Eyes Wide Open
by Fiona Barnett
Dirty Doctors
People are bastard-coated bastards with bastard filling. – Scrubs (Ep. 407)
Fundamentally, your chosen therapist must not be a network operative. I have
communicated with countless child abuse survivors including victims of ritual abuse and mind
control. Their testimonies plus my own experience formed my conclusion that most therapists
are either perpetrators or being handled by perpetrators. Dodging dirty doctors is a trial and
error process.
It is important for vulnerable victims to not trust therapists just because they are high
profile, lecture at seminars on trauma and dissociation, and write books on DID and MKULTRA. These are all CIA operatives. Think about it: the clean ones, like Corydon Hammond
who presented the famous Greenbaum Speech, invariably get death threats and are quickly
and permanently forced out of the industry.
I will now detail my personal experience of two Canadians therapists considered
experts in ritual abuse, mind control and DID, to drive home my point: Trust no-one.
COLIN ROSS
George Bergen compiled a massive dossier of evidence against Colin Ross including
copies of signed affidavits. While I do not agree victims should follow Bergen’s concluding
recommendation to consult CIA doctor Richard Ofshe, his evidence is relevant to my
experience of Colin Ross. Here is a summary of the dossier content:
From 1985 to 1991, Canadian psychiatrist Colin A. Ross worked at the St. Boniface General
Hospital, University of Manitoba. He employed suggestive questioning, hypnosis, and age
regression, and commonly prescribed overdoses of Halcion (triazolam) and sodium amytal
injections. Ross also performed experimental drug testing on patients for large Drug
Corporations.
Roma Elizabeth Hart was a patient of Colin Ross from 1986 to 1991. In a 1998 signed
affidavit, Hart testified that all of Ross' MPD patients at St Boniface Hospital became suicidal,
and that Ross encouraged his drug-induced patients to commit suicide. Hart named the 1991
death of Wanda Davenport as one of five wrongful deaths Ross caused at the hospital.
Colin Ross was dismissed from his position at St. Boniface General Hospital in 1991 for
causing the wrongful deaths of five patients. This dismissal was covered up, permitting Ross
to register in Texas. In July 1998, Texan authorities charged Colin A. Ross with fraud, gross
negligence, fraudulent concealment, and conspiracy to commit fraud. Charges were also filed
against Ross in the Manitoba Court of Queen's Bench in 1994 and 1997. Numerous complaints
against Colin Ross were submitted to the College of Physicians and Surgeons of Manitoba,
Texas State Board of Medical Examiners, Royal College of Physicians of Canada, and Canadian
Psychiatric Association.
I was aware of Colin Ross’ background when I agreed to present at a 2016 Trauma and
Dissociation conference at the Radisson hotel in Seattle, and I knew that Ross was speaking
at the conference. I did not know that Colin Ross sponsored the event. His ownership of the
conference explained why it amounted to a marketing opportunity for therapists. Speakers
who paid to attend and be heard were rewarded with stalls inside the hotel from which they
peddled cards, stickers, $45 books and fridge magnets to vulnerable DID victims. It also explained why the Seattle conference also served as an advertisement for Colin Ross’ Institute
where clients entered non-suicidal and left in a box.
It is normal for conference organisers to send speakers (especially international ones)
a contract outlining what is required of the speaker and what is being provided to the
speaker. This was promised but never delivered to me. Originally, I was told that my
presentation was going to be professionally filmed. This never occurred either. I was also
promised a plenary speaking session first thing Friday morning when the conference began.
Plenary means speaking in the main, large room with no other competing sessions. Colin Ross’
daughter Dana was given my spot instead. Victims and I had not heard of her.
The conference organisers hid me away in a tiny room at the end of a hall. The
conference schedule was formatted such that it prevented people from finding me. Some
attendees could not find me at all because my biography and presentation synopsis were
missing from their folders. All folders were individually named, so in theory organisers could
control who did and did not know I was speaking. Even when my information was in the
folder, it was well buried.
Technical set-up of the conference rooms occurred on the Thursday. I was scheduled
to speak early the following morning. Come Thursday evening, my room was not set up; it
had no podium, no projector, no microphone, no computer, no cables, and no technical
support. I could not deliver my presentation without basic equipment. I approached the
conference organiser and asked why my room was not set up. She alleged she had specifically
instructed the technician to do so, and to go phone him. Being Australian and having just
arrived in the USA, I had no phone. I eventually found the technician who told me the
conference organiser never instructed him to set up my room.
Meanwhile, the other speakers, aware of my plight, openly boasted of how glad they
were that their rooms were set up for the next morning. Most of them accompanied Colin
Ross to a posh seafood dinner at Seattle’s famous fisherman’s wharf. I was not invited.
Besides, I was too busy trying to remedy the deficiencies of the conference organiser. I
approached the senior Radisson hotel staff member assigned to the conference and
requested a spare podium. The man contemptuously told me Radisson did not have another
podium, pointed to a 50cm high coffee table, and spat, ‘Use that!’
Thirty minutes remained before the Radisson locked their conference rooms for the
evening. It was time to show the Yanks what Australians are famous for. I stole the essential
equipment from another conference room belonging to the woman feeding her face with
lobster after boasting the loudest about how pleased she was that her room was prepared. I
demanded the conference organiser help me carry the equipment to my speaking
room. Radisson staff locked the speaking rooms for the night. I retired to my room for a
delivered burger and crap American TV.
The following morning, I quietly smiled to myself as the hotel foyer echoed a woman’s
hysterical cries: ‘WHERE’S MY PODIUM?!’ Oddly enough, Radisson staff immediately found
that speaker a spare podium.
I delivered my talk to a keen audience which doubled in size once word got out about
who and where I was. Following my two-hour presentation, a victim encountered her own
therapist in the hall who exclaimed, ‘I am so angry at Fiona’s talk! I am so angry that no one
has ever told me that information before!’ Several victims voiced how angry they were for
having made no progress following 20 years of therapy.
My second conference session was an opportunity for the audience to ask me
questions. I commenced this with a scathing attack on the conference. ‘How are all those books and stickers helping you?’ I challenged them. ‘How far along the healing path are you?
Some of you have been in therapy twenty years and got nowhere! Why?’
After this, one therapist pulled me to the conference organiser in the foyer and
practically shouted at her, ‘Why wasn’t Fiona in the main room?! She should have been a
main speaker! She’s amazing! What she said was amazing!’
Multiple attendees asked me to write the content of my presentation down, asked for
my book, asked me to write a book, asked me when my book was being released. I had no
book, I told them, nor any intention of writing one.
Another therapist approached me and said that her client, who was not suicidal,
‘committed suicide’ at Colin Ross’ Institute. It should be impossible to commit suicide in such
a facility. That is the point of a hospital for potentially suicidal DID clients.
‘Do you trust Colin Ross?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know…’ she responded tearfully.
Only two fellow speakers introduced themselves to me over the entire four days. Most
speakers glared or stared oddly at me and the victims who flocked to speak with me. My
attendance had been used to market the conference and draw victims from all over, including
Las Vegas, who came specifically to see me.
The true reason for inviting me to the USA came next: Alaska.
ALISON MILLER
A Tacoma Police social worker lured me to Alaska under the guise of assisting with a
two-week intensive intervention with an alleged DID client. My assistant, Nicky, had been
harping on about visiting Alaska, so the decision to go seemed an obvious way of pleasing her.
So, I swapped my plans to visit my family in Canada, for Autumn in Alaska. Nicky and I travelled
to Anchorage at our own expense.
Canadian psychologist Alison Miller was the DID expert supervisor in this case. Nicky
and I were placed on a roster of volunteers who ‘baby-sat’ the client at night. We were
collected from the airport in Anchorage by social worker Kimber Olson who drove us to a
remote cottage in Eagle River Valley. Nicky and I were not briefed or given a chance to speak
alone with Kimber, prior to being left alone with the client named Sarah. In fact, we never got
to speak with Kimber about the client.
At the cottage, Kimber told Nicky and I (again, in front of the client) that Sarah was
prone to self-harming by cutting. Kimber placed four rolls of cloth bandages on the table and
told us what to do in the likely event Sarah cut herself. We were to bandage Sarah’s wounds
but not contact the hospital or the police because both departments contained members of
the offending cult who ritually abused the client. The large collection of kitchen knives, and
the hunting knife sitting in one of the cottage bedrooms also struck me as counterproductive.
Kimber did not remove these in preparation for Sarah’s stay, nor did she suggest they be
removed. Nicky later removed and hid them of her own volition.
Nicky and I had no transport. The cottage had no cell phone reception. It did have a
landline and internet access. Kimber said she would phone us with the internet password. She
instructed me to provide the internet password to Sarah who worked in IT at a local
University. Her being allowed computer access seemed to contradict the expressed goal of
isolating the client from her alleged cult perpetrators. Kimber also permitted the client to go
out with a friend (her former therapist) one evening, which also seemed counterproductive
to severing external contact. Why, then, are we in a cabin in the middle of nowhere? I
wondered. Yep, that is the point where I should have returned to Anchorage for some halibut and home-brewed root beer. But then I would not have the following awesome story, or dirt
on Alison Miller.
The Eagle River cottage was situated in wild bear and moose territory where, I was
later told, residents had been attacked while simply taking out their trash. Nicky and I were
not warned of the potential risk associated with man-eating wildlife. I specifically asked
whether it was safe for us to hike, whether there were bears, and whether I needed bear
mace. I was told we were safe from bears and did not need mace. It was akin to my assuring
visiting Alaskans it’s safe to swim in the Aussie ocean at night.
