He Was a Man of Constant Sorrow! He’s seen trouble all his born days!


Speer-Williams -Jsw4@mac.com

Chapter One

The old man sat alone in the darkened room of his Tennessee home, his eyes moist and red. How could he possibly go forward in life, even though he was America’s newly elected president-elect?

What are all the honors of the world to me, now that she’s gone?

The slander, lies, and abuse heaped upon him and his wife, Rachel, during his presidential campaign by the ever propagandizing Rothschild press had killed the being he loved above all others.

The press had publicly called her a bigamist, with implications of worse accusations. In the private quarters of the Rothschild minions, she probably was called a goy whore.

The old man wanted to fight them, but how could he fight the loss of the most important being in his life? No longer would he and his Rachel smoke their tobacco pipes in front of a cheery fire on cold Tennessee evenings.

Yes, the great man had often overcome staggering odds, but to lose her was too much. Did he really want to live in the White House without her – with no Rachel at his side? Could he do it even if he wanted to? Night after night, he asked himself the same old question.

Could I do it even if I wanted to?

Slowly out of despondency grew anger, until one freezing night he bolted out of the chair in his bedroom where he denied himself any heat from his large fireplace and shouted to no one but himself …

Damn right I can do it. They’ll pay. By thunder, they’ll pay!

This angry old man, body broken by age, war, duels, carrying a shattered heart, paused and decided he would become the first US president ever to defeat the tribe of Rothschilds. And he did. The only American head-of-state down through our ever disappointing decades to ever do so.

The Rothschilds had destroyed Rachel. They had destroyed France, but he would not let them destroy the United States of America.

The Planned Assassination!

The Rothschilds lost the presidency, but they could win it back if their most powerful American nemesis was to suddenly depart this life.

It was a cold, rainy day of January in 1835. And while only a conspiring few knew it, the fate of a nation and its greatest man was about to be decided.

The ailing president was a sick man as he slowly made his way, with a stout walking cane, down the Capitol steps. He had attended a funeral and those around him seemed to want to talk with him. But the president’s mind was elsewhere: could he live just long enough to make them pay?

Standing a bit over six feet, the man only weighed 145 pounds. He still carried bullets in his body from wars and duels. He was being poisoned to death by the lead in those bullets.

Then suddenly, not ten feet in front of him, appeared an immediate threat to his life and to the life of his nation. The wide-eyed Richard Lawrence was now aiming a dueling pistol at him – the president.

Had the supernatural fates that had so long guided his truly remarkable life now abandoned him?

The gun’s percussion cap exploded with a deathly crack, but the powder had not ignited – the shot, as loud as it was, was a misfire.

Everyone on the steps around the president froze in stunned dismay. But the nearly crippled, nearly debilitated, sixty-eight-year-old president, with his walking cane held high above his head, charged the would-be assassin.

Lawrence then pulled out a second pistol. And with the president at point-blank range, he couldn’t miss.

Facing his sure death, the president never stopped his charge. He would make him pay, in spite of a bullet in his heart.

Hearing the explosion of the pistol’s percussion cap sent a stark message to the president: he knew he’d have to be quick.

As the first mighty cane blow fell on Lawrence, the assassin knew his second pistol had also misfired. Now, he was no longer a presidential attacker, but the painfully attacked.

Davy Crockett, who was then a US congressman, helped to subdue the failed assassin, Richard Lawrence, the first man in history to attempt to kill an American president.

The odds of both of Lawrence’s guns failing were later determined to be 125,000-to-1.

Yes, Andrew Jackson was a Man of Destiny – to hell with the Fates.

He told his vice-president, Martin Van Buren …

The Bank is trying to kill me, but I’ll kill it.

Young Andy …

Andrew Jackson was born on March 15, 1767, in the Waxhaw settlement, a community of Scotch-Irish immigrants along the border between North and South Carolina. Andy grew up proud to be a first generation American with poor immigrant parents.

It was South Carolina that played such an important role in Jackson’s later prevention of a Civil War; and, unlike Lincoln, he saved the lives of hundreds of thousands of American boys.

Jackson always considered himself a native of South Carolina.*

*Andrew Jackson was born on the Ides of March, which is still celebrated by several religious observances and became notorious as the very date of the assassination of Julius Caesar in 44 BC.

