Introduction
Your Brain Is the Battleground
Virtual America, Where Delusion Reigns
Here's How it All Came About
Hard Realities ( "Asylum" in Europe )
Notes
Manifesto for the Millennium
Trouble with Delphi
Armageddon, the ultimate struggle between good and evil, has assumed a new
and unanticipated meaning in the shadow of the Millennium. You will look
in vain for the fearsome hosts in martial garb. They are not in the field,
for that is not where the fight will be. The awful truth you never knew --
never suspected -- is that Armageddon is Within.
It is a struggle for the liberty and integrity of the human mind, for the preservation of human dignity, for the very meaning of human existence. All these are threatened as never before by new and terrible technologies and the ruthless forces that wield them.
It is 1984-plus-fourteen. Big Brother is raping you.
This is the web site [story] of James Henry Graf, who will see the truth exposed or die trying.
Copyright © James Henry Graf, 1998
The October, 1981 Science Digest ( a Hearst publication ) featured
an article by Gary Selden titled "Machines That Read Minds." Toward the end,
Mr. Selden noted that the CIA was following brain wave research closely,
much the way that agency followed LSD research in the 1950s. He described
a proposal by Robert Thatcher of the University of Maryland for the development
of a "true thought scanner" that might, among other purposes, be used for
"internal surveillance of dissidents."
The human body emits an electromagnetic field that modern technology can detect and analyze in a process somewhat like the creation of holograms. Holographers record the interference patterns introduced into a beam of coordinated light by the surface features of a material object, creating thereby a three-dimensional image. It is similarly possible to detect and record the ever-changing pattern of electromagnetic potentials produced by the human nervous system. This makes possible the development of devices that can record human thoughts and other physiological states.
This is essentially the same technology described brilliantly by John St. Clair Akwei in his deposition titled "Covert Operations of the US National Security Agency," published in the April-May, 1996 issue of Nexus magazine ( Volume 3, Number 3 ). As Mr. Akwei attests, it is also possible to broadcast "voices" into the human brain.
Mind-reading devices, machines that make people hear voices, and weapons that disrupt or control the functioning of mind and body are present realities. Tragically, instead of the many positive applications possible, these technologies are, indeed, being used as torture weapons against dissidents.
Imagine being exposed all day every day to the twenty most vicious, sleaziest, most obnoxious persons you have ever met. Imagine not being able to get away from them, having them monitor your thoughts, impulses, physiological processes, dreams, fantasies, memories, and all the events of your daily life. Imagine being forced to hear their contemptuous jibes as they obstruct your every earnest effort. Imagine the humiliation, the frustration, the fury. The closest parallel is that of demonic possession. These are not demons, however. They are real human criminals whom no-one will arrest or prosecute.
The struggle for liberty, dignity, and decency, the war that will determine the fate of human civilization, is not in a far-off desert or a steaming jungle. The battle is within the boundaries of your own skin. It is a contest for ownership of your mind and body.
As knowledge is power, ignorance is impotence. Denial and insouciance have carried the world to the brink of slavery. Freedom is only for the brave and the wise. Face reality. Live and be free.
Copyright © James Henry Graf, 1996
I am James Henry Graf, a virtual prisoner in a virtual democracy, a hostage
trapped in a land that has strayed far from reality. This is my statement
and a small part of my story.
An American whistleblower and an advocate for the human rights of all, I have never used or advocated violence, nor has any state or nation ever charged me with a crime. Nevertheless, because of what I believe, say, and write, what I know and have tried to communicate, I have seen nearly six thousand days of surveillance, defamation, persecution, terrorism, mental torture, and more, for which society denies recourse and law provides no remedy.
In 1984 and 1985, I blew the whistle on civil liberties violations involving persons at my workplace and corrupt police, prosecutors, and intelligence agents. The gangsters, government and "private," whose crimes I had tried to reveal invaded my privacy, slanderously attacked my character and reputation, impugned my sanity, assaulted me with radiation and bio-chemical weapons, killed my dog, and tortured me with electromagnetic weapons. They forced me out of my job without due process, wrecked my car, broke up my marriage, drove me into exile, violated my rights abroad, and thrice conspired to coerce my return to this benighted nation. Thrust from prosperity to poverty, from health to disability, from dignity to disgrace, I am left alone in the company of hard, sad, frightening truth.
Yes, this happens here in the birthplace of modern democracy. Behind an angelic facade lurks a satanic reality, an America that pursues its critics with a fanaticism unsurpassed by any Iranian mullah, mobilizing the community in such harassment of targeted persons as the Chinese experienced in their Cultural Revolution, aping the defunct Soviet Union in its use of psychiatric evaluations as instruments of intimidation and discreditation, circumventing due process with a disregard of Constitutional liberty and human dignity frighteningly reminiscent of Germany’s Third Reich.
Many have warned that the marriage of fascist mentality and Twenty-first Century technology may produce a monster most hideous. The perspicacious Dave Emory, an American researcher and broadcaster, has stated that in the absence of positive change we may soon face "the total world triumph of absolute evil, forever." From the deep virtual dungeon of my personal experience, I thoroughly agree and boldly bear witness.
