Zone of Disquiet: An Editorial
There are those who say there is no such thing as absolute truth; but this is not always absolutely true. Irony often boggles the mind. The statement has its merit; it points out that there are many viewpoints on any event, and that the three blind men who each touched only the tail, the trunk or the tusk of the elephant found something entirely different – and not the totality of the elephant itself.
The problem comes along when we talk about crime, theft, slander, distortion. A slanderer can state that he has never engaged in any slander or distortion – he can even present his carefully prepared “facts,” which take the situation out of context, or highlight only certain sentences or moments in the story.
This is what pressmen favorable to the telecom industry do. I met over 160 of them in over 80 interviews who came to the quiet zone asking to interview me at my self-made shack; I had fled to the woods during my third bout with death from radiation poisoning in 2011. I have also met journalists, writers and filmmakers who have done the same. The intent was sometimes innocent, sometimes nasty, sometimes motivated by money, fear of job loss or fear of social ridicule. In the so-called interest of “appearing balanced” some have cut out entire bodies of work, thousands of scientific studies and even the simplest of checkable facts delivered to them on silver platters. A journalist’s dream? No, not in a press world controlled by corporations that have invented all their own “facts,” and mandated that these “facts” are the only ones allowed in the press.
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Animals, not only elephants, apparently have very developed ‘radar systems’ to detect danger or attack. Humans are technically categorized as mammals, and also develop elaborate detection systems for danger, affronts, and so forth. Sometimes the detection system becomes defunct as in the case of extreme naivety – or extreme paranoia. But most of the time, sooner or later, a person gets a sense of what is happening.
So-called intelligence and intuition are not always that far apart. My father, a great mathematician, who shared my love of mathematics in childhood, sometimes arrived at correct answers without, at first, being able to explain how he had arrived at them. Later, with some thought, he’d be able to break down the method. I, too, sometimes arrived at correct answers that no one else in my class could arrive at and the teacher would ask me to come up to the board and explain how I had gotten them. They often had to do with spatial subjects, since I had begun designing buildings on graph paper at the age of six or seven, and later would become an architect. When I explained how I had come up with the correct answer, it was never the textbook method, and for some of the students, a little hard to follow. The teacher would then explain the textbook method of solving the problem. This was “book learning” on her part, as opposed to so-called intuition.
My father once stated, after arriving at a correct answer a little too quickly, that intuition was nothing more than experience plus knowledge. It was not a “mysterious gift,” and “nothing religious.” (This might or might not have been ‘absolutely true’ but I thought it an interesting viewpoint.)
It is possible that many of us are filled with conscious and unconscious prejudices and projections, but it also might be true that we sometimes hit the nail on the head at the very first meeting with another person – and it might be due to “experience plus knowledge.”
I knew, for example, the very first time I met a certain writer, writing a book about the radio quiet zone, that there would be trouble – and there was. His apparently snide and willfully ignorant remarks are in “too many sentences of his book” from what I have been recently told. He appears to have been a genius at simultaneously insulting the radio astronomy scientists, the original, local people of the quiet zone, and the electrosensitives who have come here to live. (It seems that he has inadvertently brought a lot of us together [who barely even knew each other] because of our mutual disdain for things he said and did to us. One local person, born and raised here, surprised me by saying he’d been “manipulative and hurtful to several people.” If his intentions had been to “divide and conquer” like some of the pressmen, he miserably failed, but perhaps that was not his agenda. It might have been something worse.)
He trapped me out in a field at the observatory one day with a tape recorder. And when I told him I did not want to be in his book unless he signed a goodwill agreement promising not to edit out a few basic, checkable scientific facts, he said, he “couldn’t promise that.” But not right away. He’d urged me to walk and talk with him a little “before we got to the goodwill agreement” – and once he had me on tape with plenty of fodder to exploit, he gave me the one-two punch.
My father’s axiom, experience plus knowledge, let me know that this man had slime-bag intentions of legalized slander and distortion; his snake-like eyes lit up with glee when he saw the look on my face as I realized he’d won his little coup. Entrapment is that moment in time when you know you are f**ked.
“I don’t want to be in your book if you’re not signing the agreement of good will,” I repeated. “Please do not interview me or put me in your book.”
He looked at me with the same, satisfied, condescending smile I’d seen the very first moment I’d met him, as his eyes had laughed at newcomers who had tried to explain their “sensitivity” in easily exploitable language, and I’d tried to step in to defend them.
It was the same smug smile (pseudo-superior and sinister at once) of the industry proponents or boot-licking members of certain press outlets I’d met again and again, coming to the quiet zone for “just a little human interest story,” telling our stories without the science (or claiming there was no science) so as to make themselves look good and the rest us look like delusional fools. Or sometimes, in my case, as “an idealist” in “paradise,” living the life of exile as I squatted in the non-electric cabin I had built alone, while as thin as a concentration camp victim; without running water, phone or even as yet a roof over the deck I cooked on in the endless rain. For years. An Italian journalist had even filmed me in the tiny cabin I had built by hand where I froze my tail off in winter when the tiny woodstove went out in the middle of the night. He said the photos were for two journals. One was called Hermit and the other was called Utopia.
Apparently, the world saw living a life of constant toxic torture, bankrupted and isolated due to pharmaceutical and microwave injuries… as the choice of a hermit living in an enviable utopia. When I told the quiet zone book writer that these injuries, afflicting millions of people around the world, were crimes against humanity due to fraudulent corporations, scientists with ties or vested conflict of interests in certain corporations and unsafe safety standards at captured agencies like the FCC, he sneered with patronizing ridicule and said, Oh please, you’re living in paradise.
No injured body is living in paradise no matter where it resides; it carries hell inside it. It only gets moments of alleviation in places with low or no radiation; and extreme and constant torture in places with constant radiation (meaning, most of the world). I didn’t want to be in his book lest I be ‘slander-distorted’ once again, and betray my friends and fellow advocates around the globe.
“Please take me out then,” I said. “I don’t want to be in your book.”
“I can’t promise that,” he said again as his satisfied eyes had the look of an anaconda that had just swallowed a school boy live. Call it something “fuzzy” like intuition if you like but the glee in his eyes had the spark of a man that had just made points with the keepers of “truth.” It was four or five years ago but even back then the corporate keepers of truth that now put little “fact” checks on your posts whenever you quote a reputable scientist or physician were alive and well and living in the wireless empire.