What mysteries did Andrew Jackson’s birthdate portend?

Jackson’s father died shortly before Andy’s birth, which caused close neighbors to wonder how Mrs. Jackson could feed little Andrew and his two slightly older brothers.

One lady asked another, “How will poor Mrs. Jackson ever manage with three little tykes and their father just dead?”

A wiser lady responded with, “Mrs. Jackson has courage. She’ll raise little Andy to be a credit to this land.” And he did become a credit to the land of America, far earlier than anyone could have expected.

Andy, who was the first president born in a log cabin, became a ragged boy who fought hard for the principles he considered to be right.

By the time he was fourteen, he was fighting as a courier against the British in our War of Independence, riding from farmhouse to farmhouse, yelling the latest war news …

The redcoats are on their way down from Camden to punish us for rebellion. Gather at the Waxhaw Church! Spread the word!

In the battle that ensued, the British butchered scores of Scottish and Irish immigrants. Andy and his one-year-older brother, Robert, were taken as prisoners. It was then that a dragoon ordered Andy to clean his British boots.

“Sir, I’m not your servant. I claim the right to be treated as a prisoner of war,” Andy calmly relied.

The furious officer raised his sword and slashed Andy across his forehead and left hand.

“Our prison camp in Camden will teach you some manners, you whelp.”

Jackson carried a scar on his brow from that slashing for the rest of his life just as he later carried bullets in his body. But so did his older brother Robert who had also been cut on his head for refusing to clean the same officer’s boots.

Both boys were marched the forty-five miles to the Camden prison, while their wounds became infected.

Smallpox ravaged the Camden prison and Robert came down with it, with Andy nearly as critical.

Their older brother, Hugh, was already a death casualty of the war, at the battle of Stono Ferry. And if something was not done very soon, Mrs. Jackson would lose all four men in her life. So, Mrs. Jackson rode their old horse all the way from her farm to Camden to plead for the lives of her sons.

She was totally unprepared for what she saw: her sons were two barely living skeletons. But as Andy’s destiny would have it, the British had priorly arranged to exchange some of their prisoners for thirteen British soldiers. Andy and Robert went free; but how could they traverse the forty-five miles home?

Robert was strapped to their horse. Mrs. Jackson walked doggedly and slowly, with heavy steps, while Andy stumbled, both trying valiantly to keep Robert on their horse.

At long last, their little log cabin was in sight. Asking God for renewed vigor, Mrs. Jackson worked around the clock, trying to keep her boys alive. But only Andy made it, Robert died two days later.

Young Andy was delirious for weeks, an invalid for months, but finally he began to gain strength.

With Andy out of danger, Mrs. Jackson joined several other women from Waxhaw on a grueling 160-mile trip to Charleston. She gained entry into the prison ships lying in the harbor, where she tried to give aid as best she could, only to become afflicted with cholera. The gallant, valorous lady – Elizabeth Hutchinson Jackson – died, never making it home.

Young Andy came from good stock; and he would need all of it, as now he faced the world – alone – as a mere fourteen-year-old.

How Did He Ever Make It?

He made it one step at a time, even when he lost a step, or two, or three. By never giving up, his positive steps began to outnumber his negative ones. But win or lose, he learned from each step he took.

He could not read very well, so he became Waxhaw’s public reader of news events.

He was uneducated, so he became a teacher.

He knew nothing about the law, so he became a lawyer.

He was never formally schooled in the military or its tactics, so he became a general, the most popular one our country has ever known.

He knew nothing about being a good president, so he became – I believe – the greatest we have ever had.

He was not a philosopher or a superb wordsmith like Jefferson. He was not a traitor like Clinton, nor psychopathic like the Bushes, nor a puppet like Obama. But he was a man strong enough to carry through on the ideals he thought were right.

Was he always right? Of course not. But the point is, he always thought he was right and acted upon what he sincerely believed. Utterly unlike most prior and subsequent politicians who know when they are wrong, but act wrongly anyway.

But first things first.