The mock democracy that has cheated, persecuted, humiliated, terrorized, and tortured me is really a "national security" dictatorship, a land surreptitiously controlled by an insolent overclass contemptuous of Law and Constitution, using astounding technology to advance an essentially fascist agenda. It is a vicious, capricious empire, the domain of drooling Caligulas whose unchecked malevolence enlists the aid of legions of cowards, crooks, liars, and fools. It is a culture of contempt, where personal attack supplants rational debate, where artificial distinctions abound while valid ones are ignored. All is arbitrary here. Everything is relative. Law, ethics, and very reality are defined to suit the nefarious purposes of those in power.
My America is holographic, virtual. The faces that pretend to rule, the stentorian voices that speak to and for the people, the flags that flutter so high above our heads, are just as unreal and unreachable as those guiding principles now buried beneath heaps of self-interested rhetoric and pervasive apathy. The pretty, pithy phrases that so enthralled me in my youth -- "a government of laws, not of men," " the equal protection of the laws, " inalienable rights," "government of the people, by the people, and for the people" -- echo hollowly now in my ears.
An intangible Berlin Wall surrounds my America, an invisible Iron Curtain. I left my native land three times, seeking political asylum in the Netherlands, Denmark, and Belgium. In corruption and cowardice, those enlightened nations thrust me three times back into a virtual hell from which I can no longer even hope to escape. Virtual America, through its very palpable power, has spawned Virtual World.
I am a non-person, ignored or rejected by all, frustrated in my every earnest effort to obtain effective advocacy and justice under law. Define me now as an anti-American American citizen. I have become an enemy of the United States, not by any primal intent or plan of mine, but by the inhuman designs and machinations of my government these many years. One cannot love a government that abuses the human rights of its people and assiduously avoids accountability, that rewards selfishness over service, that abandons principle and enshrines expediency.
I see my government now attacking the poor as it has attacked me, stealing the liberties of others as it has mine, punishing victims while rewarding scoundrels. I see the people unaware, numbed, somnambulating. Hobbled as I am, there is little I can do to help. So isolated am I that I cannot even obtain information about United Nations human rights complaints that date back to 1991. I have voted three times with my feet. There is nothing here that makes me want to stay. Were I well enough and wealthy enough, I would surely shake from my soles the dust of this cosmically disappointing and dangerous place.
As an individual, I am no more important than all the other brave souls of earth -- most of them enduring far greater pain than I -- who may be considered Prisoners of Conscience. The significance of my circumstance lies in the power, contumacious attitude, and tyrannical intent of those who oppress me, and, as well, in my utter abandonment by those persons, organizations, and governments who carry the standard of decency and humanitarian concern. My experiences bespeak a serious breakdown of those systems -- state, national, and international, public and private -- that are supposed to control abuse of public power.
The sad reality is this: in practical terms, there is no United States Constitution. Those who really rule here are not elected by or accountable to the people. The Bill of Rights is contingent, circumstantial, virtual. What has happened to me -- much more than there is room here to tell -- can happen to anyone. Human rights, human liberty, security of mind and body, and the very concepts of dignity and decency may be lost forever.
I appeal to all who read this to hold my nation, as well as the European states against whom I have a cause of action, fully accountable under the international human rights agreements to which they have freely assented. Throw open the curtain. Let in the light. I have dignity, integrity, and intellect. Let them be recognized. I have charges to make. Let them be accepted and investigated. I have truth to tell. Let it be heard and understood. Let Virtual America actualize itself. Let Virtual World come to its senses, while there is still time.
Copyright © James Henry Graf, 1998
On October 24, 1990 ( reported the next day by Associated Press ), President
Bush's White House spokesman Marlin Fitzwater discussed Republicans who had
disagreed with the President's policies, threatening "If they can sleep with
their conscience, let them try." He cautioned that, while they were free
to "say whatever they want," penalties might ensue, "but we never discuss
it in public." He suggested that they would "suffer in their private
purgatories." Pressed for an explanation, he responded "I can't tell you.
If I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise."
Mr. Fitzwater later denied that actual retribution would occur, but he never did explain what a "private purgatory" is or by what means President Bush's critics would be thrust into it. His listeners never learned how someone acting according to the dictates of conscience would then find his sleep disturbed by the very conscience he had obeyed. It was very clear, however, that the White House was threatening American citizens with some kind of secret suffering in retaliation for their free exercise of First Amendment rights. The Republican Party said nothing about this threat to civil liberty, nor did the Democrats. To the best of my knowledge, the media neglected to follow it up. It was, however, no mystery to me.
We like to think of this as a nation of honor and decency. Confronted with the unethical experiments of earlier decades, we ascribe their inhumanity to prevailing racism and Cold War anxiety that we must by now have outgrown. The President apologizes, and it's business as usual. Present practices, especially those occurring under color of "national security," go undisclosed and unexamined.
I regret to report that the United States, like the People's Republic of China, is "on the wrong side of history." This nation does nothing to comply with -- and contumaciously violates -- the international human rights treaties to which it has become a state party.
