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There is something disturbingly familiar about the New World Order with its “level playing field” on which we are all to compete, and survive or perish. It is reminiscent of Roman gladiatorial combats where slaves and other rabble were forced to kill each other for the entertainment and moral uplift of their betters. Except now, hanging in the background like a huge, bracketing stage set, is Henry Kissinger and Brent Scowcroft’s infamous NSSM 200 on the dangers of Third World (i.e., lower-class) population growth. In this memorandum they argue that population increase in underdeveloped countries is the greatest long-term threat to peace and First World (upper-class) living standards, and that market mechanisms and financial policies can be used to curtail it. The Irish Famine might have been in their minds as a kind of historical demonstration project on techniques for stopping the population spiral dead in its tracks. Partial blame for the catastrophic rise in Third World population was put on left-wing politics and policies that spread wealth more evenly and decreased infant mortality. The solution was to roll these back and let scarcity and hunger winnow out the weak and unfit “naturally.” The same mechanisms could be applied that had proven so effective in Ireland a century before. Deregulation and privatization, along with the elimination of price supports, safety nets and other entitlements, would prevent revolutions of rising expectations and break the general public’s grip on local resources and economic policy. There would then be no boundaries to the flow of investment capital. The rich could own any and all the world’s resources, no matter where they were, while the poor would get only what they could pay for—a simple coffin, perhaps. Market mechanisms have other advantages. There is no need for crude Nazi-style deportations and murders. Since there is no incriminating link between the brain that plans and the hand that kills, there won’t be any Nuremberg Trials afterwards, either. Simply get rid of entitlements and gradually tighten the economy, like turning down a spigot. “Nature” will do the rest. The masses will soon be killing each other over a scrap of bread or cup of water. It is market genocide, and it is beautiful. The unworthy (that is, the indigent, the isolated, the unskilled, the stupid and the weak—the unneeded low-lifers) will be identified by the countless and infallible processes of the marketplace, and eliminated. The riffraff who have to actually fight for a slice of bread will be self-condemned. Smart people, the fit, have other methods. Of course, it won’t be real competition. That could easily backfire. It must be carefully managed, but have all the trappings of reality. Natural laws must be seen to be at work, remorseless and inevitable This arena for mass self-destruction is now being built on a global scale—a Coliseum as wide as the world itself. Engineers and technicians are out on the floor with transits and calculators making sure there will be an absolutely level field of “play.” To some, competing against international corporations and human waves of Third World labor might not seem fair. It might even look more like certain death than competition. But there will always be a few whiners and foot-draggers, guys who cling to the door screaming. They might go more quietly if they were convinced that everyone would be out there with them fighting for their lives; if they didn’t suspect there are some who not only will not be out there, but who own the entire infrastructure and will be someplace else altogether, raking in profits from the spectacle—shadowy manipulators, whom the rest of us are not supposed to know about. They are to be like ancient gods, unseen except upon those rare occasions when they intervene to tip the balance this way or that, according to their inscrutable designs. Their presence is to be intuited and greatly feared. Meanwhile, the “common” people, the un-chosen, the un-rich and un-endowed, are being herded into this new global arena at the ends of cattle prods. Even the Senators and Presidents, strutting in with their red noses, concubines and sycophants, are just players for the day, hired to give the show the blush of reality, to convince everyone that this is Real Life, as God and Nature intended it, and that there is no alternative, and certainly no escape. And what a spectacle it is! Slaughter! Gore! Orgies in the boxes! Oh the breathtaking, lascivious splendor of it all! But should those actually down in the arena fighting for their lives learn that privileged “others” are stage-managing their deaths and chortling all the while among themselves at the gullible stupidity of the mob and their own cleverness, there might be Hell to pay! The whole phantasmagoria might disappear in the twinkling of an eye, as if it never were! And I suspect it would. Consequently, any who might betray their schemes from within, or be bold or lucky enough to stumble upon their hidden workings from