Jackson had to get some schooling, which he received piecemeal, from local clergymen, at least enough to eventually get a job with lawyers in Salisbury, North Carolina. At age twenty-one, Jackson parlayed what he had learned into his own practice of law.

As his business acumen became more successful, at age twenty-one Jackson moved across the great mountains to Nashville. In time, he bought land and horses. He liked nothing better than to bet on his own horses at races, except to enjoy his usual winnings in a tavern or two.

Between 1788 and 1790, Jackson was appointed prosecuting attorney for the district. He also became the protégé of territorial governor William Blount and thus the recipient of important political patronage and was appointed the judge advocate of the Davidson County militia regiment.

Perhaps most importantly, he met and fell in love with a divorced woman, the lovely Rachel Donelson.

Jackson wed Rachel in 1791. Prior to the wedding, Rachel pursued divorce proceedings from Lewis Robards.

But the Jacksons soon learned that Rachel’s divorce was never properly finalized and Robards accused Rachel Jackson of adultery. The same claim was made by Jackson’s political opponents during his campaigns for the presidency.

Rachel’s divorce decree was issued on September 27, 1793.

On the 18th of January, 1794, Andrew and Rachel had another wedding ceremony to ensure their union was legal. Marrying Rachel was a godsend for Andrew, as she proved to be an able administrator of their estate during Jackson’s frequent absences, due to his legal, military, and business affairs. In fact, when Jackson was off fighting the American Indian Wars, Rachel sent Jackson’s army food and supplies, as allocations from the US government in Washington were slow or never arrived.

Andrew Jackson, on the 22nd of October, 1796, was honored to be elected to represent Tennessee in the US House of Representatives, which was quickly followed by Jackson’s election to the US Senate. But he resigned his Senate seat in 1799.

On April the 1st, 1802, Jackson was commissioned Major General of the Tennessee militia.*

*This particular piece of research seemed a bit strange to me, as I have yet to discover anywhere that Andrew Jackson ever had any formal military training … or any military training at all, other than almost dying in a makeshift British military prison.

During the summer of 1802, the Jacksons bought and moved into The Hermitage property near Nashville. They developed the farm into a cotton-growing plantation with nine Black slaves. By his death in 1845, there were about 150 such slaves living and working on The Hermitage.*

*There is much made about early White Americans owning slaves; yet there is little to nothing said of the Rothschild tribe owning and promoting the slave trade in America, South America, and the West Indies. The Rothschilds even owned and managed the slave ships that made slavery possible in the new world.

The Rothschilds have long had the habit of accusing others what they are most guilty of themselves. And they get away with it.

Could it be because those stealthy bankers create both the curriculum of government schools and the content of the major media?

Andrew Jackson never cared if he was liked or not; however, his flamboyant and successful style made enemies of far lesser men. But Jackson had many loyal friends to whom he was loyal in return. Making friends with Jackson meant choosing a definite path in life, often a dangerous one, but one that was always transparent and usually upright.

Jackson’s Nashville enemies plotted on how to rid themselves of the fast up- and-coming Andrew Jackson. Their solution was an easy one considering Jackson’s protection of his honor. They would simply have the best marksman in the state, Charles Dickinson, offend publicly both Mr. and Mrs. Andrew Jackson.

Jackson probably knew of the scam, but he had no other choice than to challenge Dickinson to a duel.

“I plead with you; do not duel with Mr. Dickinson. What if I should lose you?” Rachel must have said to her husband.

But Andrew Jackson, being Andrew Jackson, challenged Dickinson to what appeared to be an ill-fated duel. The date of the match was set, along with its location in Kentucky, where dueling was still legal and usually lethal.

Chapter Two  

Andrew Jackson was awake nights thinking about how best to engage Charles Dickinson in the scheduled duel, but every idea was fraught with death, his own.

Early on the morning of May 30th of 1806, an uneasy Andrew Jackson and his second, Thomas Overton, mounted horses and rode out of Nashville to Kentucky. In Harrison’s Mill, on the Red River, near Logan, Kentucky, the duelists met.

Jackson was not the expert duelist; Dickinson was, so at the first signal from the seconds, he resorted to guile. Quickly raising his gun, Jackson held his fire, hoping to hurry Dickinson’s shot. The ploy did not work.

