woensdag 18 juli 2018

Ray McGovern Exposes CIA

Ray McGovern ex CIA analyst Exposes CIA pretending to be Russia & hacking DNC to copy Vault 7


The Mainstream Media and the Drive Toward WW III

The Mainstream Media, The Consequences of Nuclear War and the Drive Toward WW III

By Dr. Andrew Glikson
Global Research, July 17, 2018

Url of this article:

For many weeks much of the mainstream media world-wide, including broadcasters, been warning of potential concessions in the negotiations between the US and North Korea and between Donald Trump and Vladimir Putin, lest vital interests of the west are compromised. In the process little has been said about the alternative for such negotiations and potential agreements, namely a nuclear holocaust on a regional to a global scale, with consequences that belong to the unthinkable (see thisthis and this). In this context, a picture is emerging regarding the priorities of the US President: On the one hand he tends to favor authoritarian undemocratic leaders and regimes; on the other hand he may wish to form a pact with Russia, avoiding a suicidal nuclear war.
The Castle Bravo Hydrogen bomb
It is not clear what some of the mainstream media is concerned about?
The assumption is made as if the world is split into light and dark, good and bad, with a total demonization of one of the adversaries with whom no agreements should be trusted?
Or, are peace agreements less newsworthy and sell fewer newspapers than conflict and wars? Or is it connected with vested interests, namely a reduction in the global armament production and trade reducing profits, consequent to peace agreements? One thing is clear, once a pro-war atmosphere is promoted, as for example prior to WWI, the chances of a war happening are multiplied, 
Rarely do the mainstream media report the full consequences of a nuclear war, just as they rarely report on the full consequences of runaway global warming. 
A summary of the consequences: U.S.-Russian war producing 150 million tons of smoke follows 
  • 2600 U.S. and Russian strategic nuclear weapons on high-alert are launched, in 2 to 3 minutes, at targets in the U.S., Europe and Russia and other targets considered to have strategic value. Some fraction of the remaining 7600 deployed and operational U.S. and Russian strategic nuclear warheads/weapons are also launched and detonated in retaliation for the initial attacks.
  • Massive amounts of radioactive fallout would be generated and spread both locally and globally. The targeting of nuclear reactors would significantly increase fallout of long-lived isotopes. 
  • Hundreds of large cities in the U.S., Europe and Russia are engulfed in massive firestorms which burn urban areas of tens or hundreds of thousands of square miles/kilometers. 150 million tons of smoke from nuclear fires rises above cloud level, into the stratosphere, where it quickly spreads around the world and forms a dense stratospheric cloud layer. The smoke will remain there for many years to block and absorb sunlight.
  • Gigantic ground-hugging clouds of toxic smoke would be released from the fires; enormous quantities of industrial chemicals would also enter the environment.
  • The smoke blocks up to 70% of the sunlight from reaching the Earth’s surface in the Northern Hemisphere, and up to 35% of the sunlight is also blocked in the Southern Hemisphere. In the absence of warming sunlight, surface temperatures on Earth become as cold as they were 18,000 years ago at the height of the last Ice Age. There would be rapid cooling of more than 20° Celsius over large areas of North America and of more than 30° Celsius over much of Eurasia, including all agricultural regions
  • Average global precipitation would be reduced by 45% due to the prolonged cold. Growing seasons would be virtually eliminated for many years.
  • Massive destruction of the protective ozone layer would also occur, allowing intense levels of dangerous UV light to penetrate the atmosphere and reach the surface of the Earth.
  • It would be impossible for many living things to survive the extreme rapidity and degree of changes in temperature and precipitation, combined with drastic increases in UV light, massive radioactive fallout, and massive releases of toxins and industrial chemicals.
  • Already stressed land and marine ecosystems would collapse.
  • Unable to grow food, most humans would starve to death.
  • A mass extinction event would occur, similar to what happened 66 million years ago, when the dinosaurs were wiped out following a large asteroid impact with Earth (70% of species became extinct, including all animals greater than 25 kilograms in weight).
  • Even humans living in shelters equipped with many years-worth of food, water, energy, and medical supplies would probably not survive in the hostile post-war environment.
See this
Perhaps the mainstream media, the tail which commonly wags the dog, ought to worry about some of the consequences of nuclear war as much as they worry about potential concessions inherent in peace talk between the world’s superpowers.
Dr Andrew Glikson, Earth and Paleo-climate science, ANU School of Anthropology and Archaeology, ANU Planetary Science Institute, ANU Climate Change Institute, Honorary Associate Professor, Geothermal Energy Centre of Excellence, University of Queensland.

