I’m going away overnight to visit family. I’ll be back sometime tomorrow afternoon or evening.
Comments won’t be approved until after I come back. There will be no news feed tonight, but there should be one tomorrow night.
Vlad Tepes is experiencing unprecedented technical difficulties, and advises readers to use this temporary alternate site: vladtepesblog.net
Here’s what he said earlier today:
The domain registrar, GoDaddy.com, without warning, notice or explanation, has decided to remove access from the owner, the domain Vladtepesblog.com
The site for now is up and running at Vladtepesblog.net while we try and get our property back.
Please click over there to access the site and comment.
More to come in the near future.
Today is the first anniversary of my wife Dymphna’s death. The future Baron is here, and he and I are going to venture out into the rain and pick some flowers from her flowerbeds (I see coreopsis, coneflower, butterfly weed, and various other blooms I don’t know the names of). We’re planning to meet some friends at the churchyard and put the flowers on her grave.
So posting may be light today.
I posted a photo of Dymphna during last month’s fundraiser, and said I thought it would be the last one. However, I decided to add one more, and you can see it at the top of this post.
The occasion was the baptism of the future Baron in the late 1980s, when he was still a rug rat. He held up pretty well until his mother lowered him over the font to get sprinkled. He got a little upset, but never started to cry. At the left is the late Bishop Charles Vaché.
The original is blurry, since it was taken indoors without a flash. I couldn’t make it any sharper than that.
Dymphna probably told the you following story at some point, but I’ll tell it again. It happened in the parish hall after the baptism. The bishop was filling out the entry in the baptism book. He wanted to enter the date, and said, “What day is it?”
Dymphna was nearby, and, being a good Catholic girl, responded promptly: “St. Joseph’s Feast Day.”
The bishop waited politely, holding his pen poised. And waited. And waited. Dymphna had moved on into the kitchen, not realizing that she had baffled the bishop.
Finally, someone else told him it was March 19.
And that was my wife. There was no one else quite like her.
Have a blessed day, everyone.
The central preoccupation of Americans — those who are literate enough to be preoccupied with history — is the Civil War, a.k.a. the War Between the States, a.k.a. the Recent Unpleasantness. The degree of preoccupation varies according to the distance between where one lives and the areas where most of the fighting took place. Since Virginia is the state where most of the battles were fought, any Virginia family — black or white — of sufficiently long lineage can tell you stories that have been passed down from generation to generation for a century and a half.
Mind you, I’m not talking about the hysterical preoccupation with “racism”, “slavery”, and “oppression” that is raging in the land as I write these words. I’m talking about a deep and abiding interest in the tragic years 1861-1865 generated by the impact they had on one’s family and environment.
I wrote about such matters in my poem “Sayler’s Creek” (the full text is here), which opens with these stanzas:
There is too much history here in Virginia;
we are drowning in its muddy flood.
Every April sweeps its pontoons from their moorings
on the North Fork of the Shenandoah
with Federal soldiers watching helplessly from the bank.
Every pitcher toeing the mound
scuffs up a lode of Minié balls.
A metal detector swept over any ravine
uncovers the belt buckles and canteens
urgently shed by fleeing infantry.
A faded daguerreotype of General Lee
stares down from every wall,
a stern reminder of all that vanished glory.
The top drawer of every dusty dresser
in every second-hand shop
opens to reveal a brittle bundle of worthless banknotes.
Everyone’s great-great-uncle Theophrastus
led the charge at the Crater.
That poem was written in 1996, when one could still see photographs of General Lee here and there in public places. Those days are gone, alas. A rearguard action is even now being fought against the removal of his statue from Monument Avenue in Richmond, but the cause is just as lost as it was the spring of 1865. The Wokerati will prevail. The last depictions of Robert E. Lee and Stonewall Jackson will eventually be erased from public view in the Commonwealth, no matter what the average Virginia citizen might think of the matter. All objective accounts of Confederate history will be removed from high school and university curricula. The stories will be passed down by word of mouth only. The artifacts and written accounts of the events of those years will be confined to private collections and family attics.
And one such attic will obviously be mine.