So, the following day, Nicky and I went hiking on a nearby trail. The next day, I hiked
for four hours to the top of a nearby mountain. . . alone. I noticed fresh berry-flavoured bear
scat all over. Wide-eyed locals later told me I certainly was at risk of being attacked by a bear
- or even a moose, and that the safest thing to do was make a lot of noise as you hike, to scare
off the bears. I inadvertently did this.
Knowing I was trapped in a setup, I began dialoguing with God out aloud during my
solo hike. I was on a remote mountain in the middle of Alaska with no-one to call me nuts. So,
I went for it, voiced my anger aloud. ‘Meet me at the top of that mountain!’ I shouted at the
sky. ‘Come down and have it out with me, face to face!’
Every time I reached what I thought was the peak, my shoulders slumped at realising
it was another optical illusion behind which the genuine peak teasingly sat. I repeatedly fell
for the same deception. I pressed on, pointing at what must be the actual peak, and yelling at
God like a lunatic, ‘Meet me at the top of that mountain!’
Eventually, I reached the top. I was metres from the tip, and breathless, when
something big, black and silent blocked out the blue sky. It buzzed directly over my head.
Once it passed me, I heard the familiar hum of chopper blades.
My gut dropped. Oh no! A black helicopter – the type you only read about on
conspiracy websites. The mechanical beast stopped nearby, turned sideways to me, and just
hovered there, looking at me. They got me! I’m dead! I surveyed the scene for fresh ideas,
knowing I was trapped. There was nowhere to hide. A dozen excuses for my death flashed
through my mind - Stupid Aussie tourist fell off remote mountain during loan hike…
Suddenly, they took off toward Anchorage. I lifted my tablet and began filming its
departure. Once it was out of sight, I looked around for somewhere to shelter. There was
nothing except a small cleft in one side of the mountain top. I pressed myself against the cleft
while I gathered myself.
The sound of chopper blades returned. I stretched my head around the corner to see
a green army helicopter with a long thin gun on its nose. The craft travelled up the valley a
little further, before turning around and returning to base. That’s more normal, I sighed with
relief, but filmed it anyhow. Then I started my decent. It was getting late and the Alaskan
freeze would soon set in.
That evening, I watched in wonderment as my dissociated right brain had a little chat
with the CIA asset we were babysitting. I smiled sweetly and warned Sarah: ‘I’m confident my
training more than equips me for whatever you think you have planned.’
Nicky and I had already endured two sleepless night when the asset descended the
stairs at 1am. She growled ‘cunt’ at me, turned off all the lights, and chanted: ‘The shedding
of blood for the atonement of sins.’ Sarah entered the kitchen, pulled a large 40cm that she
pre-planted in a drawer, and pointed this at Nicky who stood nearby. I approached, and Sarah
began waved the knife back and forth between Nicky and me. Then I stepped between Nicky and the psycho. ‘Drop the knife!’ I demanded while mentally preparing to grab the nearby
chair and smash it over her head.
Sarah froze. The knife fell from her raised hand. I switched on the light.
I spent the night chatting with Sarah in the lounge room. I also emailed Kimber Olson
and relayed what had just occurred.
The following morning, I phoned Kimber Olson. During our conversation, Kimber told
me she had expected something like the knife incident to occur. She said Alison Miller had
advised her not to spend the night with the client, and in her next breath she asked me to
babysit Sarah alone in the cabin for one more night. Kimber acted surprised when I declined.
I asked Kimber for Alison Miller’s phone number.
I phoned Alison who played down the knife incident, concluding the client would likely
have used the knife on herself instead of us. I disagreed, as did the Seattle homicide detective
I described the experience to, who pointed out the obvious clue - the knife was aimed at Nicky
and I, not Sarah. Alison Miller also expected Nicky and I to babysit Sarah another night.
I emailed Kimber Olsen and told her Nicky and I were at risk and would leave with her
as soon as possible. Kimber emailed me and said she would be collecting the client, and that
Nicky and I may as well stay at the cottage another night. The set-up had become ridiculously
obvious. Kimber repeatedly asked me whether I was going to inform the aggressive knife wielding asset that we were leaving. I refused.
Despite the critical incident, Kimber delayed collecting Nicky and I until the following
evening. This was disturbing because during the day, the client became increasingly agitated
and aggressive toward us. Sarah berated me for speaking with Alison Miller about her. I
responded, ‘Pulling a knife on us was a game changer.’
When Kimber Olson arrived, I asked to speak with her alone. She pulled a mocking
face as though my request was strange, amusing even. During this conversation, Kimber said
she had a bad gut feeling about staying overnight with the client. Kimber then informed us
she would drop Nicky and I off at a hotel before taking the client back to her office for therapy.
I did not want the client (or Kimber) knowing where we were staying, so I asked if we could
instead use the internet at Kimber’s office block to locate a hotel. But Kimber dumped me
and Nicky in the car park outside her office block and made it clear we were not welcome
inside to use her internet. It was dusk, below freezing, and we had no means of finding a hotel
in Anchorage’s commercial district before sunset. We began walking.
The following day, I delivered my presentation to a group of therapists who were
undergoing training in trauma and dissociation under Kimber Olson. The talk was well
received.
‘How long have you been speaking at conferences?’ They asked me during question
time.
‘This is my first time.’
‘Really? You wouldn’t know it. Tell people three years!’ they insisted.
I laughed.
Two experienced psychiatric workers spent the next few days showing us some well
appreciated Alaskan hospitality. They fed us home-caught halibut and chartered a private
boat to tour the glaciers. I wondered to the health professionals whether things were ‘done
a little differently in Alaska.’
‘No,’ the horrified professionals informed me. Their colleague had severely breached
Alaska’s ethical standards and protocols. The two women continually checked whether
Kimber Olsen had contacted us yet. Nicky started showing signs of a trauma response, and the usual protocol was to debrief victims of a critical incident. Yet Kimber never even asked
us asked us what happened, and never contacted us again. So, upon returning to Seattle, I
arranged for the Tacoma Police Social Worker to take us to debrief with Alison Miller in nearby
Canada. Miller agreed to this arrangement but cancelled at the last minute for unconvincing
reasons. Alison Miller never communicated with us again.
* * *
When I returned home to Australia, I relayed my Alaskan adventure to former Special
Forces soldier, Tim Roy. I did not say what I thought the black helicopter was. I simply relayed
the details and then asked for Tim’s opinion.
‘Fiona,’ Tim replied, ‘that black helicopter was exactly what you thought it was.’
I knew the helicopter intended to pick me up on that mountain top. I knew, the
moment its black belly passed over me. I knew it from its peculiar movements, the way it
seemed to baulk and reconsider. What stopped it from picking me up? I puzzled - until it
dawned on me: When the helicopter’s occupants looked down at me, they did not see a lone
figure atop that mountain. They saw someone with me. God had met me at the top of the
mountain after all.
* * *
‘Do you know Michael Salter,’ the Alaskan therapists questioned me following my
presentation.
‘Never heard of him before the Seattle conference,’ I responded.
The Tacoma Police social worker had shown me some texts between her and Salter
that I found irritating. Fellow Australian Michael Salter presented on DID in Seattle and Alaska
in 2015 and said the opposite to what I said: that the Australian government has never been
involved in organised child abuse, ritual abuse or mind control, and that his studies concluded
this type of abuse was non-existent.
‘I will deal with Michael Salter when I return to Australia.’
Michael Salter describes himself as an ‘expert’ in ‘complex trauma,’ ‘organised child
abuse,’ and ‘complex forms of victimisation including organised abuse and technologically facilitated abuse.’ Salter wrote articles with titles like, ‘Why does it take victims of child sex
abuse so long to speak up?’ and co-authored an article on DID with Warrick Middleton (who
said ritual abuse is a ‘metaphor for incest’). Michael Salter sits on the ISSTD (International
Society for the Study of Trauma and Dissociation) Board of Directors, and he is an Associate
Editor of Child Abuse Review (journal of the British Association for the Study and Prevention
of Child Abuse and Neglect). He previously sat on the Blue Knot Foundation Board of Directors
(the organisation Tim Roy says sabotaged his case against VIP perpetrators by refusing to
hand police copies of his evidence.)
I phoned Michael Salter on 11 April 2018, and introduced myself, ‘Hi Michael, this is
Fiona Barnett. I’m writing a book and I called you to clarify something. I spoke on trauma and
dissociation in America, and the therapists I spoke with in Seattle and Alaska said they heard
you speak previously, and that you told them there was no government involvement in ritual
abuse and mind control in Australia. Is that right?’
Salter: ‘I think they’re referring to 2015 when I spoke on organised and ritual abuse. I
talked about my research with forty or so survivors who, when describing electro-shock and other methods, did not do so in connection to the Australian military. It’s a different situation
to the US where there have been credible, consistent reports. Colin Ross has obtained
evidence under FOI. We always have a challenge when allegations are not documented, when
we go public with some things we think we know but can’t prove. The trauma industry has
suffered from people going public and making public claims about people and organisations
which they couldn’t prove. There is a need for evidence more than survivor testimony.’
Me: ‘You say there’s no evidence of CIA mind control in Australia. What about MKULTRA Subproject 84 that was conducted at Sydney University in 1960 under the supervision
of Martin Orne? Orne and Evans subsequently published an article about that research in a
major journal. MK-ULTRA research was conducted at every major Australian university.’
Salter: ‘A few subproject names thrown about. That’s just hearsay. That proves
nothing.’