Story of a Jewish American Hero

Fighting for the Americans, Captured by the Germans, Freed by the Soviets
How a Jewish-American soldier in WWII survived in a POW camp—and even managed to celebrate Passover under the Nazis’ noses
By Milton Feldman

I was 19 years old, a Brooklyn kid two semesters into college at Penn State, when I was called up for service in the Army in 1943. For a while, I was lucky; I was sent to school for training as an engineer rather than training for the beach landing of D-Day. But in 1944 that program ended, and in December of that year I was shivering in the snow in western Germany, just across the Belgian border.
On December 16, early in the morning, we heard a bombardment, the first real action we’d seen. Orders came back to the cooks: “Make all the food. Get the men up to feed them and do it fast.” We had a banquet. We had French toast and pancakes and eggs. We were going into battle.
War historians have examined the events that led to the Battle of the Bulge and the miserable days that lay ahead for me and for thousands of my fellow soldiers in the 423rd Regiment, which was part of the 106th Infantry Division. We were unprepared for winter fighting. WWII bombers were mostly effective in clear weather, and low cloud cover had limited our most valuable weapon. And the Allied generals thought the Germans were in retreat, falling back to defend prewar German borders. It didn’t occur to them that the Germans were capable of—or interested in—mounting a major counterattack.
The shelling we heard was that counterattack on a massive scale. To both the north and south of our position, German troops were advancing incredibly quickly—creating the Bulge. We were being surrounded.
Our officers received orders to break out of the trap forming around us. All the vehicles were lined up into a convoy and we were going to fight our way back to St. Vith, a Belgian town we had passed on our way to the front.
My squad’s 57-millimeter antitank gun was the only one in our battalion that was still operational. The convoy’s officers told us, “You are now the rear guard. You’re the last truck in the convoy. As soon as the convoy stops, unhitch your gun from the truck and get it ready to fire to the rear. Stay there for 15 to 20 minutes. If you don’t see the Germans, load up again, get the hell back on the road and catch up to us. OK?”
That’s what we did. We were the last defense between the convoy and any German troops behind us.
It’s astonishing how quickly an army can collapse. In 36 hours, I went from being part of a well-armed, highly mechanized force to a foot soldier to being lost in the woods with three other guys—no other Americans in sight. The attack had cut off our supply and communication lines, so our convoy disintegrated. Trucks ran out of gas. Others got stuck in ice and mud or slid off the road. The road became impassable. We had to leave our truck and gun and start walking.
In the chaos, we all became separated from our divisions and officers. Officers near me tried to organize groups, and I joined one. We had been on the move for an hour or two when we spied a German combat patrol heading right for us. We hid, but four of us at the end of the line had to wait for them to pass and were separated from the rest. We started forward, hoping to catch up, but we lost track of the men ahead. We spent the night hidden under the low-hanging branches of an evergreen tree.
As dawn started to break we could see out through the branches. In the dim light, we could see that the Germans had set up camp right near our hiding place.
Outnumbered and isolated, we broke down our weapons and created a white flag, someone’s handkerchief. We started walking up a hill. Then we started running up. We knew there was a road to St. Vith in this direction but didn’t know how far it was. Maybe we could sneak through. We approached the top of the hill and somebody yelled, “Halt!”
There were four German soldiers. They had rifles. We had a white flag.
From the top of the hill we were able to look down at the road and there was a parade like 42nd Street on Christmas Day: an endless convoy of German vehicles and tanks going in the direction of Saint Vith. We could never have gotten away.
The Germans marched us to a barn. Inside there were other GIs. A German officer came through, looking for American officers. The sergeant I’d been captured with stood up and said something to him. The officer stopped, then motioned for the sergeant to come outside. A little while later the sergeant came in and he had part of a loaf of bread and some kind of sausage. He didn’t share it with anyone. We had already gone four or five days without eating. Here he came back with food. What the hell did he tell the Nazis?
They formed us up and we started marching with hundreds of other American POWs. Mostly we were on country roads. At times, we could look down on a town below us, snow covered, with a church steeple in the middle, as yet untouched by battle. It looked like a Christmas card.
As we passed one farm house, an elderly woman had a basket of apples that she was handing out to the POWs. That one generous German civilian kept me alive.