Here's how it happened. In the early years of the Reagan Administration, when "fighting terrorism" and the "war on drugs" superseded human rights as priorities in both foreign and domestic policy, personnel were shifted among agencies, blurring the boundaries of authority and accountability. This permitted domestic law enforcement agents to exercise powers not constitutionally theirs in the name of "national security." Police, on or off duty, within or outside their jurisdictions, began to think and act like intelligence agents on a secret spy mission or a military operation. Conversely, military and intelligence agents were able to carry out illegitimate "covert ops," justified as "police business," against civilian Americans. Citizens became subjects. Subjects became suspects. Suspects became enemies.
The most abusive, anti-democratic elements in the military, intelligence, and law enforcement communities came to the fore. Outrageous violations of individual rights such as those documented in Ross Gelbspan's Break-Ins, Death Threats, and the FBI and Brian Glick's War At Home were the inevitable, and intentional, result. The age of "any old excuse will do" was born, and has continued to this day.
Privatization and community mobilization, moreover, provided a degree of deniability, relieving the perpetrators of government repression -- in their own minds, at least -- of any sense of responsibility under the Constitution. Suddenly, two-bit private investigators were dropping names and claiming "national security" as they violated the privacy, dignity, and constitutional rights of their fellow citizens. High-tech surveillance devices and secret files fell into the hands of vigilante lynch-mob fanatics bent on "social cleansing," determined to "get something on" people they didn't like.
Though participation and coverup are bipartisan, the Marlin Fitzwater incident demonstrates the Republican Party's deep involvement in America's torture agenda. The problem seems to have begun with "Nixon's Nazis," East-European fascists, many of them active Third Reich collaborators, whom the Republican Party imported during the 1950s and 1960s as political organizers in the "ethnic community" to counteract the heavily Democratic Jewish vote ( see The Secret War Against the Jews by John Loftus -- an Irish-American official in the Justice Department -- and Mark Aarons ). As Linda Hunt revealed in her book Secret Agenda, this was one aspect of a larger phenomenon that included the use of Nazi intelligence agents and scientists by the US military and the fledgling CIA. For many years, some of the most powerful persons in America, exercising authority and possessing knowledge inaccessible to the average citizen, or even the average congressman, have displayed an ideology and code of conduct directly descended from Nazi Germany.
What we have here is semi-privatized state-terrorism, just as practiced in El Salvador, Guatemala, Haiti, Colombia, and elsewhere. The United States of America, the world's oldest democracy, the world's preeminent military and economic power, is waging war against its own people.
My own personal experience is illustrative. In March, 1975, I became an employee of the New York State Department of Mental Hygiene. A year later, partially in response to scandals regarding events at Willowbrook State School, the State reorganized my department, separating the Office of Mental Health, dealing with psychiatric patients, from the Office of Mental Retardation and Developmental Disabilities, for whom I worked.
The State of New York has a long history of experimenting on people under conditions that fall short of informed consent, with results that are sometimes painful and occasionally fatal ( see The New York Times, December 27, 1996, p. 1 ). The experimentation frequently has sinister overtones. Constitution, laws, and rules notwithstanding, those who conduct these experiments seem often to consider the "mentally incompetent" devoid of any rights that they are bound to respect. Though I have no access, God knows, to the records, I suspect multiple atrocities, involving chemical, bacteriological, and electromagnetic weapons testing.
There appear to have been, over the years, a number of contacts between my former employers and law enforcement and intelligence agencies, including the military. My workplace in the 1980s became a hotbed of covert intelligence activity. In alignment with Reagan Administration policies, these forces concerned themselves primarily with "fighting terrorism" and the "war on drugs." "Terrorists," in their estimation, included such persons as the peaceful, humanitarian activists of the Sanctuary movement, such as Jack Elder, a friend and fraternity brother of mine in our college days at the Catholic University of America.
The power and influence of these agents became weapons in the hands of egregiously unscrupulous administrators. Obscenely intrusive, unbelievably extensive "lifestyle" investigations became a powerful administrative tool for staff reduction through intimidation -- blackmailing, blackballing, and blacklisting. When they could not unearth real evidence, the "evaluators" simply invented it. Claims of "national security" and "police business" assured universal cooperation and secrecy.
The process is practically identical to the system of psychiatric discreditation that prevailed in the last days of the Soviet Union ( see "When Justice Is Just Another Form of Insanity: Case Histories in Soviet Psychiatry," New York Times, January 24, 1988 ). In secret, non-adversarial "evaluations," personal information, usually contrived or criminally-obtained, is presented to a panel of "authorities" by way of building a case for mental incompetency or moral turpitude. These "Star Chamber" proceedings are not merely extrajudicial: they are criminally malicious.
There is no semblance of due process. Planted evidence, falsified documents, morphed photographs, and perjured testimony are more the rule than the exception. The "subjects" of such "evaluations" are not informed, before or after the fact, get no opportunity to present evidence, question witnesses, or make a statement, and cannot examine, obtain, or correct the records, which are nevertheless indiscriminately and illegally disclosed to many persons and agencies for malicious purposes.