There are little pieces of family lore in the stanzas of my poem. My mother’s great-great uncle was famous for leading the charge at the Crater in Petersburg, but his name wasn’t Theophrastus. He was Brigadier General David Weisiger (pronounced “Wizziger”, for readers who live outside the Richmond area), and was renowned, at least in Virginia, for his heroism on that day.
I am also in possession of a brittle bundle of worthless banknotes from the period. For many years they were kept in the top drawer of Dymphna’s and my dresser.
My grandmother’s first cousin (i.e. my first cousin twice removed) was the only daughter of the eldest daughter (there were five daughters, no sons) of David Weisiger’s brother, so she inherited most of the family heirlooms from the plantation. She never married, and when she died the various items were divided among her cousins.
The largest pieces of furniture went to my uncle and my mother. The item that I coveted most was a plantation medical kit, which was a wooden cabinet with little drawers and cubbies for medicinal substances, surgical implements, etc. I remember one drawer was labeled “Opium”, and there was a dried black tarry residue at the bottom of it. I really wanted that cabinet, but it went to one of my cousins.
One of the few things I received (which I had also wanted) was an envelope full of Confederate money. I’ve scanned some of the notes to display here.
In my bundle of worthless banknotes are two hundred-dollar bills, one twenty (not shown here), eighteen Confederate tens, one Virginia ten, and three pieces of fractional scrip from the City of Richmond — 25¢ (not shown here), 30¢, and 75¢. That makes a total of $411.30, which was a lot of money in 1862, especially since it was presumably received in exchange for gold and/or silver coins. I’m certain those were sorely missed in April of 1865.
This is the back of the hundred-dollar note shown at the top of this post:
The interest rate paid on the note was 2¢ daily, which is an APR of 7.3%.
There’s no indication that any interest was paid on the tens and twenties.
The fractional notes issued by the City of Richmond are worn and wrinkled, indicating that they saw wide circulation. The other bills were in better shape, and may not have circulated much before coming to rest in the family strongbox.
For the higher-denomination notes, the Confederate government promised to pay the bearer the face amount on demand six months or two years (depending on the note) after a peace treaty was signed with the United States. It was hoped that the delay would allow the nascent state to accumulate enough gold and silver through taxes and tariffs to be able to pay off its promissory notes.
Alas, no peace treaty ever came. The surrender was signed by General Lee on April 9, 1865 (which day I refer to in my more sardonic moments as “the Confederate naqba”), and all those Confederate, Virginia, and Richmond banknotes suddenly became worthless pieces of paper.
A lot of “deplorables” showed up to donate during last week’s fundraiser. Below is the final tally of places, after all the stragglers came in:
Stateside: Alabama, Alaska, Arizona, California, Colorado, Florida, Georgia, Illinois, Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, Maine, Maryland, Massachusetts, Michigan, Minnesota, Missouri, North Dakota, Nebraska, Nevada, New Hampshire, New Jersey, New Mexico, New York, Oklahoma, Oregon, Pennsylvania, Tennessee, Texas, Utah, Virginia, West Virginia, Washington, and Wisconsin
Far Abroad: Germany, Hungary, India, Israel, Lithuania, the Netherlands, New Zealand, Portugal, Spain, Thailand, and the UK
Canada: Alberta, British Columbia, Newfoundland, Ontario, and Saskatchewan
Australia: Australian Capital Territory, New South Wales, South Australia, Victoria, and Western Australia
The spring quarter was the Corona Quarter. It seems the summer quarter is shaping up to be the Race Riot Quarter. When I open the next fundraiser in the dog days of August, I dread to think what conditions will be like at that point.
Yes, the lockdown will probably be over by then. But will city-dwellers be cowering behind locked doors, hoping the looters and arsonists stay away from their neighborhood? Will Gates of Vienna readers in urban centers be looking out their windows at towering columns of smoke while sirens wail all around them?
Or will a brand new deadly crisis have appeared, ginned up by the media in a last desperate bid to keep Donald Trump from being re-elected in November?
Once again, I dread to think…
Long-time readers may recall that I am afflicted with wet macular degeneration (central serous choroidopathy) in my left eye. The condition first appeared more than seven years ago, and has been kept in check by an intermittent series of injections in that eye. For which I am grateful, because until a dozen or so years ago, there was no known treatment for wet macular degeneration.