Me: ‘In their published articles, these people acknowledge that their research was
financed by the Human Ecology Fund - which was a CIA cut-out for funding MK-ULTRA
research, as recorded in the US Library of Congress. That’s called a paper trail! I’m in contact
with James Rothstein who was appointed to the first task force in the US to investigate
organised pedophilia. He discovered a VIP pedophile ring that went all the way to the
White house. He said Watergate solely concerned trying to obtain VIP pedophile records being
held at Democratic headquarters. He said they discovered an identical pedophile ring in
Australia that involved Australian prime ministers, and he is placing me in touch with
Australians who worked on this same ring. He said that every time he got somewhere,
arrested or charged a VIP, it was shut down under national security. He said every cop who
took this above street level was shut down. The same thing happens in Australia. That’s
exactly what happened to Reina Michaelson when she tried to expose this in Victoria.’
Salter raised his voice, ‘I had a lot to do with that case and that is not what happened.’
Me: ‘I know all about that case too. Reina told me that she was placed under
something she called a D-notice, and when I saw her in Sydney, she said she was under
surveillance by ASIO.’
Salter: ‘This is an area that puts people under a lot of pressure, causing them to
become paranoid. Reina talked about electronic weapons and people following her...’
Me: ‘You mentioned Colin Ross. I spoke at his conference, only I didn’t know it was his
conference because that was hidden. When I was there, a therapist approached me and told
me her client suspiciously died in Colin Ross’ clinic. Then a retired detective told me he
researched Colin Ross and found out he had a dubious background including being fired from
a hospital for ethical breaches and having a disproportionate number of patients die in his
care. Then victims complained to me that Ross mocked them during his conference
presentation.’
Salter: ‘Colin Ross is a weird dude! He’s just weird! A lot of paranoia often arises in this
field. Everybody currently working in this field is accused of being a perpetrator. That’s the
first accusation made. I’ve even been accused. Avoid exaggeration. We must be careful what
we take public, what we can’t prove.’
Me: ‘What constitutes evidence?’
Salter: ‘What are we proving? We can use victim testimony to prove that people are
using electrodes.’
Me: ‘So, you say you interviewed forty victims and concluded solely from their witness
testimony that ritual abuse and mind control exist. Yet you dismiss the testimonies of victims who witnessed government organised child trafficking. What’s the difference? How can you
believe one witness testimony but not another?’
Salter: ‘It’s a big jump from making general claims to saying agencies are involved.
Stepping forward with the VIP story gets us nowhere without the evidence. One reason
perpetrators get away with it is because the public don’t know the basics. The basic process
of education is needed because people are stuck in a conspiracy mindset. Ninety-nine percent
of professionals are good people. Most of my students want to become police officers. Police
need to be trained in how to interview DID victims.’
Me: ‘That’s not the problem.’
Salter: ‘Yes, it is! Police need to recognise what to do when a victim starts switching
mid-interview.’
Me: ‘I attended police interviews after I had integrated. The cop who took my
statements was clean. But I was cold called by a lawyer who told me the cop above the one
who took my statements, the one in charge of my investigation, was involved in the child
trafficking network. Sure enough, she stopped my case. A lack of training may be a
contributing factor, and it may be a tactic employed to prevent victims being helped, but the
main problem is getting police to take our statements in the first place. Victims like me never
get anywhere in the first place.’
Salter: ‘I interviewed fifty survivors of severe abuse including ritual abuse, and many
of them made statements and some saw their perpetrators convicted.’
Me: Oh, fifty now? ‘You must be dealing with a different population. During the past
few years, I’ve met hundreds of victims of government child trafficking, and not one of them
had any success with the police or courts. What typically happens with us is, we make a
complaint, the cops raid our home at five am and drag us off to prison for something that was
dealt with twenty years ago.’
Salter: ‘Saying there is a criminal hierarchy, or that the CIA was here, and posting it all
over websites and YouTube, is pointless. Proving anything from thirty years ago is almost
impossible.’
Me: ‘That reminds me of the Royal Commission who told me to my face that they had
no intention of helping current victims, that they exist to help future victims. My response to
that is - current victims are the future.’
Salter: ‘There is no organised child trafficking network. It’s like drugs, lots of people
and small groups all over the place deal in drugs; it’s the same with pedophiles. There is no
organised criminal hierarchy trafficking children.’
Me: ‘There is a hierarchy - because I witnessed it. So, you’re saying victims shouldn’t
bother reporting historical crimes?’
Salter: ‘I’m not advising anyone to do anything.’
Me: ‘I put in a historical complaint to the health board against Antony Kidman. He was
dead within a month of my notification. His security team told the press that he was
immediately placed on suicide watch following my complaint. See, I was not the first to
complain about him.’
Salter: ‘That’s great!’
Me: ‘The Daruk boys’ home is currently under investigation because of my efforts. I
pursued that matter, publicised it and harassed the police until they had to investigate.’
Salter: ‘That’s great!’
Me: ‘My winning tactic was to come from a position of experience where I knew that
I was dealing with a criminal hierarchy. And I achieved that outcome through what I published on my websites and YouTube. You say victims of organised pedophilia should not make police
statements and should not publish our witness testimonies online. So, what you are
effectively saying is - victims like me should not have a voice. I went and made police witness
statements knowing they would go nowhere, because it was healing. Ask any genuine victim
and they will tell you the most important thing to them is justice. All victims have a right to
justice.’
Salter: ‘We have a different standard regarding the public domain and publishing what
you are unable to prove. Like, saying that you have different brain structure, reduces your
credibility.’
Me: ‘Sorry?’ I asked incredulously, ‘Are you talking about the scientific research
published in peer edited journals in which functional MRi scans show that both brain
hemispheres light up when high IQ people perform cognitive tasks, as opposed to when
someone with an average IQ performs the same tasks, only the left hemisphere is activated?’
Salter snidely repeated, ‘Saying that you have different brain structure reduces your
credibility.’
Me: ‘Are you familiar with the work of Linda Silverman, with the research I studied in
gifted education and psychology?’
Salter: ‘When you say something that contradicts history, you lose credibility. When
you say Whitlam and Kerr, who were arch enemies, were in a homosexual relationship, you
lose credibility.’
Me: ‘Firstly, a mainstream journalist wrote an article saying exactly that.’
Salter: ‘A dodgy journalist.’
Me: ‘Secondly, I witnessed them having sex at a pedophile orgy at Parliament House,
along with many other men from opposing political parties. Their public façades have nothing
to with how these politicians act behind closed doors. And, who appointed John Kerr to the
position of Governor General in the first place? Gough Whitlam did, against the better
judgement of his party. So, Whitlam and Kerr certainly were not enemies at that time, were
they? I spoke with a journalist who wrote favourable articles about me. He said he once spoke
to a couple of spooks who told him that all senior politicians are pedophiles because that is
how they are controlled, and he asked me if that was my experience. Do you know David
Donovan who edits the Independent Australia journal that I wrote articles for?’
Salter: ‘I know of him.’
Me: ‘There’s a reason he believed my story. Do you know the film Muriel’s Wedding?’
Salter: ‘Yes.’
Me: ‘That film is mostly based on a true story that occurred in my local area. The
character in the movie called Diedre Chambers is based on a real-life woman who ran a local
post office with her husband; they had twin boys. David Donovan met one of the twins when
he came to pest-control his house. When he realised David was a journalist, he said he had a
story for him. When this twin was young, local mayor Tom Hogan (film-maker P.J. Hogan’s
father) took him to pedophile parties attended by politicians at Terranora Lakes Country Club,
and on an helicopter with Prime Minister Bob Hawke and Opposition Leader Andrew Peacock
who sat and got drunk together like they were old mates… Michael, I just think that when you
tell people at conferences that you interviewed forty or fifty victims, and because they didn’t
say anything about government involvement you conclude there’s no evidence of
government involvement - I think you’re better off saying nothing at all, otherwise you are
only discrediting victims like me.’
Pause.
Salter: ‘Sorry to cut this short, but I have to get some work done. And sorry things got
a little heated at the end.’
Me: ‘That’s okay. This has been a very productive conversation. You have just shown
me the weaknesses in my story that I must address. You have shown me the exact direction
in which I need to take my book. Thank you for that, Michael.’
Salter: ‘Oh, err…okay. Goodbye.’
‘Bye.’
I phoned the USA to bitch about Mr Salter with David Shurter who concluded, ‘You’ve
been triggered because he just spoke to you the way our perpetrators did.’
Then I bitched to James Shanahan who told me Salter was a gay lawyer, and that he
was one of the ‘40 to 50’ victims Salter interviewed for his PhD. James concluded, ‘He’s used
people like me to advance himself. The fact he’s arguing with you and criticising you tells you
what side he’s on.’
I spent my last embers of anger phoning Dr Reina Michaelson who asked me whether
Salter had mentioned that he worked for a NSW Labor Party politician prior to entering the
child abuse industry.
No, Michael Salter had not told me he previously worked for the pedophile political
party that I was sex trafficked to and by as a child, just before he sprung out of nowhere to
steer the narrative and advise therapists concerning ‘complex trauma and organised sexual
abuse’ with zero relevant mental health qualifications or clinical experience.
A Life Sentence
I roll my eyes when some Uni communications student starts bleating a Noam
Chomskyian critique of corporate media and why we shouldn’t be trusted.
- Ross Coulthart,
ASIO
ABUSE SURVIVOR FIONA BARNETT: THE ‘CANDY GIRL’
Fiona Barnett, Independent Australia, 13 October 2015.