Those who participate in this process are supremely sanctimonious -- smug, arrogant hypocrites. To them, our rights are crimes, their crimes are rights. They display a satanic consciousness that revels in obscene injustice and strives for maximum possible evil, setting about deliberately to punish the innocent, reward the guilty, make fools of the wise, corrupt the upright, and turn the very law itself into an instrument of criminality. Like the tripartite cult from the 1960s described by Maury Terry in his book The Ultimate Evil, they seem to be synthetic multiple personalities, capable of anything, contemptuously lording it over those they consider inferior while themselves immersed in perversion. Though their technology is twenty-first century, they would be more at home in the thirteenth. Playing on Maury Terry's title, I have called them The Ultimate Medieval.
My resistance to, and whistleblowing regarding, these unconstitutional practices raised my status from "nuisance" to "enemy" in the eyes of my employers. At the instigation of New York State officials and their associates, the United States of America has waged war against me -- "low-intensity conflict," if you will -- since at least 1984. A surveillance device that emits ionizing radiation has become a weapon for destruction of my immune and reproductive systems. Subject to innumerable break-ins for which no legal recourse is available, I appear to have been poisoned over the years with chemical and biological weapons. Sporadically since 1985, and continuously since September, 1987, government agents and their associates have subjected me to the hell on earth of Marlin Fitzwater's "private purgatory" -- electromagnetic tracking, surveillance, and mind-reading technologies. Repulsive, anonymous "voices" torment and degrade me incessantly. Bio-chemical poisons weaken me and "biological process control" weapons disrupt somatic functions.
There is no recourse under law -- no escape, no rescue, no relief. My own Democratic Party has done nothing -- absolutely nothing -- to help. New Jersey officials of both parties have repeatedly denied me the equal protection of my native state's laws and will do nothing to secure my rights under federal law. Congressman Robert Menendez, who went to school with my niece's husband and knows my sister by her first name, will not even answer my letters! Non-governmental organizations ignore or insult me. This is a nation in denial, where hypocrisy and insouciance reign supreme.
This is intolerable. Human rights, based on the inherent dignity of the human person, apply to all individuals, without distinction. There's a Nigerian saying: "Not to know is bad; not to want to know is worse; not to hope is unthinkable; not to care is unforgivable."
Copyright © James Henry Graf, 1996
Hard realities sink in slowly. The mind rejects anything that challenges
its basic assumptions. Who is prepared to learn that America would abuse
and torment its own people, and even thwart their escape to foreign lands?
Who could possibly imagine that three of the best governments on earth would
reject an American's application for political asylum, aiding and abetting
the United States in violating its own laws, their laws, and international
law? Who but the victim, stripped of illusion, educated by bitter experience,
could accept such realities? The victim, then, must tell his story honestly
and with conviction, trusting truth to act as its own prosecuting
attorney.
A whistleblower (see endnote 1) who supports the human rights of all, I have never used or advocated violence. I am a lifelong liberal Democrat who demonstrated against the War in Vietnam, wrote letters in opposition to the Nixon Administration, and protested American policy in El Salvador. No nation has ever charged me with a crime.
Nevertheless, because of what I believe, say, and write, because of what I know and have tried to communicate, my country has subjected me to nearly six thousand days of surveillance, defamation, persecution, terrorism, mental torture, and more, without recourse or effective remedy (see endnote 2). The media will not reveal the truth of my experience. No lawyer will represent me. No major human rights organization will speak for me. No legislator will respond. No law enforcement authority will investigate. I am a non-person, ignored or rejected by all.
I have charged the United States of America with multifarious human rights crimes dating back at least to 1982. Though generally dismissed with a condescending smirk, I have also made allegations of torture, starting in 1987, with an electromagnetic device. Among other capabilities, the torture weapon can read human thoughts (see endnote 3). This is not a delusion. I am sane and very intelligent. The technology really exists (see endnote 4).
How often have discontented Americans heard the advice "If you don't like it here, go somewhere else?" The assumption that those of us who know some of America's dirty little secrets are free to leave the country is universal. The hard American reality is that some of us can't leave.
There is a new Berlin Wall, a new Iron Curtain. It is not physical, but virtual -- a barrier of surveillance, harassment, interference, disinformation, intimidation, and corruption that pervades and surrounds the United States and infiltrates the territories of other sovereign states.
Such a wall is deemed necessary by an American government utterly contemptuous of its own law, Constitution, and treaty obligations, a government that violates human rights with impunity, corrupts the agencies mandated to expose such violations, and deprives the victims of all recourse, all support, all relief.
The United States is unquestionably the most powerful and influential country in the world. So great is this nation's economic and military power, so pervasive the influence of its diplomatic and intelligence forces, that countries deeply involved with the USA as military allies or trading partners are unwilling -- or simply afraid -- to do anything that would displease or embarrass American officials. However sincere the asylum-seeker, however well founded his fear of persecution, if he comes from the USA, he is likely to be rejected, and may, in fact, be illegally repatriated. I was, three times, by three different European countries.
My first attempt to escape from America began on August 28, 1991 with a flight from New York to the beautiful city of Amsterdam. Though disabled, I had with me about three thousand dollars in traveler's checks and a cashier's check for over eighteen thousand dollars (my share of marital assets after divorce). On or about September 3, I applied for political asylum in the Netherlands, explaining that American authorities had subjected me to persecution and mental torture because of my political beliefs and because of my having "blown the whistle" on police corruption.