After the most recent stabilization of the eye, I had been able to go for months without any injections. Unfortunately, about a month ago I started noticing the unmistakable symptoms of a recurrence of the condition. It causes visual disruptions near the fovea of the eye, meaning that the two eyes no longer work together properly, and are always tired and irritated. Back in 2013 I fashioned a patch that could be attached to one lens of my glasses, and worked one-eyed for awhile. If this flare-up had continued much longer, I probably would have had to do the same thing again.
Under normal circumstances, I would have called the retinal specialist’s office and made a special appointment to go in. However, the Coronamadness precludes such appointments — Emergencies Only; otherwise do without. So I decided to tough it out, and waited until my regularly scheduled two-month checkup, which was this afternoon.
When he saw the results of my scan (those scanning machines are amazing), the doctor agreed that I needed to start the injections again. So I’ve had a rough few hours, and now the dancing air bubble is here, flitting around in front of the screen like one of those bouncing balls over the song lyrics in an old movie.
A needle in the eye is horrible, but I can tell you that after you have lived for a few weeks with the symptoms of macular degeneration, you actually kind of look forward to it. Based on my experiences on the two previous occasions (2013 and 2018), the worst of the visual distortions will recede within a few weeks. The downside, of course, is that I have to get an injection every month for an indefinite period.
After I came out of the doctor’s office this afternoon, when I was crossing the parking lot to my car with two sets of temporary sunglasses over my eyes, I realized that I was missing Dymphna more than I had at any point since last summer. During the previous two series of injections, after each treatment I would return home in misery, and she would be there waiting for me, ready to offer sympathy, fix me food, and generally take care of me until I recuperated.
Today I came home to an empty house with a dancing bubble in front of me. I fixed myself a drink, and then lay down with a pillow over my eyes until I was able to focus on the screen again.
So posting is somewhat light this evening. There will be a news feed, and possibly also another post, but possibly not.
This was the “sticky” post for the spring fundraiser. It was first published on May 25, and was on top throughout fundraising week. Scroll down for items posted on and after that date.
Spring Fundraiser 2020, Day Seven
Sunday’s Update: A Diversity Flashback
We’re moving into the final day of what has been a very unusual fundraising week.
There was no way to tell in advance how this quarter’s fundraiser might turn out, given the economic devastation that is enshrouding most of the Western world. Would anybody have spare cash to donate to a minor website?
Would anyone even be paying attention?
Well… Up until now there have been a greater than average number of donations — which is astonishing. Yet the total amount that has come in is somewhat less than average, which isn’t surprising at all, since most people have been hit hard financially for the past two months or so. It’s gratifying that so many have been willing to chip in, under the circumstances.
If you haven’t got around to it yet, the tip jar is on the sidebar, or you can use this link.
Instead of another COVID-related update, I’ll close this fundraiser with a blast from the past. The excerpt below was written by Dymphna almost exactly eight years ago, on June 4, 2012, for the final fundraising post of that year’s spring fundraiser.
The theme for that week’s bleg was “Diversity”, and she wrapped everything up with the following remarks:
The subject of Diversity is fraught. So for this Fundraiser, I’ve deliberately kept the lid on certain subjects. They can accumulate like barnacles or smart bombs on the wall of diversity, or rather on the battlements of modern, top-down “Diversity”. As is true of any other project, some stuff has to be routinely scraped off so you can see what’s underneath, yet other junk — whilst appearing to be identical — will blow up in your face. Frankly, the explosions aren’t interesting anymore.
It is the former which draws my curiosity. .The latter, full of traps like the origins or even the existence of “global” “warming” — oops, climate change…oops, methane in the atmosphere. Whatever. Any point in “discussing” those issues is long past. Those in Charge will tell you ahead of time: “It’s settled…” “Consensus Has Been Reached”… “Everyone Knows”… “Only an Idiot Would Think Such a Thing”….and so on, ad infinitum, ad nauseam.
Have you noticed that the more fervently views on such issues are clung to (bitterly), the less room there is for Reason or even the possibility of entertaining alternate ideas? Entertaining ideas? Enter that realm at your own risk.