In the first of a two-part update, pedophile ring survivor Fiona Barnett shares her
experiences since testifying before the Royal Commission into Institutional Responses to Child
Abuse, including involvement in a documentary, the discovery of key abusers and her ongoing
fight to have authorities investigate her allegations.
I left my 2013 Royal Commission hearing with dashed hopes and a reignited need for
trauma counselling. So, I applied for counselling through NSW Victim Services, who allocated
a psychologist at Living Well Psychology and Counselling.
Following my initial consultation and the disclosure of my Royal Commission
statement, the psychologist wrote in a report to Victim Services that police investigated me
for murdering the relative who abused me as a child — my step-grandfather and Nazi war
criminal Peter Holowczak. (This pedophile actually committed suicide in Sydney whilst I was
residing in Brisbane.) The psychologist’s bizarre allegation contradicted everything I said
during our initial meeting, plus the content of the Royal Commission statement I had shared.
My subsequent complaint resulted in the psychologist appearing before a professional
conduct panel.
NSW Victim Services subsequently approved a replacement psychologist. Soon after
commencing therapy with me, my new therapist was allegedly stalked by thugs who followed
her home one night from her clinic to her remote property and circled her car. Saunders
consequently provided a formal witness statement about the incident to Detective Terry Frost
of the Tweed Heads police. The same men simultaneously stalked my two friends who also
reported their experiences to police. The thugs then tailgated me to my daughter’s primary
school, but I cut their car off and photographed its number plate.
I was again stalked and tailgated on the day of perpetrator Antony Kidman’s funeral
(see pictures above right). Journalist Jonica Bray, accompanied by a photographer and
makeup artists, visited my home to interview me for a potential Woman’s Day magazine story.
This team and my family witnessed, photographed and spoke with the two men who allegedly
admitted they had been hired to ‘keep an eye on’ me.
Since my 2013 hearing, I have fought to make formal witness statements to police.
In May 2014, my husband accompanied me to Tweed Heads police station where I
spent two days detailing multiple crimes of child sex trafficking, abduction, rape and murder.
Detective Terry Frost omitted many crimes involving perpetrators known to have since died.
He concluded that while he found my allegations ‘left field,’ there were numerous unsolved
historical murders in the locations I identified. He said he would immediately send my
statements to Sutherland Shire police.
Prior to making these statements, I had spent a year reliving my childhood abuse with
my psychologist.
The incidents of crime were so numerous and the therapy process so gruelling, my
physical health was severely impacted. To illustrate, the therapy triggered vertigo and heart
problems. On one occasion, these symptoms struck me in the surf and I nearly drowned.
Consequently, my therapist was reluctant to work with my memories. This slowed the process
down, so that by the time the precious opportunity to make witness statements with
Detective Terry Frost arose, I had not finished processing everything. So, I avoided addressing
many crimes during my initial statement making, aware of my legal right to include them later
under my allocated event number: 54671514.
My subsequent attempts to report the remaining crimes were thwarted. My emails
and phone calls to police were stonewalled for a year. Further, in contravention of my legal
rights as a victim of crime, NSW police did not inform me of the progress of the statements I
had made.
On 6 March 2015, I wrote to the NSW Police Commissioner and requested a chance
to complete my witness statements. The Sex Crimes Squad replied on the Commissioner’s
behalf, informing me that my initial statements were now with Sutherland Shire detectives.
Also, in March 2015, I contacted the Federal Police regarding the crimes I experienced in
Canberra — including being prostituted under the name ‘Candy Girl’ to Parliament House and
to an international political leader in the back of a military airplane at Fairbairn Airport. My
communication was ignored until I appealed to the Federal Police Commissioner. An
Operation Attest officer named Louise Hawke contacted me and requested I email her details
of my abuse. I did this and attached numerous crime scene illustrations. The officer
subsequently phoned me and said that, while she believed my account, the historical nature
of my complaints made them too difficult to prosecute. Officer Hawke assured me my
information had been placed on file for future reference and referred me to ACT Victim
Services, who said I qualified for counselling services but not compensation, because the ACT
crimes committed against me had occurred prior to their 1985 cut-off date.
Last July, Australia’s 60 Minutes aired a story about a Westminster pedophile ring
titled, Spies, Lords and Predators. I was abused by an Australian equivalent of that UK ring,
yet there are notable differences. I was trafficked to international VIPs both within Australia
and overseas. This ring involved elements of the Australian military. My perpetrators
operated in close collaboration with the USA government and they employed sophisticated
methods for keeping their operation hidden.
Following the airing of their UK story, 60 Minutes were inundated with phone calls
from Australian pedophile ring victims. A leading child abuse advocacy centre nominated me
to 60 Minutes who are now working on an Australian version of their UK ring story. 60 Minutes
told me they had narrowed their list of Australian victims to 30 possible interviewees. So,
somewhere out there sit 29 alleged fellow victims of the same Australian VIP pedophile ring
that abused me. I urge those potential interviewees to contact me via IA. It would be nice to
have my memories validated by another human, instead of being constantly bashed by
ignorance and denial.
As requested, I sent 60 Minutes reporter Ross Coulthart the information I had so far
supplied state and federal police. Whilst interviewing my friends and associates, Coulthart
questioned the validity of my testimony. He described my memory of being assaulted by a
USA politician in the back of a USA military plane at an Australian military airport as far fetched. Just what do people think international child trafficking looks like? If it is documented
that the USA military and CIA have been involved in drugs and arms trafficking, would child
trafficking be a physical or moral impossibility for these same people?
Ross Coulthart also questioned my memory that a Governor-General raped me during
a pedophile orgy at Parliament House, based on something that all journalists apparently
knew — that this married man was a closet homosexual. Such a conclusion ignores the nature
of perpetrators’ perverted fetishes and the various reasons why VIPs assault children. Within
the context of the crime ring I witnessed, homosexuality, heterosexuality, paedophilia,
bestiality and necrophilia were not mutually exclusive. Perpetrators did not always engage in
these activities out of personal desire or preference, but rather as a means of exerting power
and humiliating their victims.
This year, an independent documentary team began researching my child abuse
experiences. These producers quickly found ample evidence to support my allegations. They
discovered the identity of the man my siblings and I were instructed to call ‘Dr Mark.’ Leonas
Petrauskas was the adopted son of a Lithuanian opera star, and he played basketball for
Lithuania. (My Nazi war criminal grandmother was Lithuanian and friends with Petrauskas.)
Petrauskas owned and worked at the Engadine Medical Centre on the corner of Boronia Ave
and Old Princess Highway. The documentary team obtained copies of Petrauskas’ family
photo albums, passports and Nazi papers. These documents show he was the Nazi doctor who
matched the description of him I have been supplying to institutions for 25 years.
Dr Petrasukas’ crimes were so numerous, evidence of them erupted wherever we
looked — and even where we didn't.
During the documentary excursion, I approached a couple in the Engadine McDonalds'
car park and asked them for directions. Within minutes, the woman told me she was another
victim of Dr Petrauskas, who referred her for deep sleep treatment with Harry Bailey at the
notorious Chelmsford private hospital, which has reported links to Dr Ewen Cameron’s
unethical electroshock experiments in Canada.
Dr Petrauskas attended Sydney University at the same time as another key
perpetrator, Dr Antony Kidman. The documentary team located Antony Kidman’s former
North Sydney home at 16 William Edward St, Longueville. This matched the description I
provided the NSW Psychology Board in my complaint against him. Via realestate.com, I
recognised the lounge room and pool in which I was sexually assaulted by Kidman and his
famous stage actor friend who is still alive. The assault occurred during a post-production
party held at Kidman’s house.
My researchers located and interviewed another perpetrator — a woman who
assisted Dr Petrauskas while he performed an abortion on me. I witnessed this same woman
lure, drug and murder a young male surfer at a remote Kurnell beach.
If that is the type of information amateurs found in their spare time using a $60
internet connection, imagine what the NSW Police could achieve.
My documentary producer contacted the NSW Police media liaison officer and asked
why police refused to take my remaining witness statements. The Detective who took my
initial statements immediately contacted me and said he would not take my remaining
statements until he had heard what Sutherland Police were doing regarding my initial
statements. I argued that I had far more information to add to the content of my original
statements.
The detective finally directed me to travel to Sydney to complete my witness
statements there. Consequently, I approached a Sydney officer I trust and offered to attend
Police Headquarters at my own expense. I am currently liaising with a Sutherland detective
and have made tentative arrangements to meet her at Police Headquarters next month to finish my witness statements. I hope this occurs and that I can achieve some kind of closure
to my child abuse history.
Upon finding the identity of Leonas Petrauskas, as well as another offending medical
doctor who is still alive, I contacted the NSW Coroner and suggested he investigate every birth
and death certificate these doctors ever signed. I said I had witnessed Dr Petrauskas fabricate
medical documentation to cover for crimes including murders. The NSW Coroner said he
could not conduct such an investigation without the direction of the NSW Police. So, I
forwarded the NSW Coroner’s response to the NSW Police Commissioner, asking him to direct
the coroner to investigate my allegations. The Commissioner thanked me in writing for
supplying the information and assured me it had been forwarded to the appropriate
designation.
‘What, the paper shredder?!’ quipped my current Victim Services counsellor.
The corroborative evidence that my documentary makers continue to find in support
of my allegations has been offered to the authorities. If the authorities are not interested in
this evidence, perhaps the public is. My documentary, Candy Girl, is at the editing stage.
* * *
FIONA BARNETT: THE CANDY GIRL, THE ROYAL COMMISSION & THE NSW POLICE
Fiona Barnett, Independent Australia, 23 October 2015.