Finally, we reached the railroad. The train was a line of boxcars, perhaps one they’d used to transport people to the concentration camps. They closed us in the train car and locked it. We still hadn’t eaten, and there was no food. We had no water. At least when we were marching we’d been able to scoop up snow for water. Not now. A steel helmet became the latrine for 80 men. It was terrible.
We arrived at Stalag IV-B on New Year’s Eve, having gone two weeks without food. The Stalag was near an eastern German town called Mühlberg, 300 miles from where we’d first boarded the train. We got there at about midnight and lined up in front of a barracks. It was snowing and again very cold. That New Year’s Eve, we were not celebrating.
When my turn came to enter the building, I saw there were six desks with a line of maybe five men in front of each, waiting to be interrogated. At each desk was an officer in a British uniform. They spoke with English accents. Whether it was from delirium or fear or reasonable suspicion, I was not persuaded by these officers’ uniforms or perfect English. It did not make sense to me that I would be registered at a prison camp by British officers. I was sure they were Germans.
As I got nearer to the desks I could hear the questions being asked of the men in front of me. In our training, we had been told that the only information we should supply was name, rank, and serial number. Now the questions were clear:
Serial number
What was your outfit?
Where were you captured?
Where are you from?
Parents’ names?
… on and on, about 30 questions in all.
When my turn came, I answered the first three questions, then kept answering “Sorry, sir. Sorry, sir,” as we had been trained. My questioner went through the whole list then stopped and said in his English accent, “How long has it been since you’ve eaten, soldier?” This question I answered: “Two weeks, sir.”
“Soldier, I will ask these questions one more time. If you don’t answer, you won’t eat for another month!”
To not answer now would be suicide, so I answered. When it came to religion, lying seemed the safe thing to do. I hadn’t heard anyone else admit to being Jewish. But I didn’t care. In my mind I said, “Fuck you!” I was young, angry, and by any measure stupid. I answered, “Jewish.”
I fully expected to be pulled out of the line by my interrogator, but I wasn’t. I was led out with others and assigned to a barracks.
The next morning we were lined up and counted. The officer in charge barked out a number of orders in English:
“All medical personnel take one step forward.”
“All cooks and bakers take two steps forward.”
“All Jews take three steps forward.”
Again, I was sure that those of us who identified ourselves as Jewish would be marched off to who knows what fate. We knew the Nazis enslaved and murdered Jews, though we did not then know the extent of the slaughter at the death camps. Along with a handful of other Jewish GIs, I stepped forward anyway. We were not rounded up. Some prisoners who had not stepped forward were picked out for work details. The rest of us were dismissed.
Had I been in another prison camp, that moment might have turned out differently. A contingent of Jewish-American GIs and other “troublemakers” were sent from Stalag IX-B to the Berga slave camp, part of the Buchenwald complex. Some were worked to death. More died on a forced march as Allied troops approached.
Over time, I learned how my camp worked, and why Jewish soldiers were not abused there. By this point in the war, the Germans had minimized the number of German guards at POW camps to send more soldiers into battle. Most of the guards were not German, but from the countries Germany had annexed. Allied officers, mostly British, were in charge of a lot of the internal workings at the camp. They did their best to protect Jewish soldiers, keeping us from interacting with German guards or civilians. My interrogator had in fact been British, and the comprehensive information he’d demanded allowed him to report my capture to the War Department, the Red Cross, and, in turn, my parents. My defiant pronouncement of my religion probably helped save my life.
I have also heard that the Germans themselves did not want Jewish prisoners on work details outside the camp, where we would meet German civilians. They did not want civilians to know that there were brave, strong American Jews, willing to fight. It belied their propaganda.
My best friend in the Army, Blue Caldwell, was in my barracks. Blue was from Mississippi, and culturally we could not have been more different. But we’d hit it off while training in Indiana. We got together to try to support each other. We shared our food and tried to do our best to survive. The food was inadequate and it seemed the temperature just kept dropping. The barracks had no heat.
On the 11th day in prison camp, I felt desperately weak and cold. I’d heard the infirmary was heated. If you went on sick call, it would take an hour or two before you were examined and for a while you’d be warm.
At the infirmary, I tried to position myself so as not to be taken early. When my turn came, a South African doctor examined me, dictating to his orderly. Although some of the words he spoke were English, he was primarily speaking Boer. At one point he said, “TBC.” With that, they wrapped me in a blanket and carried me off to the camp hospital on the stretcher. “TBC” was tuberculosis. Now I could admit to myself that I really was sick.