without, must be discredited or silenced. And thus we have the absurd farce of a controlled media shouting from its many mouths, “There are no conspiracies!” Perhaps this cat-and-mouse game with the populace is a kind of entertainment for the World Coliseum’s owners and operators, what with its narrow escapes and cloak-and-dagger stuff. It’s probably great fun. But it has its risks. Every now and then these backstage string-pullers are forced to take an obvious hand in events, perhaps even kill someone. For example, murder a leader who has seen what is going on and threatens to expose the whole deadly swindle. Such an occasion, I believe, was the assassination of President John F. Kennedy. Whether his murder was a coup d’etat is debatable, since the sinister forces that killed him have been indirectly controlling the government for years, moving presidents and congressmen around like pieces on a chessboard. But it certainly was a seizure of the Executive Branch. One hundred years from now, historians will look back on November 22, 1963, as the date when a Presidential Dictatorship was established in the United States. Whatever Noam Chomsky and Alexander Cockburn might argue to the contrary, John Kennedy was not a member of the secret network which is putting together the New World Order and its mechanisms of market genocide. He was an outsider, an Irish Catholic intruder with populist leanings who had the perspicacity, wealth, self-confidence and popularity to actually threaten to slip their controls. By the time of his American University speech, he had broken through the phony stagecraft of the Cold War, was unmasking the international criminal syndicates, fighting bribery and corruption in government, and beginning to rein in the financial and banking scams which were looting the nation’s wealth. He was also moving to block the spread of U.S. nuclear weapons technology to Russia and China via Israel. These clandestine, would-be lords murdered Kennedy in the usual way—anonymously. There were no bragging letters to the newspapers, no claims of responsibility. The masses were never to know who actually did it. And they almost got away with it. Lee Harvey Oswald, the designated patsy, was no doubt to have been shot while resisting arrest—most likely by Dallas Police Officer J. D. Tippit. He was certainly never to have lived long enough to talk. His arrest was a major crisis. Oswald had to be killed, and to do so the conspirators had briefly to come out of hiding. Thus it was that we, the hoi polloi, were treated to a glimpse of the Hidden Ones at work. It was a mythological moment, like seeing Apollo on the field of battle. Not being used to such prodigies, we almost missed it. There was Jack Ruby among the newsmen in the basement of the Dallas Police Station saying, “Fair Play for Cuba Committee.” The sight should have sent a shudder down our spines, made our blood run cold, our hair stand on end. It was a portent, a sign that our Controllers were near. After an appropriate lull came the sudden intervention in all its terrible finality, searing itself into memory: Ruby rushing forward out of the crowd to shoot Oswald as he was being transferred to the County Sheriff’s Office. To all appearances Jack Ruby was an ordinary mortal, one of us. The owner of a night club, a strip joint that was not doing well. A guy who had failed in business. A man with no connections. A private citizen. A person motivated only by grief and sympathy for Mrs. Kennedy. But not really. He was Jack Rubenstein, a hit man for the Jewish mob. A professional murderer. Meyer Lansky’s bag man in Dallas. The guy you had to go to if you wanted permission to bring drugs into the city. The fixer, who bribed judges and policemen. A user of people, arrogant, careful and shrewd. A very dangerous man, actually, behind his clownish mask. A member of a ruthless syndicate of indefinable dimensions that is like a cancer, tenacious and seemingly deathless. In Jack Ruby we catch sight of the hand, if not the face, of our concealed rulers, of those who were at that moment taking over the Executive Branch of government, and who have since been using its instruments to quietly establish the legal and political framework for controlling the country and, perhaps, the world. It is why Peter Dale Scott, in his book Deep Politics and the Death of JFK, calls Jack Ruby the key to unlocking the mystery of Kennedy’s assassination. By following the trail leading from Ruby, like a string into a Labyrinth, we can find our way not to just the murderers of Kennedy, but to the domestic and international conspiracy that is tightening its grip on our lives, that plans to keep us fighting each other in desperate ignorance, like Roman gladiators, until we have defeated ourselves, and only a discouraged, pliant remnant is left. END If you would like to contribute an article send it to: cfpress@nationmakers.com .
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All Written Materials Copyright, 1997,1998,1999 Robert H.
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