In the second part of her update, Fiona Barnett details the shocking mistreatment she
has endured from certain NSW Police – and others – since testifying to the Child Abuse Royal
Commission about her experiences as a victim of an international child sex trafficking ring.
The Child Abuse Royal Commission has invested government dollars in an initiative
called 'Message to Australia':
…an opportunity for the people who have bravely told their stories to the Royal
Commission to send a short message to the Australian community about their
experience and their hopes for creating a safer environment for children in the future.
Select victim messages will be published and stored in the public library — under ‘BS.’
If my message were selected for inclusion, it would read:
Don’t come forward as I have done! Don’t place your trust in investigative bodies,
police and therapists. It’s not worth the risk to you and your family. If you insist on
attending professional counselling, do so under a pseudonym and pay cash.
Here’s why:
At my 2013 hearing, I made some reasonable requests: witness protection, a chance
to provide my testimony to police and for police to investigate my allegations. Two years on,
I am still waiting for these requests to be fulfilled. I have not heard from my Royal Commission
case manager since March 2014 when I provided her with additional information. Instead, I
have experienced an increase in police indifference and harassment.
Certain NSW Police dismissed my witness testimony against a VIP pedophile ring as
unworthy of collection and investigation. However, they simultaneously used the witness statements I provided them as grounds for suspending my pistol licence. On 24 December
2014, its Firearms Registry gave me two days to surrender my licence or face possible criminal
charges. Their deadline counted Christmas and Boxing Day as working days. It appears that
Tweed Heads Police sent my witness statements to the state Firearms Registry (located in
nearby Murwillumbah) instead of to Sutherland Shire detectives. When I confronted the
detective with whom I made my statements about this action, he exclaimed: ‘I didn’t do that!’
I told Detective Terry Frost I knew he was innocent.
During a recent conversation with the Sutherland detective inspector in charge of my
case, I was informed that she only recently requested my statements from Tweed Heads
Police and that she has not yet read them. I heard from the Firearms Registry months before
NSW Police told me whether my witness statements were in the hands of Sydney detectives,
or if my allegations were being investigated. Bettina Walker, manager of the NSW Police
Firearms Registry, informed me that she had served 20 years as a police officer and: ‘I know
from experience the content of your statements is true.’
She said that I must undergo a psychiatric evaluation, based on my statement content,
to determine whether I was a risk to myself or the public because of the crimes perpetrated
against me in my childhood. This response from the NSW Police reminded me of AHPRA’s
similar treatment of my child abuse history. Members of the Murwillumbah Pistol Club said
they had not previously seen police target someone’s registration as they had mine. They
concluded it was retaliation for my whistleblowing against an international child trafficking
ring.
Certain NSW Police further contributed to my harassment, by ignoring my requests
for their assistance. During Halloween 2014, I arrived home to find my child’s dog baited and
lying in a pool of blood. Days following the baiting, my next-door neighbour approached my
property in a rage and started smashing at our locked front gate. He screamed at me: ‘I should
have killed that dog! I’m gonna kill that dog!’ He motioned to jump our fence.
A friend (an ex-police officer) was visiting my home at the time. She instinctively
intervened and managed the neighbour’s violence. It took her five minutes to make him leave
my property. She called the police who attended and provided an event number: 56705529.
The police promised to at least caution the neighbour - but did not.
I am convinced the neighbour would have assaulted me, because he previously
assaulted my brother without provocation. Shortly after moving from Wollongong (a major
centre of my childhood abuse), the neighbour approached my brother, who was entering his
car to attend work. The neighbour ambushed him from behind, grabbed him by the throat,
and pinned him to his car. The neighbour, who my brother had not previously met, grinned
and dared my brother: ‘Go on! Hit me!’
By Easter 2015, harassment of my family reached unprecedented intensity. Our
problem neighbour targeted us via his umpteenth vexatious complaint to local authorities —
this time regarding a fence we legally erected years ago. Then another one of my high-profile
perpetrators died, triggering another adverse reaction. Soon after, I suffered a mild head
injury in a bizarre car accident. Not long later, our family therapist caved under the unique
pressures of working with an incomparable case of ‘complex trauma.’ Losing our family
therapist at such a critical moment, the timing appeared orchestrated. Just after our therapist
emailed her sudden decision, our problem neighbour intentionally coated our property in
asthma-inducing fibreglass debris for the third time this year.
Immediately after that, local police targeted our young daughter. Police attended our
family home after 8pm on a Friday. They claimed a pink iPhone 4 had been reported missing
546
three hours earlier and that the Find my iPhone app had determined it was located inside our
home. The senior investigating officer dogmatically asserted that the phone app constituted
infallible technology and was accurate to within two metres. She immediately concluded our
10-year-old daughter had stolen the phone, dismissing any testimony, evidence or suggestion
our daughter might be innocent.
The officer was defensive, aggressive, sarcastic and evasive. She could not provide us
with an event number. She threatened to visit our home and interview our daughter to "jog
her memory" concerning the phone’s whereabouts. She communicated to us that her
questioning would frighten our child into confessing she stole the phone.
I told this officer she did not have permission to interview my child and that she would
have to obtain a warrant. I went without sleep for two days while I placed my daughter in
hiding and lodged a number of complaints to relevant authorities, including to the NSW Police
Commissioner. This was not the first time I had been forced to hide my children.
The offending officer effectively accused my child of committing a crime while in the
care of her school. Consequently, the school became heavily involved. The school's principal
phoned police and told them it was impossible for our child to have come into contact with
the missing phone. The senior investigating officer hung up on the principal who subsequently
labelled her, ‘... a disgrace to the police force.’
My complaints resulted in a formal investigation – which is ongoing – an apology of
sorts and a Police showbag being presented to my bewildered 10-year-old. Every investigating
officer who attended our home said they had not witnessed the screen shot evidence. I have
yet to be shown the alleged screen shot. I do not believe the evidence exists.
When I challenged the offending officer, by asking whether it was possible for
someone to fabricate the screenshot, she agreed it ‘could be a possibility’ but that in 20 years
of policing she could not see why that would occur. After ten years of intense harassment
from a variety of course, including the polices, I fully appreciate why someone would seek to
fabricate evidence against my family.
Such as when police ambushed three family homes and held guns to my husband, I
believe the iPhone incident was fabricated as a means of re-traumatising my family and
silencing my witness testimony. Police demonstrated far more enthusiasm for investigating a
missing pink iPhone 4, than the countless incidents of child abduction, rape and murder I
witnessed as a child victim of an international sex trafficking ring.
In September 2015, despite having been warned three times by the Tweed Shire
Council not to, the offending neighbour again deliberately coated my home in fibre glass
debris. A lawyer subsequently advised me to attend the local Court and apply for an AVO. I
followed this instruction.
Tweed Heads Court staff asked me whether my children would be included on the
AVO, to which I replied: ‘Absolutely.’ The Court then told me that only the police could take
out the AVO. I said the police refused to do this. The Court instructed me to immediately
march next door and ask the Tweed Heads police to take out the AVO on behalf of my family.
I followed this instruction also.
A senior Tweed Heads police officer told me there were insufficient recent incidents
for police to take out an AVO, that what the neighbour did in October 2014 constituted
sufficient grounds, that he could not understand why officers did not do so in 2014, and that
I would have to wait for the neighbour to build up a ‘dossier’ of offences and commit a serious
act of violence against me or my family before police would act in our defence.
The officer provided me with yet another Event Number to add to my dossier:
61680488. He suggested that the neighbour continued to commit crimes against my family
because I was ‘reactive.’ His theory for criminal motivation is inconsistent with the
neighbour’s surprise physical attack on my brother who had never previously met the
offender and so no reaction could have preceded that assault.
In short, the NSW Police have instructed me to wait for a violent man to successfully
seriously injure me or my children in another surprise, unprovoked assault.
Forget Al Qaeda. Our family lives with the tangible threat of being intermittently
terrorised by certain police and random citizens. People, including police and therapists, have
offered glib remedies to our predicament: Just move house. Just act normal and polite when
police turn up. Just ignore the neighbour. If you know you’re going to be attacked, just go on
holiday.554s
We’ve tried all of that — and it doesn’t work. Such advice demonstrates ignorance of
how elite crime rings operate. There is no avoiding an infinitely resourced network that has
infiltrated every level of the Australian political and judicial system, as well as all the major
establishment institutions. There is no reasoning with its members, whose confidence and
arrogance stem from knowing they are protected.
The Australian public often say of child abuse victims: Why didn’t they speak up? Why
didn’t they go to the police? If pedophile rings are as widespread as victims claim, why can’t
the public see any evidence of it? Perhaps, after reading this article, people will better
understand why.
I have endured decades of the types of incidents I describe here, including pet killings,
attacks on my family and bizarre mistreatment from health professionals. I have experienced
random, unprovoked attacks from complete strangers, an undesirable element within the
police force and violent neighbours who suddenly migrate from significant childhood abuse
locations. To the uninformed, these events appear to be mere coincidences or the result of
something I must have done wrong. But to those with knowledge and experience, this is a
recognisable pattern — the modus operandi of a powerful, well-funded child trafficking ring
with a vested interest in silencing witnesses like me.
Therefore, when you see victims publicly testifying before the Royal Commission, or
you encounter a masturbative collection of warm fuzzies boasting the title ‘Messages to
Australia,’ spare a thought for the voiceless mass of victims like me, whose testimonies were
indeed reported but will never be publicly disclosed or addressed — thereby preserving the
myth of the existence of such abuse.