Dickinson’s bullet hit Jackson near his heart and it staggered Andrew. The pain was intense, but so was his desire for revenge.

Slowly Jackson tried to focus on Dickinson, but now he saw two of them. Which one should he shoot?

The decision must be quick, or forfeit his one opportunity for retribution, as Jackson was losing consciousness.

Jackson covered his bleeding chest with his left hand, aimed between the dual images of Dickinson and pulled the trigger. His pistol, however, failed to fire.

With knees beginning to buckle, and with a pounding heart, Jackson re-cocked his pistol, aimed, and fired again.

To Dickinson’s credit, he stood bravely awaiting the bullet from Jackson’s pistol. He would adhere to the code of gentlemen.

Soon, a sledgehammer blow struck his heart and Dickinson fell to the ground bleeding profusely. The expert duelist quickly bled out and died in Kentucky where he fell.

Dickinson’s seconds yelled, “Breach of etiquette! The duel was over after Jackson’s first attempt to fire.”

A more penetrating enlightenment would ask …

Would it not have been of greater nobility for Jackson to have fired his shot into the air?

Andrew Jackson had nobility, but it was of a rougher, less refined, less educated frontier nobility, where one was forced to shoot quickly and later philosophize under more comfortable and safer circumstances.

But given time to reflect over the duel, Jackson said, “I would have killed him if his bullet had gone into my brain.”*

*But it was the bullet in his chest that Jackson would keep painfully near his heart for the rest of his life. The wound never properly healed, with abscesses forming around the lead slug, causing debilitation and pain for Jackson’s remaining thirty-nine years.

Jackson, much like Dickinson, was also bleeding profusely, but with a long horseback ride ahead of him. By the time he fell off his horse at home both of his boots were filled with blood. Weak and feverish, Mister Jackson must have thought, If I survive this, it’ll be my last duel.

But what about gunfights?

While the War of 1812 raged in the East, on September 4, 1813, Jackson was nearly killed in a gunfight in a Nashville tavern.

There had been an ongoing feud between Jackson and his erstwhile friends, the Benton brothers, Thomas and Jesse.

Jackson, carrying his trademark horsewhip, approached Thomas. At close quarters, Thomas reached for his pistol, but before he could draw, Jackson’s gun was at his breast.

Thomas backed toward the door, with Jackson following him step for step.

I doubt that Jackson would have shot an unarmed man, but the Benton boys didn’t know that.

From behind Jackson came the other Benton boy, pistol in hand. Jesse shot Jackson three times.

Jackson’s friends rushed to aid him and put him on a mattress. Jackson’s blood soaked two mattresses before a doctor could get to him. Jackson was indeed dying from blood loss caused by his shattered left shoulder and a ball embedded against the upper bone of that arm.

It would be an understatement to say Andrew Jackson was gravely wounded, with seemingly only one chance at life.

Can you hear me, Andrew, can you hear me? asked a doctor. We’ll have to cut off your left arm, in order to save your life. Do you understand?

Jackson opened one eye as if he was winking at them and said …

I’ll keep my arm … thank you.

Later, unbeknownst to Jackson, mostly unconscious on his deathbed, as he and Rachel fought for his life, the Creek Indians went on the warpath.

An officer of the Tennessee Volunteers obtained permission from Rachel to speak with Jackson.

Ah … General … ah, I hate to give you bad news … when you’re dying and all, er … I mean being sick. But 250 Americans were massacred at Fort Mims by the Creeks.

Jackson swung his legs out of bed and onto the floor. With as commanding a voice as he could muster, he said …

Order my militia to report to duty. I will command in person.

It must have been the tonic Jackson needed, as he put aside thoughts of dying. Now reverting to his role of an army general in command of fighting men, he had the job of explaining it all to Rachel.

General Jackson and his Tennessee Volunteers routed the Creeks and were primed for the most important battle of their lives …

The Battle of New Orleans

On some of the forced marches Jackson put his foot soldiers through, young men would at times talk with each other. Below is a short fictional summation of actual events.

He’s the damest general in this man’s army. Never seen a soul like em. He suffers along just like us privates do.

Yeah, he’s got gumption. Remember that time we was plum outta food and flints and we all quit? We was all walking home when he came up on that big-assed, gray hoss of his … steam comin outta his ears.