The interviewer accepted my application, but another official communicated a hard Dutch reality: "We have good relations with your government and we do not wish to do anything to jeopardize those relations." He instructed me to report to the Social Service office on the other side of Amsterdam. An official there revealed that the government had ordered him not to process my application further. The woman who next interviewed me was more specific. Verging on tears, she said that Dutch authorities would not send me to a refugee reception facility or provide me with housing, food, or medical care. She would not help me obtain fresh medication for my hypertension, despite my willingness to pay for it. Because of my national origin, the Netherlands thus withheld from me all the social services normally provided to refugees.
Devoid of help or advice -- staff at Amsterdam's Amnesty International office had told me to seek psychiatric help -- I withdrew my application for political asylum on or about September 4, 1991. Before returning my passport, immigration authorities required my signature on an untranslated statement in Dutch indicating that my decision had been voluntary. I complained verbally of coercion, but signed anyway. They gave me seven days to leave the country, even though an American passport normally entitles one to a three-month automatic visa in the Netherlands.
On the night of September 12, 1991, the train to Denmark carried my petition to a different venue, also beautiful, but even less hospitable. At Copenhagen's immigration office six days later, when the officer heard my request for political asylum as a victim of persecution and torture in the United States, he laughed out loud. I asked him why. He apologized and said "We don't get many Americans here."
Once officials determined that my passport was genuine, they sent me to the Sandholm Refugee Center in Birkerod, about 20 miles north of Copenhagen. When the officers at Sandholm's front gate saw my passport and heard my request for asylum, they also laughed in my face. I told them that my own government had subjected me to persecution and torture while denying me the equal protection of American laws. They laughed again, brutally. This time there were no apologies. One of them emerged from the booth and led me to a small building behind a locked gate. On the way, he berated me, saying "Do you have any idea how much money this is costing? You're stupid, stupid!"
I was the last of several refugees registered that day. Hearing that two trunks to be shipped from the Amsterdam train station contained extremely important documents relevant to my case, Mr. Regnar Rasmussen remarked "We'll have to get those trunks." Perhaps they did, perhaps not. I never saw my trunks or the documents contained therein during my stay in Denmark. Both the police and the Danish Red Cross flatly refused to help me secure them.
The next day, as instructed, I gave Mr. Poul Madsen all the money in my possession. He told me that the police would convert my American currency and traveler's checks to Danish currency and hold the funds on account, then use the cashier's check to open an account in my name at Bikuben Bank in Allerod. My asylum application, he said, would be processed under "normal procedure." The police would charge me for expenses, but not in excess of the interest earned by my money at the bank.
No such account was ever established. As of September 19, 1991, my available cash totalled 1500 Danish Kroner (around $200). The bank claimed in November that the check had not cleared. The police displayed no interest or concern. In December, they gave it back to me, claiming that it had bounced. This was an insulting lie.
Sandholm was a playground for American and other agents, who attempted to diminish my credibility by impugning my sanity. Other refugees, as well as Danish Red Cross personnel, questioned me repeatedly about my reasons for being there. Some of this was in earnest, but much of it represented attempts to provoke anger, instill fear or anxiety, or induce depression. Several persons told me, "off the record," that an American had little or no chance of obtaining asylum there. One said that granting me asylum would be like slapping George Bush's face. Persons who had no business even being there also instigated blatant sexual provocations involving several young women and at least two young girls. Though I was not fully aware of it at the time, American agents were engaging in gross, unconscionable exploitation of young females.
On October 28, 1991, at the police post in the camp, Mr. Benny Nielsen, with the assistance of J. Kheir as translator, read to me the decision of October 25, 1991 by Erling Vestergaard of the Directorate for Aliens, who found my application "manifestly unfounded" and denied me any right of appeal, despite the explicit "formfilling" statement I had made and the documentation included with it. Mr. Kheir told me that my allegations, even if proved, would constitute only "light reasons" for granting asylum. Torture is a "light reason" in Denmark. That is hard Danish reality.
On October 31, 1991, I composed a communication to the United Nations Committee Against Torture, charging the Netherlands and Denmark with refusing to comply with the UN Convention Against Torture and Other Cruel, Inhuman or Degrading Treatment or Punishment. There followed, on November 4, a complaint against Denmark directed to the UN Human Rights Committee. Both were mailed from the post office in Allerod, and the Danish police received copies. I have never been able to obtain any information regarding their disposition (see endnote 5). United Nations reality can be hard, indeed.
The Danish authorities subsequently denied my application for a temporary residence permit on humanitarian grounds. On the morning of December 19, 1991, police pounded on my door, took me into custody, and forcibly repatriated me after charging me more than two thousand dollars for expenses. The trunks containing my documents and other personal effects, having allegedly arrived in Copenhagen from Amsterdam on the very morning of my deportation, did not find their way back to me until June 3, 1992, after I paid two hundred dollars for shipping charges. A stereo microphone, several compact disks, a small electronic keyboard, a pair of hiking boots, and possibly other items had been stolen. My files, though obviously examined, appeared intact.