Here’s a partial list of Don’t-Go-There-Unless-You-Want-a-Fight hot buttons. No particular order here, simply a reflection of what I’ve been reading and thinking about. These are only contentions; I have no solutions. The mysteries of life usually don’t come with quick remedies:
- Abortion. Or not. When does life begin to have value? No, it’s not “settled”. Look up the numbers of those who believe religiously in #1 vs. those who think the prize is behind Door #2. Just don’t put these folks in the same room.
- Gender. What could be simpler: This is a girl; see that little cleft where her penis should be? This is a boy, see his penis hanging there? Gender-bending is occurring at younger and younger ages, much to the horrified sorrow of parents caught in a five year-old’s intense identity crisis. It may well be that the crisis is real enough, but it could turn out to be just one manifestation of a larger, more complex reality than the one we can see. Human beings are quite malleable, but they are also fragile. The times in which we live, where sexual identity is up for grabs — literally — are reflected in many issues, and one of them is seen in these canary children. In different times most of them would’ve been spared this assault from the zeitgeist, an assault which begins during the dark floaty existence in utero. Were there no assaults from the residues of psychotropic drugs left in the drinking water (just to name one possible influence), or the constant low-level cultural exposure to increasingly depraved pornography, these children could have lived within the boundaries of their respective anatomy without a blip. When times simplify again — and they surely will — outlier cases will recede again. That’s not much comfort now to these kids or their parents as they stumble through the nightmare.
- Religion is a crutch vs. Spirituality is a part of human experience. The former has become the more intellectually acceptable attitude of late, though one wonders what insecurity keeps the more aggressively devout unbelievers at their megaphones, proselytizing like hard-shell Mississippi Baptists. You begin to ask if there is some fervent need on their part to save the unwashed from arrant foolishness. Perhaps a good dose of American history about the cycles of the Great Awakenings in the 18th and 19th centuries would at least help the ardent atheists this side of the Atlantic to gain some perspective.
My guess regarding the foundation of this popular orthodoxy among the media gatekeepers? It’s high school redux: they want to be with the cool kids and they don’t want to have to actually study anything. Aping your betters is so much easier, especially if your “educated” betters are being all edgy and you know it will irritate those boring duds in Flyover Country… As is the case for other media belief blankets, if you want to hear another side (and there is more than one) you’ll have to hunt for it on your own. What surprises me is the number of people who do — want to hear another point of view, I mean.
- Sex among adults. Interestingly, as the results from the Boomer generation become apparent, and the laws of unintended consequences begin to take their toll, their children are turning away from their parents’ youthful decisions to let it all hang out. They see the results and politely decline. Or at least the ones who catch on early enough do so. They know the health risks for both sexes of too many sexual partners. They understand the complexities of bonding better than their naïve parents did. Except for the one percent — those befuddled “Occupy” useful tools — for the most part middle-class kids have turned back the clock. Of course many of them face rigors their parents did not: huge education debt, a poor job market, and increasing balkanization by class. Their lives will be tougher in many ways, but then so will they. At least the ones who aren’t forced to move back home, much the same way their great grandparents had to do to get by.
- Sex with children as the new norm. Nope, that’s not worth our time. The downward deviancy of our culture was seen two generations ago and I’m sure it’s not hit bottom yet. But it will. In the meantime, let’s not contribute to the pollution.
- Death. Like the beginnings of life, its endings are becoming more fungible. The Right to Die vs. the Responsibility to Die. Our old are becoming the Ice Floe Generation. And who gets to decide whose life has meaning or value? Recently, a couple sued for Wrongful Birth when their child was born with congenital anomalies the parents believed they should have been told about ahead of time. Among the nettles were questions like financial responsibility for this life no one wants. This question lies floundering side-by-side with the reality of aborted, breathing fetuses who are killed on the operating table without a qualm. Are we confused or what?
- Trash. There are lots more thorns and contention here, but let’s end with garbage, with refuse, with detritus. Like global warming, there are folks on both sides of the Religion of Recycling, which is a smaller denomination of the colossal Environmental Cathedral — and that place makes Vatican City look like a high-rise tenement. Again, this subject has sectarian overtones in the higher reaches (or screeches) of the True Believers. For the dissidents there is often no choice: just because you can ‘prove’ your locality saves nothing by recycling doesn’t mean you can opt out. There are handy garbage technologies in your wheelie bin that will see you fined or put in jail if you don’t conform.