Someone helped me remove my clothes and put on a hospital gown. I got in bed and they put my filthy clothes under my pillow.
I shared the ward with about 15 other men. As I lay there, an ambulatory patient came to my bed, reached under my pillow, and took my clothes. I thought, “This is the end. I’m in a prison camp. I have tuberculosis. Now my clothes have been stolen and I am too weak to do anything about it.”
Several hours later, this same patient returned. He had cleaned my clothes and folded them neatly. He put them under my pillow. This was my introduction to my Dutch friend, Ben ter Beck.
The first several days in the hospital I was too weak to get out of bed. The doctors determined I didn’t have tuberculosis but pneumonia, which was only slightly better. With close quarters, malnourishment, and no heat, many Allied prisoners died of disease in German POW camps. Ben took on the job of being my caregiver. He would almost force me to have my cup of soup and when I could eat no more, I noticed he would take any uneaten bread and eat it himself. Cynical, I was sure that’s why he was taking care of me.
As the days wore on I started to improve and my appetite returned. Now when they brought food, I didn’t eat it, I devoured it. Then I noticed something. When my food came, I’d find an extra slice of bread on my plate. Ben was paying me back.
About two weeks after I entered the hospital, I was well enough to be up and around. But what happened when Ben walked in one afternoon still brings tears to my eyes. Somehow, he had traded wheat germ from our Red Cross packages for the necessary ingredients and baked a cake. The frosting on top spelled out: CHEERS FOR USA.
It was the heaviest cake—and the most delicious one—I have ever eaten.
The first day of Passover in 1945 was March 29. A Jewish soldier, Joe Sedaka, came by my barracks. He said, “Come with me.” We got near a barracks and Joe looked to make sure no guards were watching.
When we went inside, there was a group of Jewish soldiers celebrating Passover. Not a Seder—we didn’t have the food—but a Passover service under the noses of the Nazis. Joe had a lucky charm in his wallet that his grandfather had given him at a Seder before Joe left for the Army: It was a small piece of matzo wrapped up in a cloth. For our prison camp Passover, we were able to bless a real piece of matzo.
Finally, on April 23, a Russian officer rode into camp—I’m not exaggerating—on a white horse. He had weapons coming out of his boots: a submachine gun and a rifle and everything else. He was armed to the teeth. He came into the camp and said, “You’re free.”
In 2018, there aren’t too many of us Jewish-American POWs left. The sniper of time has been steadily picking us off in ways that German shells and bullets tried but failed to do 74 years ago. As my generation dwindles, interest in WWII veterans has been rekindled, and I’m asked about it, thanked, celebrated and congratulated at every turn. I never thought I was a hero, and do not think so now. But to many, even survival is a form of heroism. So is living to 94.
When I tell my story, I sometimes choke up at the memory of being frozen and starved, or when I think about my parents—it’s still that alive for me. I don’t pretend it was easy. But I know that I was lucky in ways large and small. I was lucky to have been sent to school through part of the war, missing many months of battle. I was lucky to meet Blue Caldwell, lucky to have been issued an overcoat, lucky to have avoided the shells and bombs and bullets, lucky to have contracted pneumonia and not tuberculosis. I came back alive and healthy and mentally stable. I came back to lead a happy, prosperous life. I’m lucky to be 94 and able to write about my experiences.
But every day I read the papers and watch the news. I see American citizens who, astonishingly, seem bent on pulling us toward becoming the kind of brutal, prejudiced society we went to war against in 1941. The war led to tremendous social and global changes, from the end of Jim Crow to the creation of modern Europe and Japan and the progress of the women’s movement. By and large, American soldiers set an example for the world: We won without resorting to torture or rape or subjugation, then, with the Marshall Plan, showed that the U.S. valued functioning societies over national punishment. The global admiration for democracy, and for the United States, soared in the decades after the war.
The America I love and risked my life for is one where Blue Caldwell and I could recognize each other as friends and not stereotypes, where we could have each other’s backs through every kind of adversity. It’s one where immigrants like my parents can make a life they could not have hoped for in their native country. It’s a country built on laws and morality, where we recognize right and wrong, that ends don’t always justify means. It’s one for which people from countries all over the world might, like my Dutch friend Ben ter Beck, consider risking their freedom to bake a cake that says, “CHEERS FOR USA!”
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MH17 – Wat liet Nieuwsuur niet zien?

