Day 39 (May, 28)
75 DAYS OF HUNGER AND SEGREGATION
It is DAY 39 of my hunger strike and something extraordinary is happening to my body; it is flourishing during this regime of absolute privation, so much so that I am bursting with energy and good health and a sense of inner happiness. Everything seems to be in perfect alignment today – body, mind, spirit – and out of this come so many rewards: spiritual, physical and mental. Am I defying nature or is nature allowed to work its miracles now that I have abandoned so many earthly comforts? Whatever the answer, I am enjoying the rewards and am grateful for being able to experience this bliss and tranquility, this sense of liberation from material constraints, all the while being fully engaged and engorged in the world’s problems.
I did my prayer early in the morning and on the way to St. Peter’s square I thought about the precarious situation of religion, the dilemma all religions find themselves in due to the conflicting tug of material realities and immaterial ideals. People need an anchor in their lives, a refuge from the turbulence of life, a sanctuary from their problems, and want faith to be unchanging, immutable, a paradise island in the ocean of life. They want answers and certainty. To give them this sense of artificial stability, religious leaders have fashioned their faiths into something they can never be – a permanent, enduring, ageless place in a forever changing universe.
Stability does not come from immutability but from adaptability in a forever changing universe. What was right and useful a thousand years ago is no longer valid or helpful today. And so in every age there comes a time when we must reevaluate and rewrite the rules by which we live. And with every revision we build on the wisdom of previous generations and readjust our civilization to the requirements of the universe, to the ongoing evolution, to the rush of the time-space continuum in whose stream we flow.
If you are a man on a beach and see coming towards you a tsunami you don’t stand still and hope for God or the power of prayer to save you. What you do is run for dear life and for high ground and grab whoever and whatever you can with you. God helps those who help themselves, not those who expect God to compensate for their stupidity, or laziness, or ignorance.
We have come to a point in our history when we must help ourselves or be swept under by a tsunami of unprecedented proportions; a tsunami of our own making because we have tried to arrest time by our artificial constructs; constructs or religion, of economics, of politics, of culture that have become ill-suited and at odds with the relentless flow of time, whose masters we are not and never will be, but that we must ride in the only direction it races, the future.
As I close my eyes and lift my hands in prayer position on the hallowed grounds of St. Peter’s square, with the warmth of the stones below my bare feet, a breeze in my hair and the sun on my face, my thoughts give way to my heart and my heart gives way to my breathing and my breathing lets the world into my soul and my soul becomes one with the flow of time and so time stands still for me and with me. Nirvana. Bliss. Heaven.
I open my eyes to the glaring light of my holding cell and the polite voice of a customs officer asking me if I would like some food and if so what kind. “We have a Tim Horton’s nearby and it’s still open”, he adds. “Yes, I would”, I reply. It’s two in the morning and I have not eaten in nearly two days. “Perhaps a ham and cheese sandwich on a baguette and a bowl of chicken noodle soup. I’m famished.” “Coming right up”, he says, and then informs me that the Kingston Police has sent a cruiser to pick me up and transfer me back home.
This is my last meal for many weeks to come and I savor every bite and relish every scent, however humble, however base. My first blow to the beast, I decide, is to confound and disable it. And the only way in which I can best do this in my position is through a hunger strike, which I announce as soon as I arrive in Kingston, am fingerprinted, interrogated, transferred to the Quinte Detention Center, processed, stripped naked, looked at in every orifice, given my orange prison-issue jumpsuit, and welcomed “home” by a sarcastic guard.
Since they know I mean business, as I have done a 7-day-long hunger strike during my fourth incarceration, I am immediately taken to the segregation wing and thrown into a windowless cell, twelve foot-soles long by 7 foot-soles wide, with a concrete block for a bed at the end of the grim and dismal space, a stainless steel toilet and sink on the right side, and a dim and perpetually lit light in the middle of the 15-foot-high ceiling.
For the first three days, the jail guards, undoubtedly acting on instructions from above, refuse to acknowledge that I am on hunger strike and therefore do not enter me in their records as being on hunger strike. For two weeks, I am not allowed out of the cell even for the daily 15-minute yard time. I am denied access to a phone or a lawyer. I am given neither pencils nor paper. I am refused books. And I am told continuously that no one knows or cares that I don’t eat, and that no one will ever know if I die of hunger in jail. I smile at the guards’ ignorance and tell them “We shall see about that”, knowing that soon the entire world will know about my sacrifices and my mistreatment and that Canada will have to live with the shame for all eternity because history is unforgiving and in the internet era nothing goes unrecorded and nothing is forgotten.
Also read:
Hunger Strike At The Vatican: Kevin Galalae Needs Your Help
Activist Kevin Galalae: Vatican Hunger Strike Update (VIDEOS)
Activist Kevin Galalae: Vatican Hunger Strike Update (Part Two)
Activist Kevin Galalae: Vatican Hunger Strike Update (Part Three)
Activist Kevin Galalae: Vatican Hunger Strike Update (Part Four)
Activist Kevin Galalae: Vatican Hunger Strike Update (Part Five)
Vatican Hunger Strike Timeline
I record everything as soon as I am given pen and paper, because I know that my battle with the beast will become the stuff of legend and here, in this hell, I have to be my own chronicler. This is my hand-written hunger strike chart from Quinte, the one the guards thought the world would never know about:
After about ten days I was placed in a 24-hour observation cell with a Plexiglas wall and a guard on the other side who wrote down everything I did and noted every time I urinated or drank water. But the care did not extend to the courtesy of granting me enough blankets to stay warm and since I slept on an unheated concrete block without a mattress I was not only continuously cold but also perpetually uncomfortable. Due to the harshness of the surface I slept on it was impossible to sleep longer than five minutes at a time since the part of the body on which I happened to lay would fall asleep and this forced me to have to change position every few minutes so as not to get numb.