Yeah, I remembers … he was fit to be tied all to hell and back …

He rode out in front of us … jumped off his hoss and runs up ta me. He grabs my rifle and yells … I’ll shoot any one of you reprobates who takes another step toward home. If you’re real Tennessee Volunteers … turn your sorry asses around … NOW!

Yeah, he’s got a heap a grit … gotta admire that.

Yeah, but … you ain’t heard the kicker. When he gives me back my rifle … I says, Why general, this old rifle ain’t got any bullets in it … Know what he said?


He said … Don’t tell nobody.

Yeah, he’s tuff on us … but he’s sly enough to make sure we see how tuff he’s on himself …

Yeah … he’s tuff as old hickory.

But he can be soft-hearted too.

Remember that Indian war we was in … beatin the shit outa em too. Then one night the old Indian chief himself sneaked into the General’s tent. I don’t know what kinda story the old chief laid on the general, but then Jackson called off the war and ordered us to give all our food and supplies to em.

But we kept all our rifles and bullets … remember?

Yes, Jackson’s men loved him. In fact, the whole country loved him after the Battle of New Orleans. Much more importantly, Jackson later became a political hero to the majority of US citizens, no matter what the controlled press said about him.

Today, the Rothschilds do not allow us to have any political heroes. They all are discovered, sooner or later, to have dirty hands.

Heroes in government give us a sense of national pride and unity. But such national self respect among Americans would be counterproductive to the Rothschild’s one government for the entire world dream. Therefore, no heroes allowed.

Since Andrew Jackson, John Kennedy was as close as we came to having a genuine political hero; so they did away with him.

And although Andrew Jackson is still revered today he is also vilified by the Rothschild’s cultural Marxists, who are attempting to deny us all of our real heroes.

On YouTube there are videos with titles that try to denigrate Andrew Jackson:

Killa Jackson;

Andrew Jackson: Most Terrifying Man Ever Elected President;

Andrew Jackson: Serial Dualist;

Andrew Jackson Jihad;

Andrew Jackson: The Napoleon of America;

Remove Jackson from $20 Bill.

What most of these Andrew Jackson vilifiers do not know is the Rothschilds probably ensured that Jackson’s image would appear on the twenty-dollar bill. You see, Jackson hated paper money. He knew it could easily be inflated to the bankers’ benefit at an awesome cost to the people.

But the cultural Marxists are attacking Jackson’s memory in yet another way. They have radicalized thousands of Blacks to campaign against Jackson’s statue in Jackson Park, New Orleans. It is a huge statue of Andrew Jackson on his rearing horse, made from the very cannons used against the British in the Battle of New Orleans.

But let us take a look at the Battle of New Orleans and decide if Jackson really deserved the many accolades he received after that battle.

Two weeks prior to the Battle of New Orleans, Great Britain and the United States had signed a peace treaty in Ghent, Belgium, that officially ended the War of 1812. News of the treaty was slow to cross the Atlantic, however, and on January the 8th, 1815, American and British forces clashed in the Battle of New Orleans.

The British fielded between 5,000 and 7,500 infantry, maybe three times as strong as Jackson’s rag-tag army of Tennessee Volunteers, frontiersmen, Indians, and slaves.

In perhaps one of his wisest military moves, Jackson agreed to meet with the notorious Gulf Coast pirate leader, Jean Lafitte.

General Jackson, I can give you 7,500 flints and nearly a thousand men. Release my men from prison and I promise you New Orleans will be saved.

Jackson glared into Lafitte’s cold dark eyes, taking a measure of the man, and said … They shall be released.

Jackson’s frontier and pirate army would face the same army that had just defeated the army of Napoleon.

By late December of 1814, British troops were within eight miles of New Orleans. For four frantic days, Jackson put his men to work widening and deepening the Rodriquez Canal that cut across the British line of advance.

Using the excavated muck from the canal, the Americans built a wall against the British. By Christmas morning, the wall was over one-quarter of a mile long, eight feet high, and twelve feet thick. It was from this mud wall that Jackson would mount his defense of New Orleans.