United Jersey Bank honored its cashier's check without dispute. The money financed my stay in the United States and my two subsequent attempts at obtaining political asylum. Obviously, the Danes had withheld these funds from me in order to prevent me from hiring an attorney and remaining in Europe.
Throughout the first nine months of 1992, no person or agency, domestic or foreign, proved willing to provide guidance or advocacy. Having spent much of my money, not knowing where else to go, I returned to the Netherlands on October 19, 1992. American agents in Amsterdam were waiting for me with a program of harassment that included several acts of petty thievery. The most important of these was the theft on October 22 of a briefcase containing, among other documents, all those papers intended for submission to the Dutch Ministry of Justice in support of my asylum request. Waiting at the Amsterdam Police Headquarters to report the crime, I heard Dutch police officers laughing about the CIA.
I got my briefcase back, with a few items missing, but not until after my interview with the Ministry of Justice, which I faced without legal representation and nearly bereft of documentation. My copy of the resulting negative decision, dated November 17, 1992, has since disappeared.
Unlike Denmark, the Netherlands granted me legal counsel and the right of appeal. I appeared before a Dutch court in Den Bosch on December 16, represented by Mrs. C.H.A. Huisman. The Court's decision, never translated into English, listed nearly all the issues I had raised. Who knows on what basis my appeal was rejected (see endnote 6)? When Mrs. Huisman met with me on January 25, 1993, she stated frankly that my nationality was "the problem." Confronted with my vigorous insistence that such discrimination violated both the Geneva Convention and the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, she became impatient, terminated the interview, and had no further contact with me (see endnote 7).
As in the Danish camp a year earlier, agents at Bethanie Refugee Camp in Rijsbergen engaged in harassment and provocation. Petty thefts like the ones in Amsterdam began to happen in the camp. On New Years Eve in Breda, as I sat waiting for a bus, two men with Irish accents stood about eight feet away, facing me. One said "We'll get you the way we got [unintelligible]." They later chatted with me as if it had never happened. In January, as I exercised in the camp's gym, an American agent commented "You think this is healthy?" I replied "Yes, I do." He said "I don't think so," and walked away. Not many days afterward, on the road from the camp to town, a motorcycle rider, helmeted and visored, drove straight at me, veering away only at the last second.
My final week at Bethanie found me distracted by a shocking crime. In the camp were two young girls, apparent victims of mind-control programming. "Refugees" -- probably American agents -- were using them as prostitutes, having them perform oral sex on command. One of them, a ten-year-old known as Jalilah, had been at Sandholm in Denmark the year before and also in Elizabeth, New Jersey, that summer. The man presenting himself as her father had lived one floor above me on West Grand Street in Elizabeth, while Jalilah may also have lived somewhere in the neighborhood (this was one of several such "coincidences"). Too upset even to plan my next move, I reported the abuse to camp officials.
Upon hearing in October that the Danes had sent me back to the USA against my will, staff at the camp had assured me "We don't do that here." On February 1, 1993, however, they did exactly that. Dutch Immigration Police seized me and once again forcibly deported me to the country of my torturers.
My mind could not accept this hard Dutch reality, imagining that there must have been some secret purpose in it all, possibly involving investigation and prosecution of the child-prostitution ring at the camp. Using more than half of my remaining money, I returned to Amsterdam on February 4, 1993 and declared at the airport that I had been illegally repatriated (see endnote 8) and was re-applying for refugee status. Authorities put me up for the night in the secure airport holding facility. The next day, however, they advised me that the original decision by the Ministry of Justice would stand, that they would not allow me to enter the country.
In lieu of repatriation, the Dutch allowed me to use my remaining money to fly to Belgium, where the hardest reality of all awaited me. It was a sick American refugee who landed in Brussels that day, suffering weakness and severe cardiac arrhythmias due to stress, possible poisoning, and probable electromagnetic assault with a deadly "biological process control" weapon (see endnote 9). After completing my initial application for political asylum, I asked to see a physician, who sent me by ambulance to Van Helmont Hospital in Vilvoorde. My heart nearly stopped in the Emergency Room.
Jalilah, one of the two girls abused in the Netherlands, was probably in the same hospital. On my second day there, one of the social workers, using the lobby telephone, mentioned a young girl by that name. The room next to mine, I later noticed, contained drawings and decorations made by a child.
Distressing symptoms, possibly the result of medical experimentation with psychotropic medications, marked my first week at the hospital. Strange occurrences led me to the conclusion that my oppressors were not far away. A night nurse on the first floor, for instance, treated me with contempt and refused to administer first aid after I stepped on a small piece of glass from a broken thermometer.
I left Van Helmont on February 15 to pursue my asylum application at the "Little Castle" in Brussels. In comparison with Danish and Dutch refugee reception centers, conditions there were appalling. Though served by respectful staff persons, the meals were nutritionally inadequate. The sleeping quarters, large rooms containing about fourteen beds each with no locks on the doors, provided no security. Toilet facilities were distant and in disrepair; showers were located in a separate building, through an alley with water dripping.