To make my life even more miserable and break my hunger strike, they turned off my hot water and I could only wash my hands and face with cold water, which only added to the constant freezing I felt, especially since the observation cell I was in was drafty. Yes, I was allowed one hot shower a day, but even that was controlled to make sure the water was only lukewarm for the first month and a half.
Thirty-eight days passed before I was given access to a lawyer, and she turned out to be handpicked by the government and tasked with getting me to plead guilty rather than prove my innocence.
On day 45, I had the first blood test and electrocardiogram and this continued once a week until my hunger strike ended on day 75. Miraculously, even though I had only water for the first 30 days and some 600 ml of lousy apple or orange juice per day thereafter, but no food whatsoever, my tests came back perfectly normal to the very end.
To make my cell more livable I drew on the wall above my sink the ying and yang symbol when the guards were not looking and my hunger strike chart on a different wall, but the guards came in and washed it all away while I was taken my shower. I then used an empty juice cup to draw intricate geometric patterns that kept not only my mind entertained but also my creativity alive in that Spartan cell.
I thought, wrote, read about 50 books, and meditated for hours every day, seeking shelter in and nourishment from the Lovelight. “Killing Us Softly” was born in that cell and most of it written in that cell as well. Most of all I thought about and ached for my children. I drew strength from the love I feel for Ben and Oliver and from the knowledge that my father, Dr. Costel Galalae, spent nearly five years in a communist prison as a political prisoner. If my father could do five years, I reasoned, then sure as hell I could do three months, or six, or nine; for that is how the Crown kept increasing the time in order to demoralize me.
I pushed myself not only to my physical limit, but also to great intellectual heights, and at no time did my mind waver or weaken; quite the contrary, as the body got weaker the mind got stronger and out of this dissonance the spirit soared, as though it had been freed from the double prison of the mind and body.
I received no letters though I wrote many.
By day 64 I had lost 55 pounds of my initial body weight and weighed only 150 pounds (68 Kg), which I had not weighed since I was 16 years old. My heart felt paper thin and ready to rip at any time. To see if my bowels still worked I began eating a cup of yogurt at breakfast. My mouth had forgotten how to chew and the food felt strange on my tongue, but the weight began to increase fourfold to my daily intake of yogurt, which is impossible for me to explain. By day 68 I added honey to my diet and increased my yogurt intake to three cups a day and in response my weight increased by a factor of four too.
Before I was reintroduced into the general population, I spent a week in the hospital on my request since the administration was anxious to get me into dorm 4 where the government, I was to soon find out, had planted a team of three undercover officers.
Throughout my hunger strike and despite the terrible conditions, I never once felt depressed or sad. On the contrary, I was in a state of grace. As I had to describe my condition every day to the visiting nurse, I did so by saying “I feel physically weakened, mentally strengthened and spiritually in a state of grace”.
It took Quinte 40 days to officially ask me why I was on hunger strike, at which point I gave them my three reasons in writing:
To be reunited with my children
To be treated for what I am, a political prisoner and not a common criminal
To be allowed to work discreetly on changing global policy from covert to overt depopulation
After about 45 days of hunger strike the jail guards (blue shirts), supervisors (white shirts) and warden (known as the Dragon Lady) gave up trying to break me and instead treated with me with subdued respect since they had never before seen anyone go without food for more than 14 days.
By the time my hunger strike was over, I had a long beard and looked like Jesus, which is what the inmates in dorm 4, where I was moved, began calling me as soon as I entered the general population and was once again among people.
It felt great to be among my fellow inmates, among human beings, even though I love solitude. My status, needless to say, was special. The men looked at me with reverence, others with fear even, and the very young were mesmerized by what I had done and how I looked.
The system learned that I am a man to be reckoned with and I learned that the system has no chance against me, because I am stronger and I will bury it.
Day 40 (May, 29)
THE FUTURE BELONGS TO US
Like Jesus in the wilderness, I too have starved for 40 days, but unlike him I’m still not hungry, at least not for food. What I hunger for is truth, which is not forthcoming from the political wilderness of the Holy See and of the international community. But since I am nowhere near the end of my physical resources or mental resolve, I will continue to starve and stand guard until Pope Francis realizes that only the truth will set us free.
Today, like yesterday, has been an extraordinary day, as my physical strength and mental abilities are improving rather than weakening, which one might have expected after 40 days of starvation. Joined by lovely Anna Claudia Caci, who flew in from Sardinia to see and support us morally and financially, we walked the entire afternoon and enjoyed each other’s company and the sights of this glorious city.
Anna witnessed my prayer on St. Peter’s square today, which was particularly rewarding, and both Nick and I were happy to have female company to break our relentless routine and help us get perspective on how important our mission is for so many people around the world, who, like Anna, have carried the burden of this knowledge alone and without being able to express it, as they have already suffered abuse from the system for daring to spell out the truth and because the vast majority refuses to abandon the illusion and would rather shoot the messenger.
