¿Cáncer inoculado? (En Cubadebate, por Eleazar Díaz Rangel)

Articulo Original: ¿Cáncer inoculado?.

 

Julián Assange es hoy otro personaje invisibilizado. No se crean que sólo lo hacen con los pobres, como durante tantos años ocurrió aquí y sucede en países latinoamericanos.

También desaparecen de los medios a personajes que en algún momento estuvieron en el epicentro de la atención mediática de todo el mundo y, de pronto, “dejan de ser noticia”. En nuestro caso, Assange fue el hombre que entregó a cinco de los diarios más famosos del mundo centenares de miles de mensajes que enviaron las embajadas de EEUU al Departamento de Estado desde decenas de países, incluido Venezuela, pero hubo dos circunstancias que lo bajaron del pedestal: una, que cuando Assange observó que en esos diarios dejaban de publicar cables que afectaban determinados intereses, políticos y de empresas transnacionales, cortó sus relaciones con ellos y, la otra, que Estados Unidos comenzó a perseguirlo y debió asilarse en la Embajada de Ecuador en Londres, donde aún se encuentra.

Hace muy poco concedió una entrevista a Elizabeth Carvallo para Globo News y denunció que “la Agencia de Seguridad Nacional de EEUU, que es la principal agencia de espionaje electrónico de EEUU, admitió ante el Congreso que intercepta 1,6 mil millones de unidades de comunicación al día”, y fue más allá, dijo también que Internet es “la máquina de espionaje más importante que jamás se haya inventado” y que Google y Facebook “se ven parte del sistema”.

Un país con esa capacidad de nutrirse de información de todos los mortales sobre la Tierra y de interceptar casi todas las llamadas telefónicas que hacemos y los mensajes que enviamos o recibimos, es capaz de cosas mayores.

“…En el caso particular del cáncer, se conoce que, desde 1975, se ha empleado el Fuerte Detrick como instalación donde radica una sección especial dentro del Departamento Virus del Centro para la Investigación de Guerra Biológica, conocida como “Instalaciones Fredrick para la Investigación del Cáncer”, bajo supervisión del Departamento de Defensa, de la CIA y del Instituto Nacional del Cáncer.

“Las investigaciones ultrasecretas están encaminadas a desarrollar un programa especial del virus del cáncer, sumamente agresivo y letal, para el que existe inmunidad y fue identificado como Virus Humano de la célula T de Leucemia (Htlv). La insistencia de estos laboratorios de lograr los mecanismos para elaborar artificialmente células malignas o cancerígenas, sumamente invasivas y capaces de propagarse en el organismo desarrollando una metástasis incontenible, se ha mantenido a lo largo de más de cuatro décadas. De acuerdo con estos proyectos, las enfermedades cancerígenas serían capaces de inhibir cualquier defensa ante su ataque al organismo humano, diseminándose a través de la sangre o de la linfa luego de ser inoculadas en el mismo mediante diversas vías. La alteración del material genético de las células humanas que provoca el cáncer por vía artificial en estos laboratorios, son la premisa básica de esta arma desarrollada con la venia del Gobierno norteamericano. Para ello se elaboran células madres o stem cells, mediante mutaciones monitoreadas y preconcebidas, convirtiéndolas en un fenotipo maligno más heterogéneo de rápido desarrollo”, según escribió Percy Alvarado Godoy, luchador e investigador antiterrorista.

Ahora lean el comienzo de un informe escrito por Robert Burns en 2007, de la agencia AP: “En uno de los secretos más duraderos de la Guerra Fría, el Ejército de Estados Unidos exploró la posibilidad de utilizar venenos radioactivos para asesinar a ‘personas importantes’, como líderes militares o civiles, según documentos desclasificados obtenidos por The Associated Press”.

Seguramente el presidente Hugo Chávez no conocía esos informes cuando, a fines de 2011, expresó su extrañeza de que personalidades como Cristina Fernández, Dilma Rousseff, Fernando Lugo, Lula da Silva y él, hubiesen tenido cáncer, y señaló que no podía ser casual que algunos poderes foráneos pudiesen tener responsabilidad.

Muerto Chávez, enterado el alto gobierno de que muestras de la biopsia enviadas a laboratorios especializados de Brasil, China, Rusia, y con nombre supuesto, EEUU, coincidieron en que se trataba de células únicas, de un cáncer extremadamente agresivo, y aparentemente desconocido, es cuando el presidente encargado Nicolás Maduro, anunció que se designará una comisión de científicos de varios países del mundo para conocer del caso. Más recientemente, el ministro Rafael Ramírez declaró estar convencido de que Chávez fue víctima de un complot y fue asesinado. Dijo a BBC Mundo que “Estamos seguros de que el imperialismo y lo más oscuro de las agencias de inteligencia… tienen el manejo de tecnologías que nosotros desconocemos”, y le pidió al periodista que no le pidiera “que te demuestre en este momento la profunda convicción que tengo, lo estudiaremos y evaluaremos. No se ha podido demostrar cómo asesinaron a Yaser Arafat, pero a Yaser Arafat lo asesinaron”.