One of the dystopian uncharms of living in an urban landscape is unending trash. But city-slicker trash has become another source of revenue for cash-poor rural areas. While the downside is that the nearby urban poor often find it cheaper to skulk out here to the country and leave their bags of unidentifiable refuse because they can’t afford the trash stickers the city makes them buy, there’s an upside to this. Big cities up North will pay good money to poor rural areas if they’ll take the garbage out. Thus many county boards of supervisors do just that, and this venture keeps the real estate tax rate down for the bumpkins.
Don’t you wonder where this will lead as consumers are unable to continue consuming? Will trash reduce itself to an endangered species? In order to continue the justification of its existence, will the EPA have to step in with emergency rulings?
Diverse contentions. They’re endless and they get more polarized all the time. As resources get thin on the ground, look for the rigidities to worsen. I don’t know about you, but I’m sick of living in interesting times. I’m ready for a good long spell of boredom — kind of like those endless amber waves of grain we don’t have anymore because they hybridized all the wheat. Modern varieties are now too short to wave at anyone.
The photo below was taken in the late 1990s. It shows Dymphna on her 58th birthday:
It’s probably the last image of her that I’ll scan and post, unless I happen upon another trove of lost photos. She gave her permission for me to post just one, the photo of her holding a puppy that I included with my eulogy for her last June.
However, I figure that her attitude about such things is probably more relaxed now that she is incorporeal. The photos of her that I’ve posted here over the past twelve months are excellent ones, in my opinion. She is exactly herself in them, and I cherish them more than words can say. I think she’s OK with my including them here.
Saturday’s gifts came in from:
Stateside: California, Illinois, Minnesota, Nebraska, New Mexico, and Texas
Far Abroad: Australia and the UK
I’ll be back in a few days to post a wrap-up with the final tally of locations.
The next fundraiser will begin sometime in the hot, hot summer. Who knows what the coronacrisis will have morphed into by then?
Many thanks to everyone for their generosity.
Saturday’s Update: Who is That Masked Man?
We’re moving into the penultimate day of Gates of Vienna’s quarterly fundraiser.
Readers who are sheltering in place at home and have nothing better to do are invited to send a modest donation by way of the tip cup on the sidebar (or by using this link).
Those small individual gifts are the way I keep this blog going. If a significant number of readers give a little bit each, it adds up to enough to pay for the site and keep me in cheese and crackers for another quarter.
Full disclosure: This website is not corona-compliant. Its proprietor is a coronadissident who refuses to wear a mask.
Since yesterday morning’s update I became aware of an article published by the The New England Journal of Medicinethat bolsters my dissident stance. It concerns the ineffectiveness of wearing a mask as a means of preventing the spread of COVID-19. One of our commenters mentioned it, but I also ran across it on Twitter.
This was actually published in April, but for some reason is only now drawing attention:
When I posted about the coronavirus scam last night, I referred to the now-ubiquitous medical face mask as a Corona Hijab. I’d like to elaborate on that concept just a little bit this afternoon.
When a Muslim woman wears hijab, it serves two functions. First of all, it covers up a female’s sexually attractive characteristics, which keeps the wearer from arousing the lust of men with whom she is not permitted to copulate. When a man’s lust is aroused, he is not responsible for his actions. The woman (or girl) is responsible for the consequences if she allows herself to become “uncovered meat”.
The second function of the veil is to signal a woman’s submission. By wearing it she shows her obedience to Allah, who commanded that women be covered. Since Allah also deemed that a woman must obey her father or her husband, the hijab is also a signal that she has submitted to one or both of them.
Similarly, the public wearing of a medical face mask is a sign of submission. Science has deemed that face masks must be worn to prevent
the djinn the COVID-19 virus from invading one’s body. By wearing it, a dutiful citizen signals his submission to Science.
Since Science has also delegated authority to divers worldly powers — national and local governments, the CDC, the WHO, state health departments, etc. — the mask-wearer is also publicly declaring his submission to state authority.