Then at dawn on January the 5th, 1815, with bayonets fixed, 5,000 to 7,500 British regular infantry screamed and stormed toward the frontiersmen and pirates and their wall of mud.

But as he had done in his duel against Charles Dickinson, Jackson held his fire. The delay startled his pirate troops.

What the hell is he waiting on? Has he no nerve?

Closer, ever closer came the quickly advancing British troops, sure they would route the frightened Americans, slaughtering them as they ran away in panic for their lives.

Jackson had other plans. He wanted the enemy troops within point-blank range of Jean Lafitte’s cannons and the Kentucky long rifles of his experienced Indian fighters.

Finally, with a surprisingly strong voice of a man recently up out of his deathbed, Jackson screamed …

Fire! Fire, you sons of liberty … Fire!

The European war tactics of frontal assaults were no match for Jackson’s Indian fighters and his lawless pirate cannoniers.

The Battle of New Orleans became a stunning victory for America, only costing them the deaths of thirteen soldiers, while inflicting about 2,000 casualties on the British, 500 of whom became prisoners, with many of them later becoming American citizens.

Jackson, with no formal military schooling, had defeated the army that had defeated the mighty Napoleon.

For their service to America, Monsieur Jean Lafitte and all his pirates were pardoned by President James Madison.

But it seems that Lafitte again turned freebooter, building a large pirate reserve on Galveston Island in Texas. Jean Lafitte, however, always claimed, thereafter, he was a privateer, not a pirate.

After his decisive victory, Andrew Jackson became the most popular man in America and was celebrated in New Orleans with parties after parties and balls after balls.

It seemed that men and women of all social classes (including some most alluringly and imposingly beautiful women), wanted some of General Jackson’s time.

But it was his darling Rachel that Jackson wanted to go back home to. Life with her at The Hermitage would be better than any ball in the world, especially considering the many sticky problems that had been generated for him in New Orleans by the agents and politicians of the Rothschilds.

The Rothschilds, and their Khazar banking kingdom, immediately saw Jackson as a serious foe. So at once they began covertly manufacturing controversies concerning Jackson in their controlled press. Jackson was attacked not only in the media, but by petty, self-serving politicians from Washington and Louisiana – all meant to eliminate the general’s growing popularity.

But then, as unexpected as a warm ray of sunlight on a cold misty day, by way of a flatboat down the long Mississippi River, Rachel arrived in New Orleans.

As beleaguered as he was, the gaunt hero of America was elated, forgetting his troubles and even his triumphs.

Soon there was a ball for Rachel. It seemed to incorporate the whole city, who later found Andrew dancing with his beloved Rachel. It was probably the grandest, most euphoric moment of their lives. Does such ecstasy escape those who lead timid lives, shrouded with concerns for personal safety?

Chapter Three

Much occurred to Andrew Jackson from the time of his dance with Rachel at the New Orleans Victory Ball to the time he bolted out of his bedroom chair at The Hermitage as the newly elected president-elect of America and shouted …

They’ll pay! By thunder, they’ll pay!

He Opposed the Most Evil Scourge Ever on Earth!

Andrew Jackson was aware of the suffering and death the Rothschilds and their Khazaian bankers had brought to Europe, especially to France.

In his private moments, he must have thought more than once …

I’d rather face men in open combat than the sneaky snakes of politics and banking.

But as an American President, Andrew Jackson gave the Rothschild central bankers fair warning. To a delegation of bankers in the Oval Office of the White House, Jackson said …

You are a den of vipers and thieves. I intend to rout you out, and by the eternal God, I will rout you out.

But could Jackson actually rout them out? He was but one man facing the most powerful plague ever spawned, with practically every politician and bureaucrat in Washington against him. Every newspaper he read talked about the ill-bred backwoodsman.

The Rothschilds, and their mob of gangsters, had indeed stolen America from the brave men and women who built it – just as Thomas Jefferson had predicted.

If the American people ever allow private banks to control the issue of their currency, first by inflation, then by deflation, the banks and corporations that will grow up around them will deprive the people of all property until their children* wake up homeless on the continent their Fathers conquered … I believe that banking institutions are more dangerous to our liberties than standing armies … The issuing power should be taken from the banks and restored to the people, to whom it properly belongs.