MH17 – Wat liet Nieuwsuur niet zien?

door  op
Een separatist die een lancering heeft gezien waarvan zijn commandant dacht dat het een BUK was, dat was de fenomenale ontdekking van Nieuwsuur zo’n jaar geleden. Nieuwsuur sprak met de commandant van de soldaat die het verhaal vertelde. Novini zocht de commandant op. Deze vertelde echter dat Nieuwsuur iets heel anders liet zien dan hij had verteld.
Indien reportage niet verschijnt, klik hier: https://youtu.be/Y7l7oSqvro0

dinsdag 17 juli 2018

The Lydda Death March and The Zionist State of Denial

The Lydda Death March and the Israeli State of Denial

Photo by Oren, Elhanan | CC BY 2.0
This week marks the 70th anniversary of the single largest mass expulsion of Arabs from Palestine during the Jewish ethnic cleansing campaign of 1948-49, the infamous Lydda Death March, in which attacking Israeli troops murdered and pillaged the people and property of Lydda, Ramle and surrounding villages while forcing some 80,000 men, women and children into the scorching wilderness, never to return.
“No Room for Both People” 
In late 1947 Britain, worn down by a ferocious Jewish terror campaign led by men who included future Israeli prime ministers Menachem Begin and Yitzhak Shamir, announced it would end its 30-year occupation of Palestine. The Palestine problem would now be for the fledgling United Nations to solve and, to that end, the world body devised a plan to partition the territory between Jews and Arabs. The latter were not consulted. Under the UN plan Jews, who comprised just over a third of Palestine’s population at the time, were given 55 percent of its land. This understandably enraged Arabs but even this heavily favorable distribution wasn’t enough for the Zionists. They wanted all of Palestine for themselves, despite the fact that it had been thousands of years since Jews constituted anything remotely approaching a majority there. As Joseph Weitz, director of the Jewish National Land Fund, had so unambiguously stated
Among ourselves it must be clear that there is no room for both people in this country… and there is no way besides transferring the Arabs from here to neighboring countries… We must not leave a single village, a single tribe. 
The neighboring Palestinian Arab towns of Lydda and Ramle, home to some 50,000 people in 1948, were located inside the UN-designated area of Arab control. But they were also situated near strategically critical road and rail junctions, and Lydda was home to what would later be called Ben-Gurion International Airport. As fighting between Jews and Arabs intensified as British forces prepared to withdraw, Arab militants attacked Jewish military and civilian traffic along the roads, blocking important routes and prompting Jewish commanders to plan countermeasures. 
The Nakba Comes to Lydda and Ramle
Israel declared its independence on May 14, 1948, with neighboring Arab nations then immediately launching coordinated attacks in a bid to destroy the nascent Jewish state. By this time there had been fighting ranging from skirmishes to pitched battles between attacking Jewish troops and defenders in villages and towns near Lydda and Ramle, but it wasn’t until Israeli Prime Minister David Ben-Gurion ordered Operation Dani, a major offensive to conquer Lydda and Ramle, that the two towns would face — and fail — an existential challenge. 
By July 1948, Lydda and Ramle were swollen with tens of thousands of refugees fleeing what would come to be called the Nakba, or “catastrophe;” the wholesale ethnic cleansing of more than 700,000 Palestinian Arabs by Jews, many of them Holocaust refugees, seeking their own lebensraum in the land they ruled more than 2,500 years ago. The towns had been preparing for the inevitable Zionist assault, stockpiling food, medicine and weapons and reinforcing defensive positions. However, there were only 125 regular Arab troops stationed there, with the remaining defenders consisting of local and Bedouin volunteers. They were vastly outnumbered and outgunned by the newly-created Israel Defense Forces, which deployed some 6,000 troops, 30 artillery pieces, as well as armored vehicles and aircraft for the attack. Yet the Arabs were able to mount impressive resistance when the onslaught came. 
“Orgy of Indiscriminate Killing”
