What many do not understand is that those of us who stood up from day 1, us contrarians, us dissidents, have been harassed, tormented, bullied, jailed, threatened, placed at risk by not only whacko people on either side, but even by governments. Due to the insane politics and madness around COVID and IMO, mostly to cover up lies and the murders they have partook in.
Let Naomi explain now:
‘
Van Wolferen, the Meijroos team and I ended the day in a restaurant overlooking a canal. The building had been an inn for three hundred years. I had to try Dutch gin. Upon experiencing the taste of bitterballen, a sublime Dutch delicacy containing minced beef in cream sauce; the luscious lamb dish, the sweet roasted parsnips, and upon admiring the whipped cream served with the trifle for dessert, I felt that there was hope after all. All around me the Dutch were enjoying their beautiful traditional cuisine, admiring their magnificent landscape, speaking their venerable language, with its soft fricatives, that was both addictive and restful to listen to. People laughed, and talked deeply — more deeply than my own people did these days — over the candlelight. (I reflected that whatever had been in the injections imposed on that population, perhaps the effects were milder than was the damage done to us in the US, as the Dutch on the whole seemed less ill, less pale, and less zombie-like than did many of us in America. But all of those observations were impressionistic.)
When it was time for Brian and me to leave the country, we were sorry. We’d miss our new friends. The Meijroos team, after kindly waking at dawn to get us to the airport, drove us through the green fields, in a grey rain.
I’d been to Holland, as noted above, several times; each time, before I’d been cancelled for “wrongthink”, the major news sites had covered my work and reported on my visit. This time around, however, except for the alternative media, there was absolute silence from the mainstream press.
I’d assumed that my message was unwelcome, and popular in general; or that it had gone mostly unheard.
But again — somehow the truth lives its way into a community in need of the information, even after every massive effort has been made to stifle and suppress it. Again, I do not understand how.
On our final day, I had been standing outside of a cafe on the Herengracht, waiting for my publisher’s car to locate me.
“Naomi?” asked a woman in her thirties, whom I did not know. She wore a nice camel-colored raincoat, and had tousled brown hair, and looked like someone who walked a great deal in the wind and sun. She was one of a pleasant-looking couple. She paused on the sidewalk and peered curiously into my face.
“Yes?” I replied cautiously.
“Good job,” she said.’