* * *
On Monday 2 November 2015, I took a 6am flight from Gold Coast airport to Sydney.
I was scheduled to complete two days of police witness statements with two Sutherland
detectives at Surrey Hills police station, beginning that day. During the flight, I sat in front of
ABC 4 Corners television presenter Kerry O’Brien who served as PM Gough Whitlam’s press
secretary. The day before this flight, Kerry O’Brien launched his biography about his good
friend of 40 years, Paul Keating. My press conference, which focussed on Paul Keating and
Gough Whitlam being pedophiles, was held the Thursday before Kerry O’Brien’s weekend
book launch. So, my press conference cast a shadow over the book launch of the journalist
seated behind me for the next hour. (And people say there is no God.)
Nicky Davis, Australia’s SNAP representative, was currently negotiating with ABC 4
Corners who expressed interest in interviewing me on television. They subsequently
expressed greater interest in interviewing another victim of Bob Hawke who had come
forward, the daughter of Bob Hawke’s architect Kevin Borland (who had family photos
featuring Bob plus two sisters who were willing to testify that she immediately disclosed Bob
Hawke’s assault to them).
I turned to the guest seated behind me and smiled, ‘Hi, Kerry. I’m due to appear on
your show.’
‘Oh, really? Which story is that?’
‘The VIP pedo ring. I’m the one who delivered the press conference last Thursday.’
Kerry O’Brien gasped in horror and dropped his gaze into the magazine on his lap.
‘I’m on my way to Sydney to make two days of police witness statements.’
He stared in horror at his reading material, nodding out of synch with my words.
‘Don’t worry,’ I assured him, ‘The police will probably want to gag me from further
media exposure anyhow.’
Kerry O’Brien announced his retirement from ABC Four Corners four days later.
After landing in Sydney, I spent the day providing witness statements in the company
of Australia’s SNAP representative, Nicky Davis, plus Sydney’s top court support worker. The
first day ended on the most traumatic part of the two days. For the first time in my life I
described the crime scene where former Prime Minister Paul Keating raped and murdered a
young blonde boy on a remote Kurnell beach, and doctor Leonas Petrauskas made me dig up
the body. I began to sob. It took a moment for the three women to notice.
‘Fiona are you okay?’ they chimed.
No, I was not okay. I was contemplating the incident in depth for the first time in my
life, simply because no one had ever asked me to detail it before. No therapist. No cop. Noone. No-one had ever cared enough to simply ask me what I saw.
Soon after, I floated out of the police station in a cloud of dissociation and headed
toward Central train station. Nicky’s voice was a distant echo as she insisted on accompanying
me to Marrickville, an inner Sydney suburb where I was to meet Dr Reina Michaelson. I had
booked accommodation at the Travelodge Hotel opposite Hyde Park in the city, but I sensed
danger and cancelled at the last minute. I asked Reina to find me alternative accommodation
and tell no one, including me. That way, I figured, if I did not know where I was staying, neither
did anyone else. But ASIO already knew. The government obviously didn’t want Reina and I
speaking privately and comparing information, because ASIO began stalking Reina again from
the moment we spoke. Reina even confronted an agent staking out her house in a white van.
Reina had planned for us to meet at a café just outside Marrickville train station. So, I was
surprised when she met me on the platform. We hugged. Then Reina’s face went from smile
to serious. ‘Fiona, they’re here for you.’
My gut dropped. ‘Who’s here?’ knowing full well who she meant.
‘There are two men stalking me. They’re waiting for you outside the station.’
Nicky, Reina and I remained on the platform as we discussed our options. My training
had already kicked in. Just then, a man brushed past us, growling menacingly.
‘That’s one of them!’ Reina exclaimed.
I sized him up from behind. Military haircut, clean pressed blue work shorts, clean
work boots, high viz yellow bib, off-grid communication device in his right hand. They were
ASIO-T4 protective security thugs – and he was the ringleader.
Must protect Nicky and Reina, I thought. I noticed the smart phone in my hand and
announced: ‘I’m getting a photo.’ I ran after the stalker and took several photos of him from
behind. Then I got as close as possible to his back, positioned my phone, and yelled: ‘Hey!’
He turned around and I snapped a full-frontal shot. His face was clean shaven, his work clothes
clean and crisp. It was 5pm and this guy had certainly not been at work all day. I spun around
with the agility of an acrobat and took off toward Nicky and Reina.
‘He’s coming!’ the girls exclaimed. We quickly exited the train station, but the stranger
caught up with us just outside. His hands were tightly clenched, and his veins popped out of
his outstretched neck as he struggled to contain his rage. I braced myself for a physical assault.
I guarded my cell phone so he couldn’t snatch it from me. His demeanour was reminiscent of
the Holsworthy military thugs from my youth.
‘Why did you take my photo!’ he yelled at me. ‘I was just returning home from work!’
I took a step forward and thrust my finger at his ugly face: ‘You have been stalking her!
(I pointed at Reina) and now you’re stalking me! I’m calling the police!’
He flinched. ‘No, I’m calling the police!’
We exited the platform with Nicky at rear. The thug walked a foot behind Nicky as he
called police and alleged three women were harassing him. Nicky swung around and yelled
for the person on the other end of the line to hear, ‘If we are harassing you – then stop
following us!’
Reina led us to a café around the corner from Marrickville train station. We sat at a
table. ‘There will be a fourth one standing across the road there,’ I pointed across the road,
‘observing the operation from a distance.’
‘Yes, there was!’ Reina and Nicky chimed. ‘We saw him.’
A police car pulled up at the train station entrance which was out of our view. A young
female officer began speaking with two of the ASIO agents. Nicky and Reina expressed their
concern that the stalkers were trying for ‘false arrest’ against me. I noticed additional police
cars circling us like sharks. ‘Those guys only need one police mate,’ I warned, ‘and I’m stuffed.’
I had asked the Sutherland detectives for their cell phone numbers in case something like this
occurred, but they declined. I phoned Sutherland police station and asked for the detective
who took my statement. The desk officer had no idea of my case and I had no time to explain
it to him. ‘Ma’am, stay there and we’ll send an officer to you!’
No, I thought, there are plenty police officers here already.
Reina peeked around the corner again, to gauge what was happening.
‘I’m out of here,’ I told Nicky.
‘No! You can’t go!’
‘I know what I’m doing. I must go now.’
‘No, no! You can’t go!’
‘You’re not listening. It’s time for me to go.’
‘Okay,’ she resigned. ‘Meet us at the Travel Lodge hotel.’
‘Okay,’ I lied.
In Nicky’s words, she turned her head for a moment, looked back – I had disappeared
into thin air.
I fled down a small backstreet at a brusque pace, but not so fast as to arouse suspicion.
I turned right into the first tiny lane, to lose sight of the cop cars circling the main street. It
was a dead end. At the far end of this lane, I pressed my body hard up against a slither of
protruding brick wall and swapped my pink shirt for beige. I caught my breath and thanked
God I had been swimming daily for the past two years.
I spied two shopkeepers chatting from their back porches. They were obviously
wondering what I was doing. I offered, ‘Have you watched the news lately where they
mentioned three prime ministers were pedophiles?’
‘I heard about that,’ responded one woman.
‘Well, that’s me. I’m the witness. I’m in Sydney making police statements and now I’m
being chased by bad men.’
‘You go to police!’ her Asian friend demanded.
How could I explain? ‘Err, not really. That’s not the best thing right now. Some police
are helping the pedophiles.’
Enough time had passed for me to move. I surveyed my options: scale a 10-foot brick
wall at the dead end of the road or return the way I came. I’m too old for this Jason Bourne
shit! I moaned. I’m 46, not 26.
The women read my mind. ‘You can go through that gate,’ one pointed to a spot
behind me, ‘through their back yard, up their front veranda and out their front gate.’
‘Thanks,’ I waved and ran off. I traversed the suburban streets until I found a safe place
to hide, from where I could monitor the passing traffic. My phone rang. It was my detective.
I explained I was in a state of shock, trauma and dissociation, and I had to flee because I didn’t
know whether the cops who turned up at the train station were good or bad. I asked her what
my legal rights were concerning photographing a stranger on a station platform. She said she
did not know but advised me to send the photos to multiple locations and delete them from
my phone.
‘I’ve already done that,’ I said.
The detective tried to convince me to contact Nicky and Reina and reunite with them,
otherwise there would be police looking for me out of concern for my safety.
‘Look,’ I explained, ‘unless you can convince me I’m not going to have some bullshit
charge slapped against me by these pedo stalkers – I’m on the first flight out of here!’
‘No, don’t do that. We want you back tomorrow to finish the statements.’
‘From my perspective, I know it only takes one bad cop to cooperate with those
stalkers. I need you to phone Marrickville police and sort this out. Then phone me back.’
I called my friend who lived in a nearby suburb.
‘What’s happening?’ she asked.
‘I’m in trouble. They’re after me. I’m hiding in the Marrickville backstreets.’
‘I’m at work. I’m forty-five minutes away. Can you get to my place?’
I hung up my mobile which immediately rang. It was my detective. She assured me I
was not in trouble and that everything had been sorted with Marrickville police. She had
contacted the female officer who responded to the stalkers’ call. ‘The men said they were
perplexed that you took a photo, and that they were just innocently returning home from
work.’
‘No. That’s not what they were doing. That’s not what two credible witnesses saw.’
‘The officer did suspect there was another side to the story. I’ve asked for her to send
me her report.’
