Dispatches from the War: Trump and Fauci, a marriage made in the Beelzebub Room of the White House


Jon Rappoport – 7/14/2020

Welcome to Let’s Pretend.  Let’s pretend everything is OK – and Nice and Polite are going to win the day. No one is going to have to give up his position in life or his security.  The missiles fired into the heart of the economy will have no lasting effects.  Politicians whose only skills are lying an padding their pockets will put things right.  Fascist governors and mayors will soon abdicate their power and never lock down their populations again, no matter what.  It was all just a bad dream.  A cloud passing over the sun for a few minutes.

There’s a reason MY contact tracing led to YOU, Mr. Trump.

You’re the only one left in the menagerie.  You’re the last political animal ultimately responsible.  You could have pushed back the invaders.

Several times you’ve said, “It’s no good if the cure is worse than the disease.”  Surely you understand by now, the so-called cure IS the disease.  The H-bomb that went off in the middle of the economy was and is the whole point of the invasion, which has been taking place with your approval.

With your assistance – as a result of your marriage with Tony Fauci.

Let’s put aside the gloss, Mr. Trump.  You understand the real effects of the lockdowns.  The effects that the networks refuse to admit on the evening news.

There is the symbolic economy, represented by the careening up and down stock market.  Then there is the real thing—the businesses and lives destroyed, and freedoms lost.

Nixon and Kissinger.  Bush and Cheney.  Bill and Hillary.  They don’t hold a candle to you and Fauci.

You and Fauci have spread vast clouds of overblown lies about the “pandemic” and the fascist measures needed to stem it.

That’s a crime you’ll have to live with.

You could have done something about it.  The governors won’t.  The mayors won’t.  Believe me, I’ve looked high and low to find someone other than you, to whom I could send these dispatches.  Some noble figure in the American landscape with power, who could turn the tide in the economic war against the people.  I don’t see one. Of course, there is no one because you’re the last default person in position of responsibility. The buck stops with you.

You sat in the Oval, when Fauci slithered up to you with the absurd computer projections Neil Ferguson produced, and that psychopathic freak, Bill Gates, bankrolled.  You accepted the numbers of deaths Ferguson predicted.  Two million in the US.  You never had your people investigate Ferguson.  In an hour, they could have discovered he had a long track record of deceptions and failures.  Deception is his whole story.  Yet, you took those numbers and allowed Fauci to run with them. Leading the nation into a crushing economic dead-end.

So you see, you’re on the enemy’s side in this war against the people.  If you were a real General you would have fired Fauci and stood up straight and reclaimed your own soul.

If hundreds of thousands or millions of enemy soldiers were encamped in cities and towns across USA right now, smashing the American engines of production wouldn’t you act – if you were a real General?

Well, the US governors and mayors and public health officials are our enemies, and their lockdowns were and are the war.  But you do nothing to liberate those towns and cities. Instead, you reinforce those enemies of the people.

You help perpetrate the media delusion that all is well in America, if we just “stick together,” which means bowing down to the masks and the distancing and the dehumanizing and the isolating and the tracing and the testing and the vaccinating and the shredding of the economy.

As you know, COVID is one supermax lie.  Nothing worse than a flu season is happening in the world.

Of course, I’m out of my mind.  I must be.  Who could imagine a president in today’s government standing up to liberate the people, so they could live free?


The people are supposed to huddle in fear.  And wait for the keeper of the cage to open the door.

So we can go out for a little while.

Right, Mr. President?

Until the next time – the next wave – the next crisis—tomorrow.


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