That evening, about ten feet from my bed, a group of East European "refugees" -- probably CIA operatives -- played cards and engaged in raucous conversation, including a few words in English. They laughed about someone they called Jalilah. They seemed amused that someone had drunk "yellow cappuccino." I complained at the office that their behavior made me uneasy, asking to be housed with African refugees instead. The group disbanded.
I slept fully dressed, not willing to remove my sneakers for fear they might disappear. At night, the mice came out of their nest in a locker less than a yard from my head. Awakening to find a rat advancing toward my bed, I scrambled to pull the edge of my blanket out of its reach. In the morning, still very weak physically, and emotionally traumatized as well, I washed and prepared for my interview. The long wait in a crowded room was very difficult.
After a perfunctory interview, Belgian authorities denied my asylum application with no apparent acknowledgment of the issues. The decision, they informed me, ordered me to leave the country by February 22, 1993 and never again return to Belgium, the Netherlands, or Luxembourg. Like the one handed down by the Dutch Ministry of Justice in November, 1992, this decision has since disappeared from among my records, along with airline tickets, hotel receipts, and other papers.
Michel, a staff person at the Little Castle, explained that I could file an appeal, but would have to stay at that facility pending a decision. I broke down, telling him that my health would not permit me to stay there, begging to be sent back to the hospital. He arranged my readmission.
During my eight-month stay at Van Helmont Hospital, I experienced gastrointestinal disorders, deep venous thromboses, visual disturbances, anorexia, mental confusion, severe mental depression, ejaculatory disorder, and neurological deficits (for a time, I could write only with difficulty and did not have sufficient coordination to shave or brush my teeth). No-one helped me file an appeal of my negative asylum decision. A planned repatriation under the auspices of Catholic Charities could not be carried out because the pain in my legs was such that I could not even sit on the edge of my bed. The possibility that I might remain in Europe was not even under consideration.
It is hard to say how much of this may have been the direct result of actions taken by American or other agents. The long-standing campaign to impugn my sanity was certainly part of the agenda. During my hospital stay, someone apparently rendered an arbitrary medical diagnosis of paranoid schizophrenia or delusional disorder (see endnote 10). This spurious diagnosis -- an obvious act of malicious psychiatric discreditation worthy of the KGB -- haunts me to this day.
One day I saw, with her brother, the little girl known as Jalilah, whom agents of my country had degraded and exploited. This was the fourth country in which our paths had crossed. The children were in the custody of someone other than the man who had acted as their "father" in Holland. We didn't speak, or even give a sign of recognition. It concerns me, though, that their sister was not with them.
On another occasion, I saw Jalilah sitting alone in a waiting room. She smiled at me, but seemed to be looking right through me. What was done to this child?
I am very proud of having informed Dutch authorities of the shameful exploitation of these, and possibly other, children by heartless and satanically soulless Americans. Despite the risk and the consequences, I would without hesitation do it all over again.
On October 12, 1993, hospital administrators turned me over to the Belgian police, who imprisoned me as an illegal alien without formal arrest, appearance before a judge, or legal representation. At St. Gilles in Brussels, prisoners were confined 23 hours a day, with no running water. After a day or two, the authorities transferred me to Merksplas, where I soon found myself in a prison psychiatric ward (I had no idea why). Through a hunger strike, I was able to secure transfer to a regular medical ward. At the prison in Leuven, my third place of incarceration in as many weeks, a guard examining the contents of my wallet noticed an identification card from the State of New York, my employer from 1975 to 1988. Reading "Department of Mental Hygiene," he stupidly presumed that the card identified me as a mental patient, showing it derisively to at least two other prison employees.
I had my first cell at Leuven all to myself. There was no bed -- just a mattress on the floor. When I unwittingly retired before the appointed time, a guard entered my cell and shouted at me to get up. Despite a strong smell of insecticide, two fleas hopped onto my mattress. I killed one, but the other escaped. Sleeping without a pillow seemed, in that cell, to inflict particular stress on my arthritic spine. A bright light burned above my head. During my stay, Belgian or American agents stole some of my possessions, most of which have since mysteriously reappeared on this side of the Atlantic.
On or about October 30, 1993, Belgian officials woke me at five in the morning, brought me to Brussels Airport, and offered me the choice of returning to the USA or returning to prison in Belgium. Like the Dutch two years earlier, they required me to sign a statement, this one consenting to repatriation. Realistically, was I in a position to object? What other options were open to me? I thus flew "voluntarily" to my native land, penniless and disheveled, not having had a haircut all year. Still weak and without a home, a much-resented "guest" in my former wife's home, I attempted suicide on November 3, 1993. The hospitalization that followed put the finishing flourishes on a campaign of psychiatric discreditation dating back to 1984. Doctors now regard me as a victim of Delusional Disorder.
Throughout my final expatriation, I had been nothing but a prisoner of circumstance, confined in a hospital and later in a prison, without the strength, connections, or resources necessary to determine my own future, thoroughly disabled and disempowered by American, Dutch, and Belgian agents and their governments. In truth, considering America's obscene interference with my every sincere and legitimate effort, had I ever known real liberty or autonomy in any of my travels since 1991? Was I ever not a prisoner? Have you ever seen how a cat plays with a mouse?