Just as Allah’s commands may not be altered or overruled, so the commands of Science must not be questioned. Science has determined that the mask is necessary; therefore it must be worn, and no ordinary mortal may presume to argue with that decree.
Now, I’ve read a lot of data about face masks, both pro and con. On balance, it seems they are largely pointless. As I understand it, the virus particles are so small that they pass through the filter of even an N95 mask, which provides less than 10% protection against the ChiCom flu.
On the other hand, they prevent droplets of saliva or sputum from escaping when the wearer coughs, sneezes, talks, or sings, which means that anyone who is already infected is less likely to spread the disease via his mouth or nostrils. So they’re not entirely useless.
We’re not allowed to have such discussions in public, however, for fear of arousing the wrath of Science, as explained by His prophets, such as Anthony Fauci (pbuh) and Neil Ferguson (no pbuh for him, however, since he has recently sinned).
A faithful believer in Science does not question the face mask; he simply wears it, thereby displaying his submission to Science. When an obedient citizen ventures out onto the street, he makes sure to wear his mask. That tells
the muttawa the police that he is a compliant servant of Science, so that they leave him unmolested.
Elisabeth Sabaditsch-Wolff has chronicled her experience of coronavirus lockdown in a remote rural location in Austria.
Life in Corona-Isolation
by Elisabeth Sabaditsch-Wolff
My husband, a surgeon and commanding officer of a military hospital, saw it coming: “As soon as schools shut down, you and Erica are leaving the city.” This was a few days before March 13, when the Austrian government instructed the population to shelter in place, closed all schools and the entire economy in order to restrict personal interactions and break the exponential rise of Covid-19 infections. I believed him, yet on a subconscious level hoped this was just a bad dream, while I mechanically packed a few bags and waited for Erica to return from school one last time.
I was transported back in time, some thirty years ago, when one morning I woke up to the sound of helicopters hovering over Kuwait City, forcing me to head to the nearest supermarket for essentials, just as I did on that day the government shut down Austria. There were rumors about government plans to impose a curfew and to limit the number of shoppers in a store. (All that was to follow in the coming days.) I remember the insecurity of the resulting panic-buyers on March 14, when I also shopped for essentials, though not for toilet paper (!), before Erica and I packed up our two cats and headed to our country house in southern Austria. My husband had planned to help us settle in, but was called to the barracks due to an alarm notice sent out during the night hours. In all his years in the army this had never happened before. My stomach felt very queasy.
The drive to our new home was eerie. In normal times, the main highway to the south is commonly used by cars and countless heavy-laden trucks likely heading to Austria’s neighbors Italy and Slovenia. But not on this Saturday: not only was the highway empty, but so were the winding roads through the mountainous areas. There were no tractors or other farm equipment slowing us down, no one on a sightseeing tour, just a mother, her daughter and their cats fleeing the city for safety in the countryside while listening to breaking news on the radio. After all, the mayor of Vienna had recently announced that he and his experts expected hundreds or thousands of Covid-19 infected people in Vienna, and had therefore begun erecting a makeshift hospital in a spacious exhibition hall to assist the regular hospitals, which were expected to overflow with patients.
Erica and I have settled in to our new rural life thirty miles away from the nearest major city. Due to the de facto curfew which permits only shopping for essentials, a visit to the doctor’s office or outdoor exercise, I venture out only very rarely, fascinated once again by how little one requires and how much we still have access to. The grocery stores have always been fully stocked. Yet, as much as I would want to take advantage of the gradual opening of stores, my aversion to the forced use of face masks when entering a store denies me the pleasure.
Let me explain the reasons: First, research and discussions with my doctor husband and others in the medical field make me conclude that face masks are at best useless and at worst even dangerous; the masks literally mask a feeling of security. If they make one feel more secure, then by all means wear them. But mandating a face mask by law is wrong. Secondly — and this is the real reason for my rejection of wearing the face mask — I have been a staunch advocate of banning the veiling of women, especially in the West. I cannot support the mandatory face mask and simultaneous fight against mandatory veiling of women. I want to look people in the eyes, read their lips (which we all do subconsciously), enjoy their facial expressions and judge whether they are friendly or not. All of this is made impossible by facial masks. I am betraying myself if I wear an ugly face mask, so instead I wrap a very light shawl around my nose and mouth for now until the arrival of my recently ordered summer hat with a light sunscreen shawl.