On July 9, IDF troops commanded by Yigal Allon and future Israeli prime minister Yitzhak Rabin launched Operation Dani and by the following day Lydda and Ramle were attacked from the air and ground. At around noon on July 11 a mechanized commando battalion led by future Israeli foreign and defense minister Moshe Dayan stormed Lydda, firing indiscriminately at defenders and civilians alike. New York Herald-Tribune reporter Kenneth Bilby, who was there, said the Israeli column rolled in “with guns blazing… blasting at everything that moved,” leaving “the corpses of Arab men, women and even children strewn about the streets.” Dozens of men, women and children perished during this 47-minute bloodbath. Six Israeli attackers died in this assault. 
The Arab National Committee, the local emergency authority ultimately commanded by the Grand Mufti of Jerusalem, bears some blame for the high civilian death toll at Lydda and Ramle, having prevented women and children from fleeing the towns in the fear that the men would follow. Arabs often fled imminent attack by Jewish fighters, who had developed fearsome reputations as bloodthirsty murderers and rapists following brutal massacres like the one at Deir Yassin on April 9. Indeed, Jewish militias successfully used both massacre and the threat of massacre as psychological weapons to induce Arabs to flight. They sometimes even broadcast recordings of shrieking women over loudspeakers aimed at targeted villages. 
By the evening of July 11, many residents of Lydda had gathered in the streets to wave white flags of surrender. The hospital was overflowing with victims, blasted bodies lined the streets and morale was abysmal after two days of ferocious Israeli onslaught. While women and children were mostly released after surrendering, thousands of local men were crowded into mosques where they feared they would face mass execution. Such killings never occurred, but other atrocities would soon follow.  
When a pair of Jordanian armored vehicles entered the conquered town and opened fire on the Israelis just before noon on July 12, local resistance renewed and panicked Israeli soldiers threw grenades into Arab houses and fired anti-tank rockets into the Dahmash mosque, where terrified civilians huddled seeking refuge. “We shot shells into a mosque where many people were hiding, there was no choice,” recalled Israeli soldier Yerachmiel Kahanovich, who described a grisly aftermath in which the remains of innocent men, women and children were “scattered on the walls.” Spiro Munayyer, a local volunteer medic, recounted how colleagues removed the remains of more than 90 bodies from the blasted mosque. According to Munayyer, “about 250 civilians died in an orgy of indiscriminate killing” that day. 
Death March 
On July 12 Israeli forces also seized neighboring Ramle, warning residents via loudspeaker that they had 48 hours to leave their homes forever. The order to ethnically cleanse the area of Arabs came straight from Rabin, who directed that they all “must be expelled quickly without regard to age.” What followed was the forced mass exodus of some 80,000 Palestinians from dozens of area towns and villages in the largest single act of Jewish ethnic cleansing of the Nakba, what is now known as the Lydda Death March. Israeli troops went from house to house, dragging terrified residents into the streets and ordering them to leave town and never return. They threatened to summarily execute anyone who didn’t comply. Arab families then streamed out of Lydda, Ramle and surrounding villages, forming a seemingly endless column that slowly and sadly plodded eastward under the scorching July sun as Israeli soldiers fired shots over their heads to hasten their flight. Wrote Israeli author and journalist Ari Shavit: 
The road was narrow, the congestion unbearable. Children shouted, women screamed, men wept. There was no water. Every so often, a family withdrew from the column and stopped by the side of the road to bury a baby who had not withstood the heat; to say farewell to a grandmother who had collapsed from fatigue. After a while, it got even worse. A mother abandoned her howling baby under a tree. [Another] deserted her week-old boy. She could not bear to hear him wailing with hunger. 
Meanwhile, the victorious Israelis now occupying Lydda and Ramle occupied themselves with stealing everything of value that the fleeing Arabs left behind. Homes, stores and other businesses were looted wholesale, with trucks carting off everything the conquerers could carry. There were worse crimes than larceny. Ben-Gurion wrote of “acts of robbery and rape;” Amos Kenan, who served as platoon commander of the IDF’s 82nd regiment when it captured Ramle, later admitted that “at night, those of us who couldn’t restrain ourselves would go into the prison compounds to fuck Arab women.” Kennan explained that he “wanted very much to assume… that those who couldn’t restrain themselves did what they thought the Arabs would have done to them had they won the war.” 
