MICROWAVE WEAPONRY’S USE ON PEOPLE EXPLAINED BY DR BARRIE TROWER
Barrie Trower Talks with Victims of Non-Consensual Microwave and EMF Experimentation and Testing
Barrie Trower states, “In the 1960s I trained at the Government Microwave Warfare Establishment. I worked with the Underwater Bomb disposal unit which used microwaves within its unit. In the 1970s one of my tasks over an eleven year period was to de-brief spies involved in microwave warfare. The location and process that I used I cannot go into as it is still considered secret. I have two Degrees, and a Diploma and in my retirement I now teach Advanced Level Physics, some Mathematics and some Human Physiology at South Dartmoor College. In September 2001 I was commissioned by the Police Federation to write ‘The Tetra Report’.”
Though some consider microwave and EMF weapons the stuff of science fiction, Maj. Doug Rokke, Ph.D., the former head of the US Army’s depleted uranium cleanup project after Gulf War I, says these weapons are very real, and commonly used in military circles. He described to me how he personally used such weapons on a regular basis while training with Special Forces at US Army facilities: “We had them van-mounted, truck-mounted, plane-mounted, and hand-carried. We would go around zapping each other for fun. This was during exercises, or sometimes just as a practical joke.” Rokke assured me that, based on his firsthand knowledge of US military mind-set and capabilities, 9/11 truth activists have undoubtedly been targeted by exotic non-lethal (and lethal) weapons.
Mike Ruppert, the original leader of the 9/11 truth movement, writes that his office was attacked by microwave and/or EMF weapons after he began publishing critiques of the official story of 9/11. The attacks may have contributed to Ruppert’s poor health and distraught frame of mind, which led him to quit the 9/11 truth movement and temporarily flee the USA in 2006.[and commit suicide..see below. The man was a hero..ed.]
Another early 9/11 truth advocate, publisher Byron Belitsos, told me that he and many other 9/11 truth organizers in California were targeted by EMF or microwave weapons during the first years after 9/11. Belitsos says the weapons were wielded by men in plain white vans that would park in front of the victim’s house, and that victims suffered immediate and sometimes extreme health effects including headaches, ringing in the ears, nausea, vomiting, severe depression, dizziness, and loss of consciousness.
Richard Gage, the founder of Architects and Engineers for 9/11 Truth, may have been attacked by the type of EMF or microwave weapon described by Ruppert and Belitsos. In the summer of 2009, in Washington, DC, Gage suddenly suffered vertigo and hearing loss. Activist colleagues who were present suspect some kind of covert attack. Today, Gage still suffers from the after-effects: partial loss of hearing in one ear.
see more: MUST SEE! 1] UK GOVERNMENT+ HIDDEN UHF EMISSIONS ON ITS CITIZENS – 2] MICROWAVE WEAPONRY – A Reality hidden by Propaganda: DR. BARRIE TROWER,+ 3] PROF. MARTIN PALL
http://www.butlincat.blogspot.co.uk/2015/04/microwave-weaponry-reality-hidden-by.
must see! playlist of “Dr. Fred Bell on Radionic Transmission Devices” – Part One
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x4pqK0LVqqA&list=PL8BEDA23F522D2A20
RaysOfTruth
Whistleblower Dr. Fred Bell allegedly was murdered 2 days after doing a Jesse Ventura show…
The unbelievable life and death of Michael C. Ruppert
After decades of struggle, the notorious doomsayer finally found fame and recognition. Then he shot himself.
By the second Sunday of April this year [2014], Michael C. Ruppert was broke. The 63-year-old cop-turned-writer and firebrand gained fame by starring in Collapse, a 2009 documentary in which he predicts society’s destruction. Publicity from the film was great — he went on a countrywide promotional tour — but compensation had fizzled out. By April, he was receiving just a couple hundred dollars per month in royalties to supplement his meager Social Security checks.
In an effort to simplify his life, Ruppert had gradually sold, tossed out, or given away nearly all of his possessions, which included an arsenal of guns, countless books, and government documents. All that remained was a collection of sentimental knickknacks, along with clothes appropriate for a man in his 60s: button-up shirts, dark-colored slacks, a few flannels, a couple of L.L. Bean jackets, and a gray cowboy hat. Everything he owned fit into his burgundy 2000 Lincoln Continental.