But out of the lies and the deception and the persecution, a global community of brave souls rises towards the light, out of the darkness, and pulls the rest of humanity along. This is my family. In them I seek shelter. From them I seek strength. And soon this family will encompass the whole world and every human being on the planet.
Already, the new generations are finding us and are awakened before the system has a chance to blunt their senses and rob them of the decency and courage necessary to stare reality in the face and find its harsh beauty much preferable to the false comforts of the great illusion.
Fifteen-year-old Dylan Madara, who interviewed me for two hours from 10 PM to midnight, is one such example. I felt privileged to be able to speak to his generation and answer some of the best questions I have been asked in any radio interview.
It has been too good a day to spoil it with negative thoughts about the papacy or the UN, and since I am too tired and it is too late to continue the narrative of my last incarceration, I will conclude today’s update with a sincere thank you to all of you who are standing by me during this clash of forces, theirs and ours.
We will never surrender. We are prevailing. The future belongs to us.
Believe it!
Day 41 (May, 30)
I wrote this letter to my sons during the hunger strike I did while in pre-trial detention, just in case I did not make it. But make it I did.
……..
My dearest Ben and Oliver,
This is your dad speaking to you.
Know that I love you more than anything else on this earth and that the reason I am sacrificing my life is so you can live in freedom and dignity and that in the distant future your children will know the same happiness.
Once in a while, history calls upon us men to rise to the occasion and do what no one dares. Few have that kind of courage, for the greater the act of heroism the more likely it will not be recognized by one’s contemporaries. But future generations, having survived the mistakes of their predecessors, will.
You will grow up without your father but your last name will resound in history and give you the strength, honor and dignity I cannot pass on to you directly by being there for you to love and to guide you through life.
I was called upon in the Palau Islands by God or Destiny to live on love alone and a few months later at Iguaçu Falls in Brazil to be that drop of water that changes the course of the river that mankind represents. I did what I was called to do and opened a new path. It is now up to others to do their part.
I write to you what may be my last words from a prison cell where I am held in solitary confinement and where bruised and battered I sleep on a cold concrete slab without pillow or mattress. I have not eaten since I was arrested on July 14, just as I was to see you in the park. Despite the circumstances, I will fight until I die or come home to you where I belong in body, soul and spirit.
Do not feel sorry for your old dad. That is only for the weak. Feel proud of me and draw strength from the strength that courses through my veins and through my words, as I draw strength from the boundless love I feel for you.
Here in this cell life is reduced to the bare minimum and there is beauty and purity to this state of being. The only thing you have is the joy within you, the only entertainment your memories, and the only compass your own thoughts. If you have neither joy, nor memories nor thoughts that are of any worth than you live in hell, but if you are full of joy, memories and thoughts you live closer to heaven than at most other times in your life.
You, Ben, and you, Oliver, my dearest boys, are the source of my joy, memories and thoughts, which is why I am neither alone nor beaten. I live in love and if need be I will die in love because you are in my heart and always will be.
I will not talk about my deeds; history will. I will not talk about those who have dug my grave, history will. Suffice it to say that it is ignorance, hypocrisy and greed that rule the hearts of those who have buried me alive so they will not have to face their hideous images every time I raise a mirror in front of them.
Sooner or later you will find out that your mother, who is the love of my life, has been the main actor in my demise. But hate her not, for she is ill and knows not what she is doing. Love her and help her find her way back to love. She is now lost in disfiguring hate and I could not rescue her from that abyss though I shall continue to try until my last breath.
The meek and the ignorant know only how to live now and cannot see that their lack of foresight and compassion fuel the hell of tomorrow. I could see that and I tried to open everyone’s eyes to the danger that lurks ahead if we continue down the path of hypocrisy and greed.
I believe that people are decent and that they will come to my rescue if they know the truth and the love that reins my heart. For in so doing they will come to your rescue since you are innocent and need the love and support of your father.
I hope that your mother, my dear wife, finally sees the light and escapes the clutches of irrational hatred so that she too will come to my rescue and repair the damage she has done and she can start healing and we can help her heal.
How I wish I could hold you one more time and cover your faces with warm kisses and whisper in your ears the words of love I feel for you. How I wish!
How I wish the world was good and not so evil as to come between you and me, between father and sons. How I wish!
How I wish I were home again to make you dinner, play with you and tuck you in at night and tell you silly stories. How I wish!
How I wish the walls of this cell would disappear and you would throw yourselves into my arms.
Being your dad is the greatest accomplishment of my life and the greatest joy.
Your loving father,
Kevin Mugur Galalae
……..
The Vatican Secret Library has a copy. I sent it to them along with the request that they give it to my sons when they are of age so that they will know what happened to their father and who he was and why he died and how he died.
But I survived.
Today, I am on day 41 of this hunger strike and I will survive this too.
For my sons.
Day 42 (May, 31)
WATCH ME, ERICH! WATCH ME!
It is DAY 42 of my hunger strike and I continue to be in perfect health, undoubtedly much to the chagrin of the Vatican clerics.
The rate at which I am losing weight has decreased considerably, as it was expected. While during the first week I lost more than a kilogram a day, during the second week I only lost an average of half a kilogram a day, during the third and fourth week an average of 250 grams a day, during the fifth week an average of 100 grams a day, and during the sixth week I have only lost an average of 50 grams a day.
I now weigh 75.5 Kg or 166 pounds and 7 ounces. The total weight loss to date is 17 Kg or 37 pounds and 8 ounces. My body has therefore shrunk by 18.4% and has done so by losing an average of 415 grams or 14.6 ounces a day.