Nevertheless, I am fascinated by the creativity stimulated by the compulsory face masks. Newspapers offer sewing instructions; famous and not-yet-famous designers provide their interpretation of a “designer face mask” including a corresponding price tag; but I am so partial to masks personally sewn by Brigitte Huber, whose great-grandfather was Gustav Klimt, I even ordered one for posterity.
Last week I posted an interview with a Swedish nurse named Latifa Löfvenberg by Dr. Jon Tallinger, the Swedish MD who blew the whistle on the Swedish medical authorities’ directive about the treatment of elderly COVID-19 patients at nursing homes.
The Swedish health service has ordered that elderly coronavirus patients be given morphine instead of oxygen treatment for their severe respiratory symptoms. Nursing homes are forbidden to administer oxygen to residents, and hospital ICUs will not accept them as patients. Oxygen has been shown to be effective in relieving respiratory distress in such patients, enough so that they may be able to survive the disease. However, morphine has the opposite effect: it inhibits their breathing even further, and they inevitably die of suffocation. The drug takes away any pain they might have, but it kills them.
In the last couple of weeks the latest statistics have shown that Sweden is experiencing an upsurge of deaths from COVID-19. Since most of the deaths from the disease in Western countries — more than 80%, according to the statistics — occur in long-term care facilities for the very old, the reason for the spike in Sweden’s death rate seems clear.
The Swedish government obviously sees an opportunity in the ChiCom flu: through its heartless treatment of elderly patients it can clear out space in nursing homes (making it easier to convert some of them to asylum facilities) and reduce its eldercare costs, thereby relieving the pressure on its socialized health care system.
It’s an unannounced, unacknowledged policy of covert euthanasia.
And all carried out by the world’s humanitarian superpower.
Below is a more in-depth discussion between Dr. Tallinger and Nurse Löfvenberg about the situation in Swedish nursing homes. Many thanks to Vlad Tepes for uploading this video:
For further discussion along these lines, see the Angry Foreigner (hat tip LN).
The following video contains excerpts from a press conference in Sweden about data errors in the official projections used concerning the Wuhan Coronavirus. The man answering the questions is Anders Tegnell, the state epidemiologist for Sweden.
What I found interesting in this clip is that Dr. Tegnell is refreshingly straightforward. I must be accustomed to American press conferences, where official spokescreatures usually drown the audience in doubletalk, spin, obfuscation, misdirection, and bafflegab.
Last week I posted Vlad’s interview with a Swedish doctor named Jon Tallinger, who drew a lot of attention in Sweden when he blew the whistle on the health service’s policies towards elderly coronavirus victims. Instead of giving them oxygen treatment — which might actually enable them to survive the infection — nursing homes are required to administer morphine, which inhibits their breathing even further, and are forbidden to send coronavirus patients to the hospital.
This is, for all practical purposes, a program of deliberate euthanasia.
As a follow-up, in the video below Dr. Tallinger interviews a nursing-home nurse named Latifa Löfvenberg, who has personally witnessed the treatment of elderly coronavirus patients. Ms. Löfvenberg has courageously agreed to speak publicly about what she has seen, and is willing to testify in a court of law if necessary.
Many thanks to Vlad Tepes for uploading this video:
The following document was published at the website of Charles University in Prague. We owe Xanthippa a debt of gratitude for translating it from the original Czech. The translator also recommends an English-language analysis of it by a highly respected physicist and formal presidential advisor.
This is one of the most sensible things I’ve read about the coronavirus. It’s good to see something like this put out by fully credentialed academic experts (as opposed to TV talking head experts). It’s like a formal text version of the video by the two California doctors that went viral before YouTube took it down:
April 21, 2020
Challenge from 11 doctors of Charles University to the public
The Czech Republic has been on lockdown for almost six weeks under restrictive measures introduced in connection with the protection of citizens’ health during the COVID-19 epidemic. The government needs to be commended for the first swift and comprehensive measures, which have undoubtedly helped to manage the risks. At present, in light of current epidemiological data and the development of the epidemic, it is necessary to significantly accelerate the dismantling of these measures — for the sake of the health of citizens, economic and social stability and the prosperity of the country.
