and took the pills until they felt better. Then they went back to work or school or whatever it was they did when they felt fine. To boost their immune systems, people started eating healthier, exercising, getting more sunshine, enjoying fresh air, relaxing, and spending time with loved ones. No one died of the sickness or went to the hospital. No one talked about it because there wasn’t anything to talk about. It wasn’t much worse than a cold and was easier to treat. Eventually, so many people got this sickness, it went away altogether. And that’s the story of the slightly different sickness. The End.

A collaboration between Margaret Anna Alice (writing, vocals) and Visceral Adventure (video editing), this video was originally published at Margaret Anna Alice Through the Looking Glass. The poem first appeared in her Anatomy of a Philanthropath series on June 24, 2022. See relevant Substack links below: • https://margaretannaalice.substack.com/p/anatomy-of-a-philanthropath-video • https://margaretannaalice.substack.com/p/anatomy-of-a-philanthropath-dreams • https://margaretannaalice.substack.com/p/anatomy-of-a-philanthropath-dreams-947 • https://margaretannaalice.substack.com/p/anatomy-of-a-philanthropath-dreams-3fd Anatomy of a Philanthropath by Margaret Anna Alice A philanthropath wants you dead … for the good of humanity. A philanthropath wants you enslaved … for the good of liberty. A philanthropath wants you silenced … for the good of free speech. A philanthropath wants you confined … for the good of your health. A philanthropath wants to surveil you … for the good of security. A philanthropath wants you to eat orthopterans … for the good of the planet. A philanthropath wants you to pay more for less … for the good of the economy. A philanthropath wants you to own nothing … for the good of the reset. A philanthropath wants you ill … for the good of their sickcare system. A philanthropath wants you dependent … for the good of their fiefdom. A philanthropath wants you addicted … for the good of their supplying. A philanthropath wants you to sacrifice … for the good of their coffers. A philanthropath wants to sacrifice you … for the good of their spoils. A philanthropath wants you asleep … for the good of their programming. A philanthropath wants you ignorant … for the good of their steering. A philanthropath wants you anxious … for the good of their molding. A philanthropath wants you deluded … for the good of their lying. A philanthropath wants you oblivious … for the good of their narrative. A philanthropath wants you fearful … for the good of their terror. A philanthropath wants you hateful … for the good of their politics. A philanthropath wants you isolated … for the good of their bonding. A philanthropath wants you envious … for the good of their victim factory. A philanthropath wants you aggrieved … for the good of their votes. A philanthropath wants you submissive … for the good of their coercion. A philanthropath wants you cowardly … for the good of their tyranny. A philanthropath wants you hopeless … for the good of their triumph. A philanthropath doesn’t want you to think, question. research, speak, connect, hope, act. A philanthropath doesn’t want you to see what they’re doing, question their motives, know they’re scripting you. A philanthropath doesn’t want you to feel fulfilled, find truth, be free. A philanthropath doesn’t want you to wake up, overcome our differences, have inner peace, love one another. A philanthropath doesn’t want Us to say “NO!” A philanthropath doesn’t want Us to know We’re powerful. A philanthropath doesn’t want Us to realize We outnumber Them. A philanthropath doesn’t want Us to rise up, prosecute, and convict Them.

After Daniel Ellsberg passed away, I republished my poem “Ode to a Whistleblower” to honor his memory and further Dan’s dying wish to #FreeAssange. Diane Perlman asked if I would be willing to provide a video of myself reading this poem for the tribute she and her co-director Todd Pierce are organizing at the Whistleblower Summit on July 30, 2023, for National Whistleblower Day. This is the resulting video. Written, read, & edited by Margaret Anna Alice Composed by Shawn Patrick Michael See my Substack posts for more context: • https://margaretannaalice.substack.com/p/ode-to-a-whistleblower-video-tribute (video) • https://margaretannaalice.substack.com/p/ode-to-a-whistleblower (poem with dedication to Daniel Ellsberg and Julian Assange with accompanying article on them) Below is the text of the poem: “Ode to a Whistleblower” by Margaret Anna Alice Ode to a Whistleblower by Margaret Anna Alice It starts as a whisper. A tickle in your throat. A glissando down your spine. A quiver in your stomach. The hairs on your arms rise up. A tremor pulses through your nervous system. Nausea washes over, engulfing you, Until you can no longer contain it. What you’ve seen cannot be un-seen. What you’ve heard cannot be un-heard. What you’ve felt cannot be un-felt. What you know cannot be un-known. To speak that knowledge, to sing that secret, to roar that truth is to risk all— career, reputation, security, relationships, life. And yet to stifle it, to tamp it down, to suffocate it is to sap your integrity, to stoke your guilt, to stab your soul. So you release it, let it fly, and it wings its way round the globe, waking, shaking, taking flight. You know your peace will be shattered. You know your days may be fewer. You know this could be your last song. But you belt it out anyway. You bellow it out because. You whistle it to the stars, and the stars echo it back. You’ve rippled the ocean. You’ve whipped the wind. You’ve sparked the volcano. And even if the Goliaths target you, even if their thugs assault you, even if their scientists spike you, your truth will swell to a seismic wave, traveling upon the sea of the awakened, swallowing up our tyrannizers. We will trill your truth. We will warble your song. We will whistle your secret to the world, until there are too many of us to silence.