Ante esos hechos y opiniones, hay razones para la duda y parece lógica la designación de esa comisión de científicos, y esperar sus resultados para despejar las dudas

A Tale of Truth, Fiction and Crime

WINTER FORESTThe white, furry beast trudged through the forest, ahead of myself, who from time to time stopped to take in the icy scenery. The cold was bitter, to be sure, but it had not fully frozen the streams and ravines, so that their crystalline water sparkled as it flowed beneath imperceptible layers of ice, roaring gently, like a small sleeping animal. The rest of the forest, which in summer-time engulfed these sparkling waters with thick and lustrous flora, seemed to have a surreal, almost fairy-tale-like look to it in the winter, with icicles stretching from the tip of naked tree branches covered only by a white blanket of snow that sparkled as radiantly as the water; the slightly mountainous terrain gave the entire trip the air of a quest, as we trudged and climbed and even crawled at times; in the sun-light, which peered intermittently through the opened branches of the tallest eucalyptus trees, the entire thing felt enchanted behind an azure hue, though at night and against the bitter cold, the darkness behind the trees felt macabre, and you could almost hear whispers emanating from within the nothingness that seemed to lurk in there. But at this time we were safe, and practically felt serenaded by a concert only orchestrated for our quest – a mixture of nature sounds that seemed to still break through the bitter and lonesome winter cold in the humming of the waters, the guttural hollowing of the air and the rest of the subtle background full of hidden chitters and snapping twigs. But there was not much time to stay still, for my furry companion was still young and impatient, and he demanded that we carry on. Plus, remaining for too long in the same spot was an easy reminder to the bones of how cold it was outside, despite the breath-taking scenery.

However, despite moving quite quickly, by the time we arrived at the peak of the forest, where the little furry beast knew we’d set up camp, the sun was already slowly disappearing behind the trees at the western end, illuminating the sky above them a fiery purple and orange colour, which made it feel as if we were being set on fire. My wolf-like companion, full of energy and completely equipped to not only stand the winter cold but, indeed, to thrive in it, ran around frantically, barking and howling in a seemingly uncontrolled but elated fit. When I finished setting up camp, we played together, fighting as most brothers do – without a care in the world and full of confidence in the other. But as the night began to approach faster and faster, with darkness beginning to engulf everything like a gigantic devouring maw, we settled into our nest near the fire, and braced ourselves for the wonders and terrors that come with the night, especially under the open, vast and unforgiving winter sky. The cold was surprisingly tamed, so it was easier to stare into the nothingness without feeling assaulted at the joints. After a while, I realized I must have dozed off, or perhaps just lost myself in the night, because I suddenly became aware that the little furry beast had run off. I got up and began calling for him immediately but heard no response, so I started walking towards the thick blackness in front of me, where I was sure only trees and night critters lurked.

Nevertheless, as I approached the darkness, away from my camp-fire, I began hearing twigs snapping and a low growling that I recognized as that of my own furry friend. When I finally got near enough to make out a slight silhouette in front of me, with the aid of the beast’s white fur, I realized he was tugging at something that he held in his mouth, but which was attached firmly at the other end to something which I could not make out. I called out to the beast but he refused to come; he simply continued tugging and growling. When I got a little closer, and aiding myself with the scant moon-light that was sheepishly peering through, I realized it was only a tree branch. Relieved that it wasn’t anything or anyone else, I let out a deep sigh and rested my back against the nearest tree, still able to witness the scene. And that was it…The only thing that happened after that was that I watched the beast tug at the branch and pull it backwards until it snapped, making such a loud “THWACK” sound that it resonated through the hollow forest like a gunshot. I felt there was something sinister about that entire scene; that I was enjoying seeing the beast tear at that poor branch for no reason at all, and that I felt somewhat disturbed at that fact. NIGHT TREE

When it was all finished, a green scab covered what was now the stub of the branch, and the beast simply ran off with the rest of it in his mouth, happily prancing back to our camp-site. I was speechless, for I felt as if I had witnessed a crime, almost enjoyed it, and had done absolutely nothing to stop the perpetrator or even help the poor victim who, I immediately began to realize, had been utterly defenceless. I approached the mangled tree slowly, almost embarrassed to be in its presence and finally placed my hand on its wounded and severed limb. I began to feel infused with something; to feel something inside of me…Emotion…Yes, that’s what it was…I began to feel emotion for this victim, and I whispered, “I’m sorry…” I don’t know why. But I felt as if I were starring into the watery eyes of a bullied victim after the fact; as if I were responsible for not having stopped the tyrant when I saw what he was doing and had the chance to do so…

******

I realized then that all those fears of the night which I had held onto not long before, and the images of something horrendous lurking in there, waiting to snatch my soul or my mind away, were indeed unfounded. And not because they are impossible things, for the mind is powerful and can find any horror where it faithfully seeks to find one; but because what really lurks in the night in the deepest and thickest forests and jungles and parks and backyards are only Trees: Guardians of our most precious need – oxygen – and authors of our most coveted dreams – pure and awing beauty.

As we walked back the following night, now against a slightly harsher cold, the trek suddenly felt more alive…more holistic…more serious…more solemn. And the engulfing night no longer seemed tenebrous but rather tender, like a cozy and quiet womb inviting you to rest. However, what really felt different was the way these benevolent giant creatures, who’d never dare cause harm and who never speak a word, seemed to be watching over us, painting a picture of enchantment and reality far beyond the confines of our understanding.

A SHOT AT POETRY

Originally written: July 20, 2012

Step Away (from Ignorance)

Come forth my Child, step away from the Darkness;
it will hurt, surely, and perhaps inflict Madness.
But I will hold your hand, through and through,
during your Blossoming and till the end of your Bloom…
For a life blinded from colour, though safely within,
is not worth living, not even in Sin…
And I promise, Strong Child, that out here in the Wild —
Though unpredictably unstable and always potentially Vile,
Though ridden with Corruption and Dark Alleys of Bile —
Child becomes Man, and with the Right Kind of Smiles
His soul elevates to Heights so Free, into Heaven a Thousand Miles…
The Truth, My Dear Child, is the Gift of the Unafraid,
Of the Adventurer Idealist who the World’s Darkness he looks to Slay.
So come forth my Child, Step away from the Darkness;
it will hurt, surely, but the Truth cures the worst of all Madness.