I emerged from my hiding place and walked down the street. I spied a man closing his
business for the day and approached him, ‘Can you please call me a taxi from your phone? I
don’t want to do it from mine.’ I explained my situation and that I was on the run from some
unsavoury men.
He explained that there was a taxi depot nearby.
‘Can you please walk me to it?’
He agreed.
‘If you carry my bag for me,’ I held it out for him, ‘we will look like a couple.’
The stranger nodded and slung my black duffle bag over his shoulder. We walked
several blocks to a taxi repair depot where my new friend instructed them to get me a taxi.
Within 30 minutes, I was safe in the home of a prominent Sydney barrister.
That evening, I watched as ABC Media Watch presenter Paul Barry personally attacked
me for daring to speak at a press conference about my child abuse, instead of critiquing the
media’s coverage of my press conference as he was supposed to.
Reina Michaelson later phoned me and commented, ‘You were amazing. Everything
you did was perfect.’
‘When will this end,’ I sighed.
‘Fiona, I think this is a life sentence.’
* * *
The NSW Police promised to visit my home and take an estimated five more days of
witness statements. This never occurred. The NSW Police never contacted me again. The
detective who took my statements did raid the Holowczak’s home with police dogs and did
walk the streets interviewing neighbours who supported my account – but the police never
told me this; I heard it from the residents. Later, I was contacted by a Sydney lawyer who
basically told me the Sutherland detective in charge of my case, who grew up in Engadine,
was a member of the child trafficking network she was supposedly investigating.
* * *
Reina was right: I serve a life sentence for crimes committed against me. Antony
Kidman was right: I achieved nothing without the Luciferians’ support. The Luciferian
network’s two-pronged attack - harassment and sabotage - is designed to make victims like
me give up hope. It is designed to induce the state Kidman promoted: Learned Helplessness,
‘the condition in which a person suffers from a sense of powerlessness arising from a
traumatic event or persistent failure to succeed.’
***
Source of Hope
Within
Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for
the hope that you have. (1 Peter 3:15)
Bond University destroyed my career in October 2010. For two years leading up to
that moment, I juggled study with debilitating stroke symptoms, rehabilitation, excessive
scrutiny, sabotage, and my own children’s special needs. Then suddenly my life was still.
Suddenly I noticed I was deeply exhausted. Suddenly I had the time and headspace to sleep.
I slept heavily most days. When not asleep, I watched Christian satellite television, listened to
the Bible, or prayed. I prayed continually for three specific things: vindication, compensation,
and reinstatement.
Three weeks into my hiatus, I fell into a deep sleep in front of the television. An hour
later, I suddenly awoke. I was wide awake. I went from the deepest sleep, to being as awake
as possible. My eyes remained shut as I heard a TV evangelist announce:
‘GOD HAS HEARD YOUR PRAYERS!’
I immediately fell back into a deep slumber. Sometime later, I awoke again. My eyes
stayed closed as I listened:
‘DO NOT FRET ABOUT YOUR SCHOLASTIC CONCERNS.’
I fell deeply asleep again. Then I was suddenly alert, my still eyes closed.
‘YOU WILL BE JUSTIFIED!’
I slept again, and again woke up to the pastor’s loud voice:
‘YOU WILL BE RECOMPENSED!’
Dead asleep. Then wide awake:
‘YOU WILL BE REINSTATED!’
I fell asleep again. I awoke in time to hear the pastor’s final words: ‘I had not intended
to give this sermon. I had something else planned. I don’t know why I gave this sermon.
Perhaps there is someone out there who needed to hear it.’
Jon ignored me when I tried to tell him that God spoke to me through the television
set. So, I relayed the strange experience to my psychologist friend Luciana who laughed hard
at my exhibiting classic signs of the very thing Bond tried framing me with.
The following Sunday, I awoke at 6am and could not fall back to sleep. I then did
something I never usually did, I went into our lounge room, turned on the television and
flicked through the Christian satellite channels. Jon then did something he never typically
does. He emerged from the bedroom and joined me. We caught the end of a story about a
university student who took a moral stand against something she believed in. The student
was consequently victimised by university staff. What started as something small snowballed
until the university was eventually investigated by a powerful external body. In response, the
student said, many of the offending lecturers chose to resign instead of implementing the
recommended changes. The remaining university lecturers approached the student and
admitted she had been in the right all along.
Jon’s mouth dropped open and he glanced at me like one of those rotating fairground
clown heads that devour ping-pong balls.
‘See,’ I smiled, ‘I told you the television was talking to me.’
I phoned Luciana and handed the phone to Jon who confirmed, ‘Yes, Luciana, the
television talked to me too.’
‘Fiona,’ Luciana marvelled, ‘You’re like a clairvoyant or something. People think you’re
weird because you say all these things without any evidence for it, and it makes you sound
paranoid and crazy. But then, months later - it all comes true!’
* * *
Anything Except the Biblical Jesus Christ
In today’s Western society it is acceptable to embrace all kinds of weird spiritual
beliefs. It is fine to be a Zen Buddhist and believe in reincarnation, or to consult an Indian guru
for advice on mantra. It is cool to embrace the Mormon belief that they will populate their
own polygamist planet, or to experience Shamanic visions and communicate with animal
spirits, or to dance naked in the forest and chant to Mother Earth. It is acceptable for people
to gather in the mountains and wait for visitations from alien UFOs. It is normal to consult
mediums and spirits to find out how your dead loved ones are faring in the afterlife. It is
acceptable to speak of the ethereal concept of a ‘Christ consciousness.’ It is even okay to be
a Satanist and attend conferences and ritual orgies. In fact, all these beliefs and practises are
deemed ‘culturally acceptable’ by mental health practitioners. It is hip to be anything these
days – except one thing: it is not okay to be a Bible believing Christian. If I say I communicate
with my God, or if I experience strange events in the context of my Christian beliefs, then that
apparently makes me crazy. I am labelled a crazy right-wing fundamentalist because the
people doing the labelling are Luciferians who hate God and who strive to achieve the
opposite of everything the Bible says. 560s
My Secret Source of Strength
I was asked on social media: To what do you attribute your ability to not only survive
the unspeakable but thrive? You seem to be thriving to me. You are powerful.
Firstly, I do not always thrive. My supporters simply do not get to witness my private
meltdowns. I too was once fragile and frightened, and at times I still feel threatened and
anxious; hence I still suffer with Complex PTSD. But I get what people mean. I seem to thrive
relative to the condition most victims of extreme abuse are seemingly in. Many victims are
curled up in foetal positions in the corner of some psychiatric ward. Or they have committed
suicide already. But those are the visible victims. People do not realise that through mind
control the filthy rich elite have created an invisible population of survivors who appear to
function within society. These victims walk around oblivious to the content of their implicit
memory systems. Their core issues manifest as numbness, or mental health issues for which
they take prescription medicine, or else they drink, sex, or work to distract themselves from
the unspeakable reality. Mental health issues only overcome those in conflict with their
implicit involvement in clandestine cult and network activities.
And yes, I was born with innate abilities that helped me survive. The qualities that
John Gittinger and his vile associates selected me for are the very same ones I employed to
fight their programming. Their training is what I used to defend myself against their agents. I
turned their skills on them and bit them on the arse like an angry dog. But I am only what God
made me, and what Gittinger tampered with. God created me an introvert like every other
member of my large family. Gittinger changed me to an extrovert. If Gittinger had not
changed me to an extrovert, I would not have been able to speak publicly and interact with
victims the way I have. It is as the Bible says:
But as for you, you thought evil against me; but God meant it unto good, to bring to
pass, as it is this day, to save many people alive.
My survival is testament to the existence and authority of Jesus Christ. My belief in
the Biblical God and His only son Jesus Christ is the fundamental reason I managed to recover
my memories without cracking or dying. That is my big secret. That is my source of hope in
the face of adversity. That is where I found the courage and strength to defy my abusers and
dare to heal. Deep down I know that Jesus Christ is Lord, that this world is under the
temporary occupancy and rule of Lucifer and his vile minions, and that there is a real, tangible
afterlife as described in the Bible. Yes, I am a crap Christian. My abusers specifically targeted
my childhood belief in God and made it near impossible to relax, pray, concentrate on reading
the Bible, and trust in an all-powerful, all-knowing, ever-present Creator.
It has been difficult to reconcile why this same God allowed one innocent child to
experience so much pain and terror. I sometimes ask, why did God let one little girl experience
more hell on earth than ten thousand lives combined? What is the point to all this? Why does
God let bad things happen to innocent people? Why am I still here? It is not enough to just
survive, with my head barely above the flood waters. I want a break. I want peace. When will
God avenge me? When will he silence and destroy my enemies? Where is my vindication,
compensation and reinstatement? Where is my Job-like ending? Job’s life was a picnic
compared to mine. His calamity struck all at once during his adulthood, and he had a stable
childhood development to fall back on. I had no such base. These are the questions and
arguments I share with God as I stomp around in frustration, anger and anxiety.
Why Do Bad Things Happen to Innocent People?
I was in my early 20s when I grasped the story and meaning of Job. Job was a wealthy,
righteous and socially respected man. God and Satan had a wager at Job’s expense. God
instigated Satan’s focus on Job by asking him whether he had considered Job and how upright
he was. Satan responded by accusing God of wrapping Job up in cotton wool, and he
challenged God by betting, if God took everything from Job, the man would curse God. So,
God gave Satan permission to rob Job of his possessions, then his kids, then his health. Even
worse, Job’s wife began nagging him. Then Job’s mates accused Job of having done something
wrong to attract such calamity. In all this, Job still did not blame God.