I am profoundly honored to share Dr. Tess Lawrie’s exquisitely poignant reading of my “Mistakes Were Not Made: Anthem for Justice” poem. It was masterfully filmed by Mark Lawrie, director of “A Letter to Dr Andrew Hill,” my #1 red-pilling video. See my Substack post for more context as well as a special message written by Tess Lawrie on the experience of collaborating on this project: • https://margaretannaalice.substack.com/p/mistakes-were-not-made-an-anthem-57a Please support the good work of the World Council for Health (https://worldcouncilforhealth.org/): • https://margaretannaalice.substack.com/i/108784524/the-world-council-for-health-needs-our-support Below is the text of the poem (see the original hyperlinked version here: https://margaretannaalice.substack.com/p/mistakes-were-not-made-an-anthem): Mistakes Were NOT Made: An Anthem for Justice by Margaret Anna Alice The Armenian Genocide was not a mistake. Holodomor was not a mistake. The Final Solution was not a mistake. The Great Leap Forward was not a mistake. The Killing Fields were not a mistake. Name your genocide—it was not a mistake. That includes the Great Democide of the 2020s. To imply otherwise is to give Them the out they are seeking. It was not botched. It was not bungled. It was not a blunder. It was not incompetence. It was not lack of knowledge. It was not spontaneous mass hysteria. The planning occurred in plain sight. The planning is still occurring in plain sight. The philanthropaths bought The $cience™. The modelers projected the lies. The testers concocted the crisis. The NGOs leased the academics. The $cientists fabricated the findings. The mouthpieces spewed the talking points. The organizations declared the emergency. The governments erected the walls. The departments rewrote the rules. The governors quashed the rights. The politicians passed the laws. The bankers installed the control grid. The stooges laundered the money. The DoD placed the orders. The corporations fulfilled the contracts. The regulators approved the solution. The laws shielded the contractors. The agencies ignored the signals. The behemoths consolidated the media. The psychologists crafted the messaging. The propagandists chanted the slogans. The fact-chokers smeared the dissidents. The censors silenced the questioners. The jackboots stomped the dissenters. The tyrants summoned. The puppeteers jerked. The puppets danced. The colluders implemented. The doctors ordered. The hospitals administered. The menticiders scripted. The bamboozled bleated. The totalitarianized bullied. The Covidians tattled. The parents surrendered. The good citizens believed … and forgot. This was calculated. This was formulated. This was focus-grouped. This was articulated. This was manufactured. This was falsified. This was coerced. This was inflicted. This was denied. We were terrorized. We were isolated. We were gaslit. We were dehumanized. We were wounded. We were killed. Don’t let Them get away with it. Don’t let Them get away with it. Don’t let Them get away with it.

Do You Remember? is a collaboration between Margaret Anna Alice (writing, vocals) and Visceral Adventure (video editing). I first published this vignette (https://margaretannaalice.substack.com/p/get-the-book-the-vapor-the-hot-hat#%C2%A7do-you-remember) contrasting Before COVID (BC) and After COVID (AC) life at my Substack, Margaret Anna Alice Through the Looking Glass (https://margaretannaalice.com/), on September 21, 2021. I originally wrote it in spring 2021, around the one-year anniversary of the pandemic declaration and the first COVID lockdown. TEXT BELOW: Do You Remember? Once upon a time, a little over a year ago, in this land and all lands across the earth, people could walk freely, smiles visible, into businesses of their own choosing, and those businesses could open or close as they like. Do you remember that? When families could visit family members, when friends could visit friends. When people could hold weddings and funerals and birthday parties. When grandparents could hug grandchildren. When kids could go to school, play together, and sleep over at friends’ houses. When people who got sick stayed home until they were better, and the rest of the world went about its business. When people could encircle their dying loved ones. When mothers could hold their babies after they were born without the threat of separation pending arbitrary test results. When every death wasn’t attributed to a single cause and announced in the daily death toll dispatches. When a perpetual storm cloud of fear, paranoia, and tension didn’t hang over us, threatening to burst any moment. When people could travel freely, without having to show their papers. When people didn’t think twice about dining out, meeting for coffee, singing, exercising, and dancing. When you didn’t have to arrange for curbside pickup, schedule appointments for everyday errands, and have someone else select and deliver your groceries. When money wasn’t printed in the trillions, falling out of the sky and turning to toilet paper—which, as it turns out, would carry more value—on its descent. When people thought for themselves, decided for themselves, worked for themselves, took responsibility for themselves. When people weren’t deplatformed, shunned, reported, and unpersoned when they shared contrary opinions and scientific evidence. When this information wasn’t then scrubbed from the commons. When people didn’t turn against neighbors, friends, and family members. When it was considered rude to ask about someone’s health status and medical choices. When people helped people, cared for people, and touched (yes, literally!) people. When people didn’t let politics or religion come between them—okay, that one was more than a year ago. But you remember the rest, don’t you? You remember what it felt like? And you know it doesn’t feel that way now. At all. At all. At all. Oh, how quickly the conditioning takes effect. Oh, how quickly the freedoms flit away with nary a second glance. Oh, how quickly the world becomes an internment camp—its invisible walls constructed by our collective learned helplessness—with rules about when, where, and what you can do, and we all line up for our allotted portions, saying please and thank you all the way. I remember when. What do you remember?