We are dealing here, of course, with professional mind-molesters, intelligence agents and psychological warfare experts and their associates. With no regard for human rights or concepts of dignity and decency, they routinely turn other human beings into toys, tools or weapons. In particular, my torturers and oppressors seem to derive special pleasure from corrupting innocent children, teaching them to serve what is evil -- sometimes sexually -- and to sneer at what is right.
It appears that Dutch and Belgian authorities covering up the sex scandal in Rijsbergen may have spread malicious gossip to the effect that I, allegedly a psychiatric patient, was somehow responsible, possibly a perpetrator. In fact, I broke no law, in Holland or anywhere else — threatened no-one, endangered no-one, assaulted no-one, exploited no-one, molested no-one. I was, as always, the sane, upright, decent, law-abiding advocate for human rights and human dignity.
Here I am now, trapped in America, a captive seized in heaven, held hostage in hell, trying to bear a sea of secrets in baskets woven of words. I am too poor and too sick now to attempt another escape. I get no meaningful response here, find no effective advocacy.
Something must be done about the United States of America. No nation should get away with such crimes as I have experienced and witnessed. No government should have this much influence over other sovereign states, this much power to corrupt and obstruct the processes of truth and justice. For humanity's sake, something must be done.
Let all who read this demand that the United Nations, the United States of America, Denmark, the Netherlands, and Belgium address the issues I have raised, investigate my charges, prosecute the satanic monsters responsible for my ordeal, and provide effective remedies. Throw open the curtain that hides from the world's eyes the horrible hard reality of America's crimes. Let the truth at last be known. Let justice at last be done.
Copyright © James Henry Graf, 1998
Adoption of bioethical standards is a meaningless exercise in a nation whose
government has gone mad, a nation where secrecy provides cover for atrocities.
In the United States of America, arbitrary power has supplanted due process.
Those who really rule here have nothing but contempt for Law, Constitution,
and the common concepts of human rights and human dignity.
Devices exist that can read people's thoughts, broadcast "voices" into their personal space, plant ideas in their heads, monitor their dreams, subject them to dreams that are not theirs, and interfere in distressing and degrading ways with their bodily functions and emotions. Such devices are available as torture implements for use by degenerate criminals. These are facts that we all have a "need to know."
The safety of society depends on the rule of law. All persons of good will must demand that the Executive Branch of the United States Government disclose without delay the existence and nature of these electromagnetic anti-personnel weapons, and submit the use of these devices to strict legal regulation and oversight. Chemical and biological weapons, moreover, should be banned outright, as they are in international law.
Once and for all, this nation must establish that no-one is above the law, that nothing supersedes the Bill of Rights, that national security is, first and foremost, the security of the nation's people, and that human rights apply to all individuals, without distinction.
I offer for the consideration of all persons of good will the following manifesto, setting forth self-evident rights whose clear delineation has become a sad necessity.
From: James Henry Graf (JHGRAF)
To: ALL March. 22, 2002
I suppose the time has come for a formal announcement.
The future of Delphi is dubious. We should all be considering contingency plans.
Strange things have been happening, moreover, with respect to me and this forum. In the past few days, we have had an astounding number of "guest" visits. From just four of such visits on March 15, we jumped to 420 the next day. There were 126 on March 17, 110 on March 18,50 on March 19, 51 on the 20th, and 33 yesterday.
At first, I took this for a positive sign. Since it coincided with the convening of the UN Human Rights Committee in New York, I hoped that somebody might be considering my complaints before that committee.
Apparently, that was not the case. It now seems that somebody has mobilized a large group of individuals for the purpose of trying to "get something on" this forum, as was suggested in the past.
According to a post on the "Wit's End" forum, the increase of guest visits here resulted from action taken by the person who posted that discussion, whose title is "Wacky Delphi Forums!". Starting with the lead message of that discussion, the poster and his cohorts defamed me, subjected me to brutal ridicule, demeaned my personal dignity,called me out of my name, mocked my pain and the pain of innocentothers, lampooned my physical disability, and behaved in a manner than no decent person could support. They also contumaciously flaunted Delphi's Terms of Service.
Delphi's response, however, to my TOS (Terms of Service)complaint was so unsatisfactory as to cause me to wonder whether the fix is in. It could be that somebody intends to make this forum disappear,as others have.
Well, the port in a storm is already established. It is my great pleasure to announce the Human Rights Community on EZ .
It's a class operation -- better, in some respects, than Delphi. The platform is fast and attractive. The system is very flexible. Basic access is free. For the next couple of weeks (for the life of the board if I can cough up $12.00 a month), our community willhave no pop-up ads. Check out my Welcome message at Ezboard.com
EZ calls its boards communities. Within each community, the Administrator can create a number of forums (like the category folders here). It's possible to give a member administrative authority over one or more forums. Nice system. Whatever happens, we're ready.
James Henry Graf
Please Make the UN Do Its Job!
James Graf has created the Human Rights Forum, a fancy message board for mind control victims.
this may be closing soon so use the one above. ThanksE-mail: jhgraf2@earthlink.net
Or jhgraf@delphiforums.com
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