For the last eight years, Ruppert had largely lived off the goodwill of friends and followers. When he made public requests for money — either through his weekly podcast, “The Lifeboat Hour,” or in posts to more than 5,000 Facebook followers — he received checks in the mail. When he needed a place to stay, people opened their homes. And it’s no surprise why: to subscribers of his elaborate theories — that the CIA trafficked drugs; that the Bush administration was behind the 9/11 attacks; or that the human race will face extinction by 2030 — Ruppert was a soldier who fought under the banner of truth. In exchange for exposing dark secrets, he was persecuted by authorities and shadowy organizations: he’d received death threats — both explicit and covert, he said — because he knew too much.
So when he made a plea for a place to stay early this year, a follower and friend named Jack Martin in Calistoga, California, offered up a modest trailer. That’s where, on the evening of April 13th, Ruppert committed suicide with a gunshot to the head. According to Ruppert’s friends, his suicide at first seemed sudden and unexpected — a brash decision during a dark moment. But looking back over his life and final days, Ruppert’s suicide resembles a grand finale — the end of a trail he’d been following for decades.
He became the victim of harassment: phone calls with dead silence on the other end; apartment searches while he was out; cars tailing him. He began sleeping with a gun under his pillow
He worked at a 7-Eleven, but was fired on his first day for selling alcohol to a minor. He declared bankruptcy and moved in with his parents. He developed a drinking problem
“That’s what I did 18 years ago, and I got shot at for it.”
“The US government had deliberately leaked the information to the al-Qaeda ‘hijackers’ so that the attacks could be carried out effectively.”
But soon thereafter, FTW imploded. The organization’s offices were vandalized in June 2006. Ruppert initially told readers the break-in was “the work of an organized meth ring that I prevented from infiltrating my business.” Later, the implications became more sinister. Ruppert suggested the meth ring was connected to the CIA. Either way, Ruppert told staff, friends, and readers, his life was in danger. In July 2006, he fled to Caracas, Venezuela, where he planned to report about life under Venezuelan president Hugo Chávez Frias.
But he likely had more sordid reasons for fleeing. In the months prior to his departure, Ruppert had grown fond of a new female hire — according to court records, Ruppert “said he was ‘in love’ with [the female staffer] and told her he was willing to have a ‘sexual relationship … if that’s what she wanted.’” The staffer wasn’t interested. Rather, she “felt shocked and scared” by his advances. After Ruppert fired her in June 2006, she filed a sexual harassment lawsuit against FTW. Among the allegations:
One evening in mid-May when Complainant [the female staffer] and Ruppert were alone in the office, Ruppert began complaining that he had a story he needed to get out, that he needed to free himself, and that it would be great if he could just run around the office naked for a minute to get out his “writer’s block.” Shortly afterward, Complainant was typing at her desk and Ruppert came to her open door, standing in his underwear in a “wide legged stance” with a “big smile.”
Before he left for Venezuela, Ruppert made allegations to anyone who would listen — including a reporter at a local newspaper in Ashland — that the staffer was a “sexual smorgasbord who engaged in sexual blackmail” and that it was actually she who had burglarized FTW’s offices. He also accused her of “being a meth addict and facilitating the use of [his] office to smuggle meth.” None of these assertions were ever supported by police findings. A judge fined FTW $125,000 in damages in the case. But by the time that decision was reached in 2009, FTW had long ago ceased operations. The fine remains unpaid.
After four months in Venezuela, Ruppert fled there, too. He said he had been poisoned — perhaps at the hands of government operatives. That may have been true (his friends told me he emerged from Venezuela very sick; Ruppert’s lawyer, Wes Miller, described him as “a total fucking mess”). But Baker offered an alternative explanation: after asking her and another colleague to take over FTW — and granting them access to more than $20,000 in the company’s bank account — Ruppert squandered the entire reserve. “He was out of money,” Baker told me. “He was like a sieve with money.”