The common motivation for the emergence of this challenge is the protection of the health of the citizens of the Czech Republic, which is threatened by long-term restrictions, fears for our future, whether health-related or economic, as well as efforts to dispel the untruths and myths which are being spread about the epidemic. These blanket measures will not lead to the eradication of COVID-19 . Above all, it is necessary to create an immune response in the majority of the population, which will also protect vulnerable groups of the population, as defined by their diagnosis, not by their age.
In order to maintain the health and prosperity of our country, it is essential to:
- end the state of emergency by 30 April 2020;
- restore full access to healthcare for all citizens;
- resume classes at primary, secondary and higher learning institutions during May 2020;
- remove obstacles to the functioning of the economy, prevent the collapse that threatens significant parts of small and medium-sized enterprises and sole proprietors;
- gradually loosen state borders in coordination with neighboring countries, and especially with our neighbors and those with a similar epidemiological situation, such as Germany or Austria;
- adopt well-thought-out solutions instead of chaotic and contradictory measures.
Our conclusion is drawn from current epidemiological data, knowledge, facts, expertise and also from our professional and practical experience and knowledge.
1. IT IS NECESSARY TO RESUME FULL MEDICAL CARE FOR ALL CITIZENS
Since the beginning of March, there has been a service outage in healthcare facilities for seriously ill patients who are not COVID-19 positive. Preventive programs in cardiovascular care and oncology have been stopped. For example, the removal of transplant organs and a number of surgical procedures have been reduced.
Other casualties are caused both by postponing planned interventions and by patients’ fear of going to hospital in time. There are increasing cases of neglected abdominal pain (ruptured appendix and other sudden abdominal events), minor movement or speaking disorders (stroke) or shoulder or back pain (acute myocardial infarction), all due to patients’ fear of infection during treatment or hospitalization.
The reduction in the choice of health insurance — even with the proposed increase in payments for state insured persons — will lead to a deepening of underfunding of the entire health care system, and thus, in its consequences, to worsened care for patients with other, often more serious diseases than COVID-19. Unfortunately, victims of this lack of care will have been caused by anti-epidemic measures against the coronavirus.
2. THE HEALTHCARE SYSTEM DID NOT AND SHALL NOT COLLAPSE UNDER THE PRESSURE OF SUPPORTING COVID-19 PATIENTS
From Italy, we know that 80% of the population infected with COVID-19 present with mild symptoms that do not require hospitalization. Of the 20% experiencing more severe symptoms, 5% required intensive care. Here, proponents of a full quarantine of the nation and the closure of the world are basing their calculations on 50% mortality rate and three weeks’ hospitalization in intensive care units [per patient]. These figures only apply to the most severe forms of pneumonia and respiratory distress. However, we find these in only 25%-30% of intensive care patients, while overall, the most common length of stay of a patient with COVID-19 is between 8-10 days. This more than doubles the estimated capacity of the availability of intensive care units. In addition, up until today (April 21, 2020) we have not filled more than 45% of the capacity of intensive care units in the Czech Republic, so we have more than half of them in reserve!
Jon Tallinger MD is a Swedish family practice physician in a suburb of Stockholm. In recent days he has gained fame as a whistleblower who made public the official guidelines of the Swedish public health service: Very old COVID-19 patients, or those with COVID and additional severe health conditions, are not to be sent to the hospital to receive oxygen therapy, which might in fact help them survive the disease and recover. Nursing homes and family practice doctors are not permitted to administer oxygen, so there is then no possibility for a very old coronavirus-infected patient to receive oxygen therapy.
The recommended alternative is that such patients be given morphine as a palliative measure. This will kill their pain, help shut down their breathing, and send them off to the glorious Folkhemmet in the sky with a smile on their face.
Below is an interview with Dr. Tallinger about the state directive on oxygen therapy. I’ll make explicit what is only implied in Dr. Tallinger’s remarks: the Swedish establishment apparently views the current crisis as an opportunity to administer euthanasia to the very old behind the scrim of COVID-19, thus reducing costs over the next decade or two and allowing the socialized health care system to survive on life support for that much longer.