One fateful day in the mid to late 1970’s while living in Toronto I picked up the telephone in fear and trepidation and called the Globe and Mail to speak to Richard S. Malone who was then editor-in-chief of that newspaper. I knew what a gamble it was to call the man on the telephone and so did he. In fact, neither of us wanted to stay too long in conversation so he gave me an appointment to go see him in his office a few days hence and we hung up in a hurry.
I never got to see Mr. Malone because what he and I sensed was a gamble took the worst of possible turns when the Royal Canadian Mounted Police (RCMP) who were listening to the conversation got into action and charged his son who was a prominent member of the Winnipeg community hundred of miles away, with a serious offence.
The Canadian secret police did not have to warn Malone they will do this to him if he tried to help me; he knew they will want to punish him. But neither he nor I expected the response to be as savage and cowardly as this or to come so swiftly. Mr. Malone who was a disciplined person and proud of his military upbringing never went back to the office after that day, and he died shortly thereafter from grief and shame.
I had written Malone a few weeks earlier to say it was not enough for the Globe and Mail to advise some of the 180,000 Canadians who were spied upon by the RCMP that their private lives were recorded and given to journalists in an effort to discredit them. Most of these people - I among them - did not know why the RCMP wanted to discredit us, and many did not even know they were spied upon in the first place.
I learned later on that there was a spy scandal in Canada in the Nineteen Fifties, before I came to this country, and the RCMP responded to the humiliation of being made to look like amateurs by putting under surveillance anyone they feared might have leftist sympathies or might develop them. My sin was that I enrolled in a social science course taught by a member of the New Democratic Party of Canada not knowing who the course director was or that his party had a socialist agenda. It would not have made an iota of difference anyway if I had all this information because I would still have taken the course.
Except for the fact that the Canadian Jewish Congress had taken an interest in me earlier, I might have been treated like everyone else which is to say, I would have been ignored after a while and left alone. But I had written a letter to the editor which was published in the Toronto Star under the title: "Don’t listen to Propaganda, Egypt is a civilized Country," and this triggered a chain of events that changed the course of my life.
The consequence of the letter was that the Jewish Congress sent an envoy to tell me in the presence of my parish priest I was now on their watch list. The envoy warned that saying good things about Egypt - something he called controversial - will get me into trouble which is the thing they tell every journalist in North America even now. But what the envoy did not say then was that the list of the Jewish Congress and that of the Canadian secret police were going to merge and become one. And this is what happened shortly thereafter when the RCMP became a wholly owned subsidiary of the Likud Party of Israel.
Thus, between the cowardice of the RCMP, the savagery of the Jewish Congress and the mental retardation of the editors who succeeded Richard Malone in the editorial room of the Globe and Mail, my personal holocaust, already a decade old, was to become entrenched, institutionalized and more complicated with each passing day.
I fought back every which way I could and a federal cabinet minister who was in charge of the RCMP at the time tried to help me but was exposed by that same Police for secretly fathering a child with a woman that was not his wife. The minister was publicly humiliated and discredited because the Police had the dirt with which to punish him. But they did more than that; they warned everyone else they will destroy the life of anyone who will try to help me.
I concluded that no one will ever be in a position to put an end to my holocaust given that the RCMP had the dirt on almost everyone in this country or they had it on a member of their family. I thought that if there was such a thing as a perfect crime committed by a nation, the situation with the Canadian secret police was that thing because it made Canada the most accomplished police state ever to exist. Canada was and still is a place where the RCMP Ebola comes wrapped in a glossy package adorned with a tag that boasts: Health Food of the highest quality. And most of the World is swallowing the stuff because they don’t know.
It dawned on me early on that I was never going to have a normal life unless I left the country and went to live somewhere else. After a moment of soul searching I vowed not to do this but to do everything I can to stay alive until such time I can tell the world what authentic evil looks like, how to recognize it and how to avoid it.
In the meantime, I tried to fashion for myself a life that mimicked normalcy as much as possible. However, given enough time, the RCMP now allied with the Canadian Jewish Congress and the Globe and Mail were able to vandalize every effort I made in that regard, and they set me back to square one a thousand times during the past four decades.
But I kept on chugging along while in Toronto and before I moved to Montreal later in the decade. In Toronto, I kept in touch with people who were in a position to alleviate my pain but were not prepared to take the risk doing so openly. In fact, a few of these people volunteered to supply me with information without revealing themselves even to me. Others, who were harassed by the RCMP for talking to me took unlisted telephone numbers to look like they ditched me and thus got the police off their backs. But then they met me in places where the RCMP never guessed we would meet.
Two of these people were well known. One was Pierre Burton but he was not much of a help because he was too self-centered, self-absorbed and forever self-promoting. If he did not see an angle that would lead to a benefit returning to him, he would not get involved. The other was Charles Templeton who helped me in his funny way although I doubt he realized he was helping me in any meaningful way.
What puzzled me most and I was desperate to get clarification for was the reason why my personal life, simple, banal and mundane as it was, became of such interest to the people among whom the RCMP distributed information about me. "You’re not in print, on radio or on television," said Templeton "therefore you are a fictional character that is fashioned by everyone the way they want to imagine you. Everything you say and everything you do is interpreted in a way that suits the imagination and feeds the hunger of each individual."
And so I asked if these individuals will ever get tired of the fictional character that I represent. "Are you kidding?" said Templeton "Every tidbit of information we receive about you, no matter how trivial or banal, is a reason to get orgasmic. Reading the stuff or hearing about it is like having sex with a creature from Heaven. The pleasure is infinite and it will never diminish."
There was also the fact that in the eyes of these people I was a writers’ writer. I was a gold mine of fresh, sometimes exotic and always grabbing ideas. This prompted the editorial writers, columnists, speechwriters, advertisers and what have you to "mine" my work and make themselves sound better than they were. They became wealthy at my expense because they got paid for stealing and I got nothing for creating. No wander they wanted the mine that was I to remain hidden underground and never take credit for my own work. Oh yes, they fought for the freedom of every writer in Eastern Europe, Asia, Latin America, Africa and everywhere you can think of but not for my freedom. How else would they convince the World they were not the filth they really were?
And so the insanity never ended as they sabotaged every opportunity that came my way to launch a career in journalism or in the fine arts. To make sure nobody violated the blacklisting of me, the RCMP tracked me everywhere I went, recorded everything I said, and they shared the information not only with the sickos who got orgasmic but also the sadists who turned the information into hurtful gossip they spread among the people with whom I worked, with whom I socialized and with whom I could have forged a professional relationship.
Now, let me show you how much fun this was to one character. I must, however, begin by explaining that when someone chokes as he speaks, it means he is suppressing a cry. In fact, the choking happens because the cry is sent inward to hide it from the World. Thus the choking should be interpreted as the expression of an internal cry. And crying on the inside is usually done by those who feel they just lost something valuable.
Giuliano Zaccardelli choked while protesting his firing because, as he tried to explain, he did not discipline a subordinate for committing an error. This was a multi-layered falsehood. The truth is that Zaccardelli was fired because he was told he will not get orgasmic anymore playing the game that he and the force have played for forty years. When he choked as he did in full view of the television cameras, Zaccardelli demonstrated how much he pitied himself for losing a privilege he used to have but will have no more.
The events that led to the firing of Giuliano Zaccardelli began when the RCMP intercepted and misused a letter I faxed to my lawyer. This reality was not allowed to be recorded in the history books because it is the Canadian imperative to falsify history with layers on top of layers on top of layers of misinformation, disinformation and garbage information. And so I have resolved to write that piece of history as correctly as I possibly can, not as the charlatans wish it had unfolded. Stay tuned.