* We are the children to which Jefferson was referring. There are now over nineteen million vacant homes in America.

Andrew Jackson did, indeed, kill the Rothschild’s central bank in America, and the US Senate condemned and censured him for doing so – the only president to have ever been censured.

Still, Andrew Jackson is the only president in American history to have reduced our national debt to zero.

Andrew Jackson gave our nation an all-important economic reprieve from its downward economic spiral.

Today, a reprieve would do nothing for our economy. We desperately need a complete and radical makeover.

Old Hickory

What then followed Jackson, on into the Civil War, were what was called “Free” Banks.

Then came “National” Banks until 1913, when the infamous Federal Reserve Act was passed, which has lasted to this day, costing Americans 97 percent of the value of their dollars.

Can It Be Done Again?

Thomas Jefferson told us …

The issuing power [of money] should be taken from the banks and restored to the people to whom it properly belongs.

That seems easy enough: simply have the government assume the power to issue and control money, without any interest (usury) being paid on it. So why is it not done?

Careful now, as the truth to the above question may startle.

Democracy no longer exists in America, if it ever did. Democracy was eclipsed with the laws requiring attendance of government schools, with the mis/dis information from the corporate media all but completing the job. As a final coup de grace, Rothschild agents took utter control of all electronic voting machines, making sure that American democracy was dead – absolutely dead.

The people who cast the votes don’t decide an election, the people who count the votes do.

Joseph Stalin (1878-1953)

As a result, the Rothschilds and their devoted army of Khazaians control our federal government, the multi-national corporations, the economy, education, the media, medicine, courts, religions, science, the military/police, establishments, and other institutions, all forming American popular opinion.

This is absolutely all done through money, blackmail, and assassinations – and in that descending order of frequency, with most of those in the higher ranks of the above institutions furtively practicing Satanism in secret societies.

The secret practice of Satanism existed in Jackson’s day, but nothing like it has exploded into today. Our Khazaian hazard is a peril without an historical parallel.

The ascendance of sociopaths and criminal psychopaths in American governance appears to be irreversible, short of an utter collapse of society; but there is one noticeably slim hope.

And since Russia shed its Bolshevik horror show, perhaps we can arise from our Bolshevik/neocon induced nightmare.

This dark imposing juggernaut of consolidated power against America does have an Achilles heel. It is from where assassinations, frame-ups, blackmails, bribes, payoffs, power, and orders come – the Intelligence Agencies.

It is where the underground Shadow Government hides. Under Rothschild orders, the US Shadow Government makes doubly sure we have mercury in our mouths, chem trails in our skies, genetically modified organisms in our soils, fluorides in our water, vaccines in our bodies, and depleting uranium (DU) sweeping around our world.

Andrew Jackson virtually defeated the Rothschild octopus by himself. But, since Jackson, we have gone down the slippery primrose slope for so long, and so fast, it would take dozens of Andrew Jacksons to rescue us. And like Mr. Vladimir Putin,* these born-again saviors would best arise from the slimy muck of intelligence agencies.

*I pray that Vladimir Putin will have proven to be a bellwether for America receiving a head-of-state who is as good for his people as Putin has proven to be for his people.

For too long the most psychotic of our so-called public servants have become intelligence agents; we vitally need to reverse this stuck flow.

Is it possible that a team of courageous, daring, patriotic, and foresighted men, like Andrew Jackson, or say Vladimir Putin, could highjack enough of the US intelligence services to take over those agencies, the military, and then police departments? Surely, people in the dark services of intelligence know the score of how far our nation has been taken down, even if US senators do not know it.

US intelligence services are currently controlled by the Israeli intelligence service, Mossad, which is owned by the ever ubiquitous Rothschild clan. In fact, the entire country of Israel is nothing but the private fiefdom of the feudal lords known as the Rothschilds.

Mossad even trains our policemen. Our police chiefs go to Israel for secret specialized training. That is why our police no longer Serve and Protect, but lie, brutalize, and kill innocent citizens.

Early in America’s development, our military was highly decentralized and was controlled in regional, state, and local militias; this helped to prevent tyrannies and hostile takeovers by criminals like the Rothschilds. It was called Bottom Up Control.