Jenna Orkin, an FTW contributor, housed Ruppert in her Brooklyn home upon his arrival in late 2006. They became lovers, and Orkin helped Ruppert through psychiatric treatments at Bellevue Hospital in Manhattan for depression and suicidal thoughts. Orkin told me over the phone that Ruppert was adept at what she called “public relations” — bending stories to his interpretation of reality. Oftentimes, that interpretation didn’t conform with the real world.
The US Department of Justice had long ago come to a similar conclusion. After Ruppert’s public appearance at the town hall meeting with the director of the CIA, it sent investigators to meet with Ruppert and dig into his accusations about Teddy, the CIA, and the LAPD. The investigators concluded that “while Ruppert communicates his allegations fervently, they have no firm anchor in reality.“
Ruppert told Smith he’d become convinced that the places we live, the cars we drive, the products we buy, the food we consume — the habits that shape industrial human civilization — were leading to our demise. Smith was intrigued. The resulting interviews in late March and early April 2009 became Collapse, a dark, ominous documentary. The film compiled some of the most intriguing facts Ruppert had amassed during his career, along with some of his most dire predictions. Among them: the imminent end of human industrial civilization. Ruppert made “Michael Moore sound like Mr. Rogers,” said one reviewer.
Collapse was well-received and brought Ruppert’s face and message to a wider audience. With his newfound notoriety, Ruppert and a few colleagues built CollapseNET— a reboot of FTW that focused squarely on peak oil and the end of human industrial civilization.
“He was a sweetheart. He seemed so angry and mean. But that wasn’t him at all. It was hilarious to me.”But again, Ruppert lost his footing. In 2012, he moved to Crestone, Colorado and divested from CollapseNET — a move driven by financial struggles, as well as his belief that “multiple ‘systemic’ failures in human civilization … cannot possibly be reversed in this world as it currently operates and approaches crises.” By 2014, he had divested from pretty much everything else, too. Wes Miller — a lawyer and friend who represented Ruppert following the FTW sex harassment debacle, and then helped build CollapseNET — said the onetime hellraiser “didn’t want to fight anymore. He just wanted to do his thing, work on songwriting, and move on to a different life.”
Ruppert started doing more with his band, a downtempo acoustic rock outfit called the New White Trash, and began studying Native American and indigenous teachings. He adopted the name “Tracker of Truth.” Ruppert believed that by divesting from oil and eschewing environmentally harmful practices, humans could forestall extinction. He also spoke publicly about his belief that extraterrestrials were in communication with humans on Earth. Despite his gritted teeth and impassioned declarations about the end of human civilization by 2030 in Apocalypse, Man — the 2014 Vice documentary about him — Ruppert was shaking off his angry persona and settling into a kind of retirement.
Re told me that she and Ruppert met while she was working as a bartender in Crestone, Colorado in July 2012. Their relationship began slowly, but they spoke on the phone daily and eventually became lovers. One day in February of this year, Ruppert told Re that he had to leave Colorado; the Rocky Mountain winter, he said, was kicking his ass.
Ruppert arrived in February with his dog, Rags. A manicured garden and greenhouse sat on the property; Martin and his son grew and sold heirloom tomatoes and watermelons and peppers to local restaurants. They also heeded Ruppert’s warnings about the end of industrial civilization, developing the skills and means to grow their own food and fix their own machines.
Ruppert seemed inspired living on Martin’s land. During his two months there, he roamed the property: a flat plot with a long, dirt driveway, stocked at its southeast end with tractors and old cars and a 6,000 square foot warehouse where a blacksmith and three other tradesman rented space. On his walks, Ruppert smoked Natural American Spirit cigarettes and chatted with whoever crossed his path. The Martins and their friends became his friends. Photographs from Calistoga show Ruppert standing amid Napa Valley greenery, his face and arms reddened by the Northern California sun, his trimmed gray mustache and soul patch surrounding a smile.
Just as he had every Sunday evening at 6PM for years, Ruppert sat at his desk on April 13th and began recording “The Lifeboat Hour.” “Hello everybody, from that nightclub at the end of the world,” he said over music from the New White Trash. After introducing Carolyn Baker, a regular guest, and lamenting yet another environmental disaster in the news, Ruppert got personal.