For many Bible pages, Job debated with his three friends. He challenged God to appear
so that he can have it out with Him in person, like I did atop that Alaskan mountain. Finally,
God did appear before Job and his three friends. At this, Job dropped to the ground in terror.
For many pages, God asked Job many questions about the natural world. God asked Job
whether he is able to feed all the wild animals, control the weather, or physically wrestle wild
beasts. Job crapped himself in awe and admitted he knew nothing about such things. Finally,
God told Job: ‘Listen, there is more going on in this world than you can imagine. So, until you
know how to run the physical world, don’t tell me how to run the spiritual world.’ In the end,
Job was restored, in a sense. He had a second family of kids who were the most handsome in
the land, greater wealth, and was publicly vindicated before his mates.
Justice is Coming
People discredit the existence of the Biblical God by saying a loving God would never
throw people in Hell. They also question why a caring God would let such horror happen to
innocent children like me. Here is my understanding of such matters. Firstly, God gave
humans free will to do as they choose. The things some people chose to do, the Bible says,
are so evil that they never entered God’s mind as being possible:
And they built the high places of Baal, which are in the valley of the son of Hinnom, to
cause their sons and their daughters to pass through the fire unto Molech; which I
commanded them not, neither came it into my mind, that they should do this
abomination, to cause Judah to sin.
For a person to be judged and sentenced to prison, they must first commit the crime.
God allows perpetrators to rape, torture, and kill children because if they did not physically
act on their potential and desire for evil, they could not subsequently be judged and eternally
punished by God, and so they would qualify for Heaven. I don’t want to spend eternity with
Luciferian pedophile scum like Kidman.
God showed Ezekiel a vision of the priests secretly performing cult rituals inside the
Temple, and asked:
Is it nothing to the people of Judah that they commit these detestable sins, leading the
whole nation into violence, thumbing their noses at me, provoking my anger?
Therefore, I will respond in fury. I will neither pity nor spare them. And though they cry
for mercy, I will not listen.
God then instructed an angel to: Walk through the streets of Jerusalem and place a
mark upon the foreheads of all who weep and sigh because of the abominations being
committed in their city.
God then instructed five more angels to: Follow him through the city and kill everyone
whose forehead is not marked. Show no mercy; have no pity! Kill them all – old and
young, girls and women and little children. But do not touch anyone with the mark.
Begin here at the Temple. So, they began by killing the 70 leaders…
God said: The sins of the people of Israel and Judah are very, very great. The entire
land is full of murder; the city is filled with injustice. They are saying, ‘The LORD doesn’t
see it! The LORD has abandoned the land!’ …I will fully repay them for all they have
done.
God hates the satanic ritual murder of babies. Human sacrifice is the ‘abomination
that causes desolation’ which will occur in the Third temple. Luciferian ritual and sacrifice are
the root cause of social decline. The Old Testament is simply a history of God’s chosen people
oscillating between worshipping the Biblical God and worshipping Lucifer. When they served
God, the Jews prospered. When they practised Satanism and sacrificed their babies to
Moloch, their society fell apart.
So, it is today. The 350,000-strong Belgian march against their government’s child
trafficking operation proves that people power can’t fix this. Only the direct intervention of God can clean up the mess Western society is in for throwing out the Ten Commandments,
school prayer, and Christian morals, in exchange for witchcraft and pornography, drugs and
divorce. That is why another Passover is coming – to end this evil age. Instead of painting
lamb’s blood over their door lintels, an invisible mark is placed in the foreheads of those who
believe in the Lamb of God. Those spiritually marked by God will be spared from the coming
holocaust in which the Bible predicts two thirds of Jewish people will die.
I saw another angel ascending from the rising of the sun, having the seal of the living
God, and he called with a loud voice to the four angels who had been given power to
damage earth and sea, saying, ‘Do not damage the earth or the sea or the trees, until
we have marked the servants of our God with a seal in their foreheads.’
God will exact justice. He will issue the death penalty. His order of vengeance will
mimic that recorded in Ezekiel. It will start at the Temple, with allowing the Luciferians to
perpetrate another holocaust against the apostate Christian churches and Jewish
Synagogues, before turning His sword of justice against the Luciferians themselves.
What can we do to help?
People often asked me on social media, ‘What can I do to help the plight of victims?’ I
am only one voice, they think. How can I possibly make an impact on such a vast operation?
As the above Ezekiel vision shows – the most important thing is to care. If you care, that will
influence your every action and at least prevent you from contributing to the problem. God
marked and spared those who felt anguish over what the Luciferian pedophiles have done to
mankind.
We have only two sides to choose from: good or evil, no shades of grey. This is
increasingly evident as the Luciferian pedophiles make their move for global control. I have
tried to relay in this book how this has come to be, and how their system of control works.
Hopefully, this book helps to make sense of everything that does not make sense.
Jesus Christ instructed His followers to be witnesses for the truth. A witness takes the
stand and tells the court what they personally experienced. Christians were not asked to play
judge, jury, prosecutor, or defence attorney. We are not here to argue and prove. We are
here to testify to what we believe and why, to explain the reason for our sense of hope when
people ask.
A pastor asked me whether I was going to get someone reputable to write a forward
in this book and so vouch for my credibility – and by extension, my sanity. I responded, ‘Who
do you suggest will raise their hand to have an ASIO target painted on their head? I have a
psychiatrist who was the Royal Commission’s first choice of expert witness to publicly testify
regarding the impact of child abuse on adults. But she would be stripped of her registration if
she endorsed this book. And who am I trying to convince anyhow? If people aren’t convinced
of my story after reading Relevance of Intelligence which contains complex, previously
unpublished information - nothing will convince them. If people don’t want to believe me,
then my book is not for them. They are not my target audience. In fact, I don’t want them to
read my book.
‘My target audience are the victims who recognise my testimony because they
themselves lived it. My target audience are victims who don’t dare respond to me on social
media for fear of being detected. My audience is the person who writes to tell me: “You are
the reason I get up in the morning,” or “I believe in God because of you.” Do you think I care
557
what the public say about me? I am very experienced at being hated: I’ve been defamed on
national TV by the ABC, I was slandered to the Psychology Board, I was continually vilified on
social media. I just soldiered on through their incessant attacks, which is the reason I got so
far with my story - I did not crumble at their insults. So, as if I care now what people, who
don’t want to know the truth, think of my book.’
‘Your story is hard to swallow,’ he concluded.
‘Then they are going to have a hard time swallowing what the Bible says is coming
next. My book is just the appetiser for the main course described in Revelation. The Bible says
men’s hearts will fail them for fear of what’s coming. What do you think could cause people
to drop dead in fear like that? If people can’t handle my book, how will they handle it when
what I witnessed under Pine Gap manifests and enters their own homes? My job is to just tell
people what I experienced. Their choice how they receive it. Duty of care fulfilled.’
I left the most unbelievable things out of this book. I have tasted the spiritual and seen
things that I can’t begin to share here, things which prevent me from denying the existence
and authority of God. My supernatural experiences of God’s authority and power are relative
to my experiences of the most vile and evil darkness. That is a fair balance.
I understand that God’s nature is softer and gentler than I thought. I know that He
only bothers disciplining and changing the character of those He cares about. I know He never
pushes us beyond what we can endure but squishes us right up against that line. I know that
somehow God weaves everything together so that in the end, it will all make sense. I know
that God can take what people intended to harm and destroy me and turn it into the best
thing that could have happened. Yet intellectually knowing and emotionally feeling are two
different things. Life hurts. Life is pain.
Happiness stems from a word meaning ‘luck.’ Happiness is a transient state of being
which depends on current external circumstances. Joy, however, transcends our physical
surrounds, and is a result of belief and faith in God. I might not be happy with my worldly
situation - extremely unhappy. I’m not that joyful either. But I do have a sense of hope. They
can rob me of my social reputation and standing, destroy my career, kill my every interest,
ruin my finances, break my marriage, threaten my kids, poison my pets, turn my family against
me, take my friends, decimate my physical health, and publicly mock me in the media. The
one thing they can never destroy is my belief in Jesus Christ.
True ‘transhumanism’ and eternal life are attained by simply believing in Jesus Christ,
believing that He is who the Bible says He is. Remember the thief hanging next to Jesus during
the crucifixion? All he said was, ‘Jesus, remember me when you come into your Kingdom.’
Jesus replied, ‘Sure thing.’ All the thief did to gain what these Luciferians have been struggling
to invent themselves was believe and ask. No Kundalini serpent crap, no legalism, no
exchange of money, no dressing and speaking the right way, no secret doctrine, no ten steps
to this or eight steps to that, no magic, alchemy or technology. Just belief and request.
I believe God can restore me if he chooses. I believe He will indeed vindicate,
compensate, and reinstate me. But exactly how He will do that, I have no idea. It will likely
not occur in this life. And in the great scheme of things it does not matter. What matters is
that Heaven and the Lake of Fire are real, tangible places – just as real as what we physically
perceive right now. Have you ever sat too close to a campfire so that it became
uncomfortable? Have you ever experienced a traumatic accident? Have you ever felt the pain
of losing a loved one? Take every horrible thing that could happen to a human being and
multiple it - and continue increasing it. The result does not begin to touch on what awaits our
enemies. Justice does exist. God’s justice will ultimately prevail.
Belief in God’s omnipotence, omniscience, and omnipresence is my secret survival
tactic. That is my source of hope within.
source and last chapter here
https://fionabarnettblog.files.wordpress.com/2020/06/ewo_june2020_lockdownedition.pdf