At one time, our police departments were controlled by city governments. Today, they are under federal control, which means Rothschild control. But irrespective of what is right or wrong, the police will obey those who pay them.

With today’s Top Down Control it is far easier to control all the military, and even the police, from one source of command since such institutions have become so very federalized.

With patriotic rebel control of the military and police in hand, the media could then be easily taken from the Rothschilds. Such a free media could help keep the masses calm and even enlist them to help with the rescue of our country. A truthful media means a free America.

The economy would immediately fall into a shambles; but it could quickly be recovered with wise guidance and the issuance of our own currency and credit, all without usury.

The first order of business should be to abolish the IRS, and then to arrest the entire apparatus of the Federal Reserve System and all US officers of international banking.

Concurrently, all foreign aid should be suspended, along with all military contracts. America desperately needs to drop its War Until Bankrupted Economy and quickly adopt a Free Prosperity Economy.

All people with dual US/Israeli citizenships or passports should be extradited to Israel.

All our troops stationed abroad should be brought home and put to work rebuilding our badly collapsing infrastructure. A greatly improved infrastructure makes possible a better economy.

Critical to giving our economy life is the removal of all governmentally imposed “consumer protection laws” that were only meant to tilt the playing field in favor of the multi-national corporations owned and controlled by the Rothschild network.

Revoking all the phony consumer protection and environment laws will give our small entrepreneurs a chance to compete in the market. It would be a move that would benefit us all.

In prosperous times, America’s small businesses provided seventy percent of our gross domestic product while producing and sustaining our vibrant middle class.

As Russia* used its oil and gas reserves to quickly recover from her poverty-stricken days of communism, America could do the same, but better.

*The famed psychic, Edgar Cayce, made a startling prediction back in 1944.

“In Russia there comes the hope of the world not as that sometimes termed of the communistic, or Bolshevik, no; but freedom, freedom! That each man will live for his fellow man! The principle has been born. It will take years for it to be crystallized, but out of Russia comes again the hope of the world.”

All nuclear power plants should be phased off line as too dangerous and far too expensive for the government to continue to subsidize. The nuclear power scam has been a Rothschild con job from the beginning, as they have had a corner on uranium and they like the atomic bombs that spring from their nuclear power plants.

America has enough coal, gas, and oil to consume and sell far longer than we would need them, once we release all the discoveries and inventions that have been hidden by the Rothschilds.

Volumes of positive ideas could be written on how to build and sustain a healthy economy, which would all be the exact opposites of the US economic, foreign, social, and defense polices of the last century.

But whatever economic ideas are employed, they should all contribute to America’s self-sufficiency. Too many of us have bought into the lies that we must have foreign trade to exist. Do you think that if America became the only land mass on earth, with all else being oceans, that we would all die?

That might be true of Iceland, but it’s certainly not true of the United States of America.

Our economic system is not broken; it was built to fail. America has been used to destroy America; and it’s time to end that load of horseshit.

How have the Rothschilds, for so long, pulled off such massive destruction of viability in America?

It is easier for them to swindle and steal than to produce value that is needed and wanted by humanity.

Moreover, human suffering is food for their black souls.

With the intelligence agencies, military, police, media, and economy all moving in the direction of helping the people of America, all other institutions would shake out in time. How long a time?

Decades! Such has been the damage to our country.

But, I think you will agree that such a long shakeout is vastly superior to the nuclear wars the psychotic Rothschild crime syndicate has planned for our near-term future.*

*I do not believe that the Rothschilds are the minds behind the long trail of international crimes attributed to them.

The Rothschilds are simply the highest nexus point of criminality that can be easily proven. Any advanced research for higher criminal authority would certainly involve the metaphysical.

In their various roles as alien inserted automatons, the Rothschilds, and their Khazariian support base, are but a semi-human connection between the oppressed masses and the real suppressors.

I believe the Rothschilds, and their vast army of acolytes, have been thoroughly programmed to be used to play a servile role to a superior elite.

Who is this superior elite? That is the 64 trillion dollar question.

The host is failing and will perish, unless the parasite is quickly removed.

With quivering hearts, the wise of the world’s elderly await America’s final denouement.


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