Nearly 2000 years ago Jesus scolded the “chief priests and the teachers of the law” for their depravity and destroyed their temple. History repeats itself though on a far more civilized level. And while I am not here in Rome to destroy the Church but to save its moral principles, the leaders of the Church are destroying it themselves by their complete lack of moral principles. In fact, the entire system, of which the Vatican is an intrinsic part, is imploding.
The thinner I get the more spiritual I become and my daily prayers are a source of joy, tranquility and wellbeing that I have come to love and need. I lose myself in them only to find myself in the bosom of the universal subconscious, in God’s embrace.
When on Saturday, 23 February 2013, I left the hospital ward of the Quinte Detention Centre and joined my fellow inmates in dorm four I was in God’s embrace. Perhaps I will never be closer to God than I was during those 75 days of hunger and solitary confinement. And that this should have happened in that terrible place, where human beings torture other human beings, says more than I could ever say about the power and tangible presence of the divine.
If I should ever come to be in a position of great power, one of my first actions will be to dissolve all prisons and replace them with healing centers. My experience in jail has shown me that there are no criminals, but only lost souls and victims of a system and of a society that shatters the best in humans; a system that is sick and sickens us all, both literally and figuratively.
This is not the time or place to give you a full assessment of Canada’s prison system, which is beyond contempt, as is Canada’s judiciary and law enforcement. This is however the time to tell you what happened to me in the three months I spent in dorm four, before being moved for three more months into super protective custody.
A day before my arrival in the dorm, the authorities had inserted a very experienced and capable undercover officer by the name of Erich. A week later, they inserted an elderly and extremely intelligent and learned military scientist by the name of Steve. And within a week thereafter two more members of the team were inserted, Anastasios and Richard, to serve as support and also to be able to control the mood in the dorm, which could house a maximum of 36 inmates.
I was of course unaware of this at the time. It took me about a month to realize that Erich was an undercover cop and a few more days thereafter to conclude that Steve was in charge of the operation and that Anastasios and Richard had tertiary roles.
Each of the men had a role to play and a carefully rehearsed image. Erich was supposed to be a born-again Christian and a dope grower who was in jail because he refused to pay car insurance. He could quote the Bible better than the prison deacon. Steve was supposed to be a sovereign citizen who had been targeted by the authorities and arrested because he drove around with an unsecured shotgun and resisted arrest. Anastasios was supposed to be a drug dealer and a merchant of coffins who had been charged with possession of a few ounces of cocaine. And Richard was supposed to be a scam artist charged with multiple counts of fraud. They all looked the part and talked the talk. All men were extremely intelligent, great company, and flawlessly professional in their dealings with me. They came to be my best friends in jail and had they not been there my three months in dorm four would have been uneventful and boring.
Although their overall mission was to get me to plead guilty to any of the false charges the Crown had manufactured, so the system could save face by having a justification for imprisoning me and could then keep me on a short leash in perpetuity through probation conditions, they each had a clearly defined role and secondary objectives within the greater mission. Erich was to undermine me emotionally by playing the God card and to test my mental strength and psychological stability. Steve was to lead me up the garden path with conspiracy theories about alien technology in the hope that I would mention this in my writings and therefore discredit myself as a lunatic. Anastasios was to soften me and get my trust and affection with promises of help to disseminate my books and articles once I plead guilty and get out of jail, as well as with money sent from the outside so I could afford a haircut and a few chocolate bars while in jail. And Richard was to pretend incredulity at any mention of depopulation and to insinuate that such ideas are irrational and therefore below his intellect and that no one should pay attention to such delusional thinking; which, by the way, is the system’s standard operating procedure to force those who glimpse the truth to keep quiet.
When it became clear to them that I am too strong a person to be undermined by their psychological war games, Erich began calling me the antichrist, Steve intensified the outlandishness of his alien stories, Anastasios staged interventions to get me to plead guilty, and Richard stated again and again that unless I play ball with the system I will be placed in solitary confinement and will not get out of there for at least two years.
When that did not work either, the boys shifted in third gear and told me incessantly that I would spend “a century in the penitentiary”, that the Crown can delay the trial three times, each time for six months, and that I would be stuck in pre-trial detention for years before I could defend myself in court.
When that didn’t work either, Erich brought me the sad news that his ex-wife had absconded with another man and abandoned his children and therefore he was now forced to plead guilty to get out of jail and take care of his children. This was of course designed to plant the idea in my head that the same could have happened to my wife and that I better plead guilty and get out of jail to be there for my children.
When that didn’t work either the system panicked and switched in fourth gear. After delaying a mandatory three month detention review by more than a month, which is a gross violation of due process, they put two police informers and scumbags in the van in which we were transported to and from court with the intent of saddling me with drug possession charges. The two scumbags were given copious amounts of drugs (marihuana and pills) and once we arrived at the courthouse the cops, instead of taking us to the holding cells, locked us in the van and the scumbags were allowed to roll and smoke joint after joint undisturbed. They kept asking me to smoke me so I would be caught on camera and charged and thus be taken back to jail and miss my appearance before the high court judge. But because I did not take the bait the cops, who I could hear fidgeting in the front seat, kept us locked in the van for nearly four hours and refused to open the doors to let me take a leak and to breathe fresh air, so that I would at least be stoned out of my head and incoherent when I appear in front of the judge. That the judge was in on it is easily proven because when I was finally let out of the van it was lunch time, the court house had been cleared of people, the court room was empty, and the proceedings took place behind closed doors and during lunch time, which never happens.