While the Israelis plundered, Arabs continued marching and dying under the blazing 100-degree sun. Palestinian historian Aref al-Aref, who interviewed survivors at the time, estimated that 350 people, mostly elderly and children, died of thirst and exhaustion as they marched eastward toward the Arab lines. The heat wasn’t the only danger the refugees faced. Not content with stealing everything the fleeing Arabs left behind in their homes and businesses, Israeli soldiers had set up roadblocks and were searching and robbing refugees of their money, jewelry and other precious family heirlooms. 
Israel: State of Denial
By July 14, the Lydda, Ramle and some two dozen nearby Arab villages no longer existed. Lydda is now the Jewish city of Lod, while Ramle is now Ramla. While millions of Jews around the world with no connection to or even knowledge of Palestine have been granted automatic Israeli citizenship and the right to settle on stolen Arab land and in stolen Arab homes, the more than 700,000 expelled Palestinians are to this day denied the right to return guaranteed by the United Nations nearly 70 years ago.
In addition to cleansing Palestine of Arabs, Israel also earnestly set about cleansing the very memory and truth of the events of 1948 from historical memory. Zionists in Israel and abroad, but especially in the United States, vehemently deny there was any massacre at Lydda, or at Deir Yassin, or at any of the dozens of other towns and villages where Jewish usurpers committed mass murder in service of their new state. Even the more honest Israelis who acknowledge the horrors of the Nakba tend to fall into the “we did what we had to do” category. Shavit wrote that the ethnic cleansing of Palestine’s Arabs “laid the foundation for the Jewish state.” To him, “the choice is stark: either reject Zionism because of Lydda or accept Zionism along with Lydda.” He wrote: 
I know that if not for [the IDF] the State of Israel would not have been born. If not for them, I would not have been born. They did the filthy work that enables my people, my nation, my daughter, my sons, and me to live. 
Still, honest voices like Shavit’s are the exception to the rule. Earlier Zionists were far more truthful. While serving as Israeli defense minister, Moshe Dayan declared that:
We came to this country, which was already populated by Arabs, and we established a… Jewish state here… Jewish villages were built in place of Arab villages. You do not even know the names of these Arab villages, and I do not blame you, because those geography books no longer exist. Not only do the books not exist, the Arab villages are not there either. Nahalal rose in place of Malalul; Givat in the place of Jibta; Sarid in the place of Haneifa, and Kfar Yehoshua in the place of Tell Shamon. There is not one place built in this country that did not have a former Arab population.
Today, denial dominates the conversation, where there is any conversation at all, about Israel’s past and present crimes. Not only are the massacres and ethnic cleansing of past decades denied, so is the illegality — or even the existence — of the ongoing half-century occupation of the West Bank. The same goes for the economic asphyxiation of Gaza, or what prominent international observers including Nobel peace laureates Desmond Tutu and Jimmy Carter have called an apartheid worse than what befell South Africa in dark decades past. The very existence of the Palestinian people, to say nothing of their right to return to their stolen homes or to earn a decent living or to even live with dignity and basic human rights, is also throughly denied by Israel. But the survivors of Lydda, Ramle and all the other atrocities of the Nakba will never forget, and the horrors of 1948 fuel the fire of Palestinian resistance to this very day. 

More articles by:
Brett Wilkins is editor-at-large for US news at Digital Journal. Based in San Francisco, his work covers issues of social justice, human rights and war and peace. 

Ray McGovern Exposes CIA

Ray McGovern ex CIA analyst Exposes CIA pretending to be Russia & hacking DNC to copy Vault 7 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LatP39...