A week earlier, a production company filming a presentation for the channel H2 flew Ruppert to the Seattle area for on-camera interviews. Ruppert thought the opportunity would be perfect — a means to re-legitimize himself in the mainstream five years after Collapse. Instead, he was disappointed. The first-class treatment, the attention, and the people he encountered made him feel hollow. “It was a daunting experience,” he told his podcast listeners — like “I was in the Matrix.” Everyone he encountered was “going through the motions of what they do in their life.”
“There’s a leadenness out there in the world right now that weighs on us like a blanket.”
In the airport, waiting for his flight home, “I didn’t see a smile anywhere,” he said. “Everybody looked gray, they looked dead, they looked like robots, like they were going through motions…. My perception was that the reality of the collapse of human industrial civilization — or the reality of their reality — is disintegrating in front of everybody.” Later, he said, “There’s a leadenness out there in the world right now that weighs on us like a blanket.”
At 7PM, Ruppert said goodbye to his guests, completing “The Lifeboat Hour.” He spent some time on Facebook. He “liked” a shared post from a friend. A guest on his podcast wrote, “Michael, thank you for your show tonight, friend. Thank you. Your light illuminates the night sky.” He liked that, too. For a half-hour, he sat at the computer; the monitor’s glow shining through the trailer windows as the sun set. Re, who had been living with him since April, was on a road trip in Oregon. Martin and his son were away. Soon, the blacksmith who rented a garage on the property got into his truck and drove off down Martin’s bumpy dirt driveway. By 7:30, Ruppert was alone.
At 7:34 PM, in a Facebook post to his friends and followers, Ruppert wrote: “The Truth awaits just on the other side of the ever dissolving veil where all the screaming and the mess is going on.” A minute later, he sent an email to close friends. “This is my final offering,” he wrote. “I do it for the children so that they might live.”
At 7:45, Ruppert sent an email to Martin. The subject: “Come back to the property right now — urgent.” The email began, “Call the sheriff before you come.” It ended: “Best not to go to the blue and white GMC unless the sheriffs are with you.”
Ruppert walked to the trailer closet and retrieved the only gun he’d brought with him to Calistoga — a .45 caliber GLOCK G30 Subcompact Pistol. Ruppert used clear packing tape to hang instructive notes — “LET THE SHERIFF GO IN FIRST! DON’T TOUCH ANYTHING” — next to the mobile home’s entrance. He stepped out of the trailer and walked about a hundred feet toward the GMC truck. He stood in front of it, with his back to the truck and the mountains. He placed the barrel of the gun to his right temple. A shot rang out in the valley.
A FINAL OFFERING OF FLESH
FOR THE CHILDREN
ABOUT ALL I HAVE LEFT
TO GIVE
MAY IT RELEASE LOVE + LIGHT
INTO A WORLD DYING
IN DARKNESS
He signed it “Tracker of Truth,” before adding a last line, written in lowercase letters, seemingly an afterthought: “There is no more time.”
Ruppert’s suicide notes were designed to make it clear that he’d committed suicide and not been killed by CIA operatives or anyone else. Though a few online conspiracy theorists initially speculated that he’d been assassinated, those rumors soon evaporated.
Ruppert’s friends dismiss the notion that he killed himself as “a final offering of flesh” in preparation for end times. Instead, they told me that suicide was a preoccupation for Ruppert — an impulse that emerged whenever prospects seemed bleak. Cheri Roberts, a Ruppert acquaintance and independent journalist who investigated his suicide before anyone else, said that he saw a kind of dark dignity in suicide; he harbored “suicidal ideations,” she wrote. In 2004, when Gary Webb — the author of the “Dark Alliance” series — was found dead with two gunshot wounds in his head, Ruppert went to Webb’s home in Sacramento to investigate and then dispel rumors that Webb had been killed by CIA operatives. Ruppert kept a photograph of the deceased journalist hung on the wall of his FTW office.
“There is no more time.”
Ruppert talked of suicide so frequently, in fact, that some of the people closest to him dismissed the comments as meaningless. When Ruppert’s ex-wife, Mary — who asked that her last name be withheld from this story — asked Ruppert to sign divorce papers in 1996, Ruppert told her that the mere thought of divorcing her made him want to kill himself. “I just didn’t believe he was serious,” Mary told me. “I thought he was trying to manipulate me. So I told him, ‘Sign the papers first.’”