Despite the drug-induced high, I defended myself beautifully and had the presence of mind to tell the judge what had happened and that I don’t appreciate the police attempt to frame and entrap me into drug charges. The judge did not say a word, even though I asked him to order an investigation. He stayed mum the whole time and then stood up and left the courtroom without saying a word. Needless to say, my detention was found justified.
Even more desperate now, the system kicked in the highest gear and flooded the dorm with drugs. Erich, who had previously played the pious man who follows the word of God and would never do drugs, began smoking dope as though his life depended on it and did so with three or four others as close to my bunk bed as possible to keep me on a continuous high so I could not do any legal work. By then, my government-appointed lawyer, Jeanelle Khan, whose task had been to get me to plead guilty, had quit as soon as I made it clear to her that I had no intention to plead guilty to any of the charges since I am innocent and that I will take it to trial.
When that didn’t work either and I confronted Erich and told him I knew exactly who he was and what he was trying to accomplish and gave him a list of 32 indicators that betray his true identity, he dropped all pretense and said that “the beast” – which is how he referred to the system – is willing to offer me a numbered Swiss bank account and whatever amount I wanted deposited in the account on a monthly basis for my sole use, so long as I would give them my book “Killing Us Softly: Causes and Consequences of the Global Depopulation Policy” and never again said a word about depopulation.
I said to him this: “And then what, Erich? Even if I could live with my conscience for betraying my fellow man and making myself a party to genocide, and I could never do that, how would I protect my children? The depopulationists could walk into my son’s school at any time and administer a vaccine designed to damage my children’s reproductive or immune system. All the money in the world would not enable me to protect my children. What good would all that money be? Tell your handlers to take their money and shove it where the sun don’t shine. Tell them also that unless they are not willing or able to put a bullet in the back of my head, because that is the only way they will ever stop me, from now on I set the direction and they can set the pace, because I understand that a change from covert to overt depopulation methods needs to be accomplished with a soft landing otherwise the world will descend into chaos and will not recover from it for at least a generation. And that will not serve anyone well, least of all my children. Tell your handlers also that I will never harm anyone for committing genocide because I understand perfectly well why they are doing it and that had they not done so since 1945 we would most likely all be dead by now. But the show stops now and the world will return to sanity. The time for change is now because I will not tolerate genocide and because there is a better way, my OM Principles.”
Erich listened intently with his steely grey and intelligent eyes. He stood up and went to his bunk bed to write a letter, which is how he communicated with headquarters.
Over the next few days, he made a few more attempts to convince me to accept the deal but they were meek attempts ordered by his handlers and carried out by Erich in full knowledge that it was a waste of time. During one of these last attempts, red in the face with shame, Erich asked me to at least never divulge any more names. I said I would not so long as they stay out of my way and let me tell the world the truth and how to get out of this murderous system without jeopardizing the demographic and geopolitical goals we need to accomplish or else we are all fucked.
The conversation got heated at one point. Erich said to me “What do you expect, Kevin, you cornered them when you identified them. They had to strike back.”
“And where did that get them, Erich?” I said to him. “Yes, they did destroy my life and my family but I destroyed their system and if they don’t stay the fuck out of my way I will make sure they all hang. Do I make myself clear?”
“You can’t kill the beast, Kevin”, it’s too strong.
“Watch me, Erich! Watch me!”
Day 43 (June, 1)
THE MIND AND THE SPIRIT ALWAYS SOAR
It is DAY 43 of my hunger strike and I am in the best of health and seemingly growing stronger not weaker from day to day. I have no rational explanation as to how this is possible, but it is the truth. Call it a miracle if you want; I certainly do and thank my lucky stars.
This morning I got up happy and light and walked to St. Peter’s for my daily prayer as though I was floating on air.
Yesterday I concluded telling you about the undercover team inserted into the Quinte Detention Center. I gave only the briefest account, removing the drama and excitement and the many extraordinary details.
While my battle with the undercover team unfolded I was busy fighting the judiciary and was engaged in an even more ferocious battle with the corrupt lawyers, judges, and Crown attorneys that the system threw at me. Every step of the way I kicked their sorry asses and taught them lessons they will never forget, and did it on their own turf and despite being hampered in each and every way possible because they fight dirty.
Over the next few days, I will publish some of my legal work. Today, you are privy to my counteroffer to the Crown’s offer, which was that I plead guilty to just one count of harassment and three breaches so the Crown can save face and justify my incarceration. Here it is:
18 May 2013
Ms. Foxton and Mr. Laarhuis,
Following judge Belch’s wishes that we come to a resolution so as to avoid trial, I am herewith, in good faith and with a clear conscience, forwarding you my counteroffer to your existing offer. I hope you will receive it in the same spirit and pass it along to those who have the authority to accept or reject it and who can make an informed and binding decision.
There are two ways to proceed: continue with confrontation or seek collaboration. Since confrontation is no longer expedient, either legally or politically, I suggest we give collaboration a fair chance.
First, I shall establish the facts. They are as follows:
Canada’s reputation and incalculable geopolitical matters hang in the balance, which is why the highest national and international organs have an interest to see a satisfactory outcome.
This case cannot come to trial, as it would have to air matters of global security that cannot go on public record, and in the unlikely event that you will be allowed to proceed, you have no case, which means that should you go to trial you will do so only to prove your guilt, as my innocence is already firmly established.
I have not been allowed to see the 15 CDs that make up the Crown Disclosure out of fear that I will release classified information and embarrass the government and the international community, to say nothing of the clumsy and unlawful manner in which my case has been mishandled from the very beginning in 2011.
A publication ban or a de facto publication ban is already in place, which is why the media continues to be gagged and why the detention review that took place on 15 May did so in an empty courtroom over lunch time, this being the only time the building could be justifiably emptied.
Both the letter and the spirit of the law, as well as due process, the rules of procedure, and my fundamental rights have been trampled on with impunity.
My government appointed lawyer, Ms. Jeanelle Khan, has failed in her mission and has failed miserably, committing gross professional misconduct in the process and joining a growing line of coerced, coopted and/or incompetent lawyers.
Despite the Crown’s best efforts, I am still in control of what I want the world to know and continue to have the means to communicate with the outside world and to publish if I need to do so. I held back thus far for good reasons and I have yet to be rewarded for doing so.
Your office lacks the talent and experience necessary to handle this matter properly and is consequently precipitating a sequel to the to the Kingston Hillbillies article. Furthermore, as I have warned you from the very start, this is not a matter the Kingston courts are equipped to handle or have jurisdiction over.
The record shows that I am not a man to be trifled with and that the bullying and intimidation tactics employed thus far have backfired, which is why I am now in a position of greater strength than ever before and will continue to do what I believe to be right despite the forces arraigned against me.
Your last act of desperation, my 3-hour entrapment in the police van with informer and prison mole, Andrew Meeks, and his dimwitted sidekick, Dalio Saint Luis, has not resulted in drug charges, as you had hoped and planned in order to prevent me from attending high court under the pretext that I was caught in possession of illicit drugs. One would think you would have learned from your first mishap in 2011, which ended up in the text of my application to the U.N. for interim measures, published by The Oslo Times of Norway and by Fathers for Justice of the UK for the world to see.
I will now outline what the Crown wants vis-à-vis what I want, since no resolution is possible unless both sides are satisfied.
The Crown wants:
To protect the individuals it has coopted, coerced and/or manipulated to conspire against me, or to violate due process, from being found personally liable in civil courts;
To ensure that I no longer expose further illegal policies at home or abroad, especially concerning the depopulation policy and its offshoots;
And that I withdraw my international lawsuits and help restore Canada’s badly bruised reputation, credibility and dignity.
By contrast, I want:
To be acquitted of all charges, including the guilty plea I was forced into in August 2011, and that my record is restored to its formerly pristine condition;
To resume my life and be reunited with my family and that my children and I are properly compensated for damages and suffering;
To be allowed to work discreetly on changing the methodology of the depopulation policy from covert poisoning to overt legislation.
What we both can agree on is that much is at stake to fail in reaching a mutually satisfactory solution and that we both have the common good at heart, but that while I held myself to the highest standards, you sank to the lowest.
This being the case, I am willing to offer the following:
I will drop the civil lawsuits
I will allow the U.N. to decide when and under what circumstances my history of the depopulation policy is published
I will drop the international lawsuits and will withdraw from the internet the following articles:
The Kingston Hillbillies
In Harper’s Canada
Canada’s Political Prisoner
In return, I expect the following:
Full acquittal of the current charges and of the 2011 guilty plea.
An out-of-court settlement that takes in consideration a fair appraisal of the damage done to me and my children (see attached list)
That my children and I (and should she wish to join us, my wife too) will be allowed to leave the country and head either to Geneva, Switzerland, or Rome, Italy, where I will be accommodated either by the U.N. Human Rights Commissioner’s office or, respectively, by the Vatican, to work discreetly on accomplishing the transition of the depopulation policy from covert to overt methods.
If my counteroffer is rejected or ignored, my only available option will be to proceed on all fronts. In addition, I will file new lawsuits in civil court as well as a lawsuit against the current Canadian Government at the international Criminal Court for crimes against humanity. I will also seek renewed protection under interim measures from the international courts and will demand an RCMP investigation into the police van incident. And since you have involved elements of organized crime, I will hold you personally responsible should anything happen to my wife and children.
To avoid such incidents in the future, I demand transportation to and from court by police cruiser, preferably the RCMP.
In considering my proposal, you may want to remember that your decision to ignore my 2011 counteroffer has aggravated the situation much to your disadvantage. Had you heeded my warnings you would not have to now face the very serious problems you have caused. It is my hope that reason will this time prevail.
One last word of caution; history has not been kind to those who stand in the way of people’s welfare. Irrespective of what I do – and whether you like to admit it or not, I am the one in the driver’s seat – unless you change tack, you are about to become the primary victims of your own repressive measures. You therefore ought to be thankful and welcome my appearance on the world stage, for if anyone can achieve a soft landing, it is I.
In the final analysis, I am working for your own best interests and ought to assist rather than undermine me.
I look forward to hearing from you.
Sincerely,
Kevin Galalae
(without prejudice)
P.S. You can obtain a copy of the contents pages of the book I wrote at Quinte – “Killing Us Softly: Causes and Consequences of the Global Depopulation Policy” – from Superintendent Gillis.