The thought of Ruppert actually carrying out his own suicide still baffles her. She remembers him as driven toward exposing government corruption and obsessing over his work. But she never took his more recent end-of-the-world doomsaying very seriously. “I thought it was his schtick,” she told me. “I thought it was something he did for the cameras.”
Wes Miller, Ruppert’s lawyer, casts aside suggestions that Ruppert was bipolar, or that his mental illness, coupled with his decision to start drinking again, might’ve pushed him to suicide. But many of Ruppert’s friends are more open to those ideas. “I never confronted him with one of the main aspects of his emotional turmoil,” Carolyn Baker told me, “which was that he left AA in 2004 and told people that his sponsor told him that he was so advanced that he didn’t need to go to meetings anymore.” She continued: “Anyone who confronted him about that was pretty much cut out of his life.”
Doug Lewis, Ruppert’s close friend, Colorado roommate, and bandmate in New White Trash, declined to be interviewed for this story. But Baker told me: “About two weeks before Mike left Colorado to come out to California [in February], Doug confronted him and said, ‘Mike you’re an alcoholic.’ And Mike grabbed Doug by the collar and slammed him against the wall and cursed him out. A week later, [Ruppert] gave notice that ‘I’m leaving.’”
By the end, Ruppert had gone into “full-blown psychosis,” the journalist Cheri Roberts told me. He wanted to take his own life, decided he was going to do it, and “he wasn’t going to let anyone argue with him about it.”
Ruppert’s cousin, Sherry Colliton, came to similar conclusions. When he began selling off his possessions in 2012, he told her he was purging himself of unnecessary baggage. But Colliton now believes he was making final plans. Ruppert moved at least five times between 2006 and his last days in Calistoga. In each new place, with each new roommate or landlord, he set up a revised will, and named a new executor to that will.
He wanted to take his own life, decided he was going to do it, and “he wasn’t going to let anyone argue with him about it.”
In Calistoga, Jack Martin became Ruppert’s final executor. But Jesse Re, his girlfriend at the end, was the person he was closest to.
Last month, I met Re in the South Portland, Oregon suburb of Lake Oswego, where she’s staying in a bunkhouse behind the rental property where Wes Miller, his wife, and their two kids reside. Calm and thoughtful, Re smiles often and frequently punctuates her sentences with laughter. She now cares for Ruppert’s dog, Rags, and is still unabashedly in love with the man: she told me they were “soulmates” and “meant to be together.” Ruppert, she told me, inspired her to try anything, to think about things in new ways. (Though she has no background in journalism, she and Wes Miller are attempting to revitalize CollapseNET as TrackerOfTruth.com, with Re as the site’s star and lead reporter.) That’s why she was willing to uproot her life in Colorado to live with Ruppert in Calistoga merely two weeks before he killed himself.
But on April 11th, two days before his suicide, Ruppert pulled Re aside for a private conversation at the picnic table near the Calistoga mobile home where they stayed.
“He said, ‘I gotta come clean with you about something,’” she remembered. “He told me he was terrified of the state of the world and that he felt like all kinds of people were coming to him for answers and that he didn’t have any. And that he just wanted to let me know where his head was at. Then we talked a little bit more. He talked about near-term extinction and that he felt like things were not headed in a happy direction. He was like, ‘What’s the point?’
“When he said that to me, I told him it reminded me of this line from a Bob Dylan song” — that he not busy being born is busy dying. “Wouldn’t it suck if all 7 billion of us had to go out as though we’d never even been born?
“Later, we sat there and said a prayer together. He told me, ‘I feel a lot better. I’m glad we talked.’ I think back on that, and I think, ‘Maybe he still had hope.’ But that’s not what he was telling me. What he was telling me was that he was done. He was leaving forever. He was just letting me know in that moment that he didn’t have hope.”
VICTIMS OF THE STATE 
I was just telling a friend this pandemic was known and created by the government. That it was no surprise to them as it was to us. Thank you for sharing and I have shared as well.
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tks. Here is one version of who did what to whom – https://www.butlincatsblog.com/2020/03/is-coronavirus-deep-state-bioweapon.html
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thank you!
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