ITEMIZED AND QUANTIFIED DAMAGES OF A FINANCIAL NATURE
Loss of employment, loss of potential earnings, destruction of my career - $500.000
Loss of reputation and future employment prospects - $250,000
Incurred debt from legal costs - $75.000
Incurred debt from being thrown out of my home for 3 years - $25.000
Incurred debt from having to go into exile for 10 months - $25.000
Loss of personal vehicle due to fifth arrest - $25.000
OF AN EMOTIONAL NATURE
Destruction of my marriage and family
Three year separation from my children
Oliver’s institutionalization due to my absence and my wife’s inability to cope
Social marginalization and the vilification of my person$1.350.000
OF A PSYCHOLOGICAL NATURE
Severe psychological trauma due to multiple false arrests, involuntary confinement in psychiatric facility, threats of long-term confinement in psychiatric facility, falsified medical records, perjury by police officers, lawyers, doctors and judges
Severe psychological trauma caused to me and to my sons, for whom I was their main caregiver
Suffering from repeated and malicious prosecutions and imprisonment
Suffering and loss of faith and trust in state institutions for their participation in structural violence that shows Canada to be a police state$2.000.000
__________________________
TOTAL: $4.250.000
Needless to say, my letter went to the highest echelons of power in Canada and beyond. Someone up high gave orders to treat me with the consideration and respect I deserve. Detective Dianne McCarthy, the cop who had been in charge of making my life a living hell was ordered to keep her mouth shut and head low. The Crown attorneys began treating me as a colleague rather than a foe.
Without responding with either a yes or a no, the Crown began doing as I had suggested. Both the doctors I had sued (i.e. Dr. Cristina Orr and Dr. David Murray) and the Hotel Dieu Hospital where I had been held behind my will for a “psychiatric assessment” filed a motion to dismiss my civil action against them. The motion, despite the fact that I presented evidence of perjury and forgery, was granted, as I had expected.
I knew I would not be released until just before trial, but I also knew the system was beaten and bruised and the people at the top were grateful I had the political acumen to give them a way out.
What I learned is that the judiciary is a prostitute and takes it any which way the executive wants it. Armed with this new understanding I henceforth directed all my communications to the executive, even though on the face of it I addressed either the Crown office or the Attorney General of Ontario or of Canada.
If I was to triumph I would have to score one political victory after another, both at the national and international level. I had entered the world of the big boys and was their equal in every respect even though I was behind bars.
No walls can imprison the mind and the spirit.
Day 44 (June, 2)
BRING LIGHT INTO THE WORLD
This is the 44th DAY of my hunger strike and I had worrisome heart problems late afternoon as I walked back home after visiting the Basilica of Santa Maria del Popolo, which is a treat I granted myself in order to see two stunning paintings by one of my favorite late Renaissance artists, Caravaggio. The problems were serious enough to make me stop and sit down for a couple of hours.
I now weigh 75.3 Kg or 166 pounds. The total weight loss to date is 17.2 Kg or 37 pounds and 15 ounces. My body has therefore shrunk by 18.6% and has done so by losing an average of 400 grams or 14.1 ounces a day.
It had been my intention to pause the story of my incarceration and write an essay on the nature of good and evil, but it is already late and I will keep this update short.
I am disappointed with the public response and people’s reluctance to do their part and help disseminate the truth. The most shares of any of my posts has been 91. At this rate I will die a million deaths by starvation before the world knows the truth about the Global Depopulation Policy. Of the thousands of people who are following my struggle only about 50 are regularly sharing and making a conscious effort. The rest are spectators even though they know they and their children are being slowly annihilated. It is this apathy that is responsible for the mess we are in. Policy makers, now I understand, have had no choice but to go behind people’s backs and do what is necessary before it is too late. The common man is simply incapable, unwilling or indifferent of the facts and refuses to know the truth and to understand the seriousness of the situation.
People hide behind facile excuses and refuse to acknowledge that depopulation and resource sharing are absolute necessities, not choices, if we are to survive the next 25 years let alone into the future. They fail to understand that the only way for humankind to save itself from self-destruction is to abandon old beliefs, ideologies, dogmas, nation states, and the current socio-economic system. They fail to understand that to do so it takes a fundamental transformation that will be painful to accomplish even if every human on earth were to voluntarily shoulder the burden. They fail to understand that resisting change is futile and that the only way to remain masters of our destiny is to make history not be its victims.
People fail to understand that there are only two ways in which this can be done; either policy makers do it by force any which way possible, or we do it voluntarily by taking responsibility. Borders must be dissolved, the nation state buried, and families across the world and for all times restricted to at most two children. There is no other way.
The evil system in place now exists because it needs to compensate for our ignorance and indifference, for the endless bickering about inconsequential nonsense when our world is falling apart and we are responsible for it.
It is our ignorance and apathy that enables and feeds this evil. All God asks of us is to shine the light into the darkness and dispel it, so we can see what the darkness hides: the shapes, the colors, and the textures of truth.
But to bring light into the world requires the courage to walk into the darkness with your mind and heart and soul afire, and few have the courage and wisdom to be the change they want to see in the world.
Those who do, have had to forge ahead quietly lest they be derided and vilified and laughed at by the ignorant mob; by those who hide their ineptitude behind religion, their cowardice behind moralizing, and their prejudices behind patriotism.
A brave new world awaits, but it is only for the brave.
Day 45 (June, 3)
FREE AT LAST
It is DAY 45 of my hunger strike and the battle continues. I have just finished an Avaaz petition and hope the censors will not stop its distribution the way they did with the Change.org petition from a few days earlier. This is the link to it:
As planned, Nick and I spent the day at the Vatican Museum to get the footage we need to complete segment five of our documentary. Despite the massive crowds it was a very special day for me as I was able to revisit some of my favorite works of art. As some of you may know, I studied art and architectural history and prior to settling down to have a family I was an international fine arts consultant and appraiser for almost a decade.
Back now to what happened to me in jail.
Once I confronted the undercover team and explained to them that I knew their true identity and that I had informed the warden, an incident was created to find an excuse to move me out of the general population dorm and put me in super protective custody. To humiliate rather than protect me I was relegated to the wing designated for child molesters and spent the last three months of my nine-month pre-trial detention in an 8 x 12 feet cell along with two other inmates.
This wing was under 23.5 hours a day lock-down, which means that we did not get out of that cell for more than 30 minutes a day. The music blared from bad speakers from noon until bedtime at 11 AM and every sound coming from the inmates housed in the 8 cells of the wing reverberated and made the bliss of silence impossible.
Since the cells were built for two inmates but always housed three – in violation of national and international law – the last inmate to come into the cell slept on the floor. For the first month and a half of my three month stay in this cell I was relegated to the cold concrete floor. Although it was never admitted, my cell mates were government implants again. One was trained in psychology and was there to test and probe me, while the other was there for my protection and to ensure that the first does not overstep his boundaries. It is my guess that my protection had been ordered by the international courts but there is no way of knowing for certain until the system drops the secrecy and provides access to my file.
The dynamic in the cell was very interesting to say the least but it would take me weeks to properly recollect those events. What I can do here is let you read my legal defense, which I wrote in that cell under the most terrible circumstances one can think of and perched on my top bunk bed once I got off the floor. The Crown not only denied me access to the disclosure, the jail authorities, working in collusion with the Crown, denied me access to the Criminal Code and to the Rules of Procedures, both of which I was entitled to by law since I was self-represented. But that is not all. You will find out the details about the Crown’s treachery once you read my hand-written Motion for Stay of Judicial Proceedings, which is how I taught Canada’s judiciary a lesson they will never forget and beat them on their own turf.
The hand-written file you are about to read is 176 pages long and I just made it public today in order to share it with you. Keep in mind that I had to prepare it in triplicate since I was never given access to a photocopier and I had to give a copy to the judge, a copy to the Crown attorneys and keep a copy to myself. As you can imagine, I was a very busy little bee in jail and never had an idle moment.
While I never had any legal training, I found the law easy to grasp and fun to argue. The only access I had to precedent was an article that my government-appointed lawyer was decent enough to send me once she quit. I suspect her conscience weight heavily on her and that was her way to atone for her trespasses towards me.
You must all also know that in-between all this legal work I spent my day reading anything I could get my hands on, including the holy books of nearly every major religion on earth. I even completed a long-distance Bible course and earned a Bible with my name embossed on the cover, which the jail administrators only gave me when I left the jail.
When it became clear that I was winning every legal procedure and every political battle I acquired the respect of the guards and notoriety among the inmates. A few weeks before my release, the head of social services, Mr. Mike Shabinsky, who is the third most influential person in jail, told me that he postponed his retirement by a year to see what happens to me and that in his 40-year-long career he had never seen anyone beat the system.
I told him this: “Mike, I beat the British intelligence services at their own game and shut down their covert program from outside the UK. And you thought I couldn’t beat a bunch of Kingston hillbillies?”
Just how badly I beat the Kingston Hillbillies, which is the nickname I gave the hapless and incompetent morons who thought they can destroy me, will become apparent to anyone who reads my legal file:
I won my freedom and walked out of the courtroom without any conditions. Without any help whatsoever I had beaten the international community to a pulp.
I was free to do and say whatever I wanted, and I did.
Within ten days of my release, I published “Killing Us Softly: Causes and Consequences of the Global Depopulation Policy”, in which I spilled the world’s greatest secrets; secrets that I uncovered by intellect alone from the vacuum of a prison cell.
Nothing and no one can lockup the mind.
I am living proof of it.
Kevin Mugur Galalae is a human rights activist and political exile who has renounced both his Canadian and Romanian citizenships and chosen statelessness in protest against the trampling of our rights and liberties in the name of counter-terrorism and radicalization. He has launched legal action against the governments of Canada and the UK at the European Court of Human Rights for violating academic freedom and free speech in universities and has exposed a covert program of surveillance and censorship in the UK and the EU that was adopted to stifle democratic debate, manufacture consent and man the ranks of governments, international organizations and civil society with sycophants, moral degenerates and social deviants. In retaliation, the governments of Canada and the UK have arrested Kevin five times, have confiscated his intellectual and physical property and have forcibly separated him from his children, forcing him to flee Canada in order to save his life and freedom. Most recently, Kevin has exposed the pivotal component of the New World Order, the depopulation agenda and the chemical and biological means by which governments are waging low-intensity sub-lethal warfare on their people in order to fulfill demographic objectives that favour the elites and damn the rest of mankind to intellectual and physical degradation and ultimately to genetic extinction. Kevin has founded the People’s Protection Court and the People’s Protection Force and has drafted the OM Principles in order to provide the instruments and ethos necessary to bring down the New World Order, reinstate the rule of law, and enable the 99% to gain control of their lives and destinies. He is the author of the book “Water, Salt, Milk: Killing Our Unborn Children” and of numerous articles published by Cryptome, The Sleuth Journal, Wikispooks, The Oslo Times and other media outlets.
The article Activist Kevin Galalae: Vatican Hunger Strike Update (Part Six) published by TheSleuthJournal - Real News Without Synthetics