by Jon Rappoport
— Bernie Sanders can’t just wink and nod at his supporters, letting them know he’s faking his Hillary endorsement. No. He’s in the clutches of the octopus. He’s feathering the vulture’s nest. He’s delivering pints of blood to the vampire —
Bernie Sanders’ followers are moaning and weeping and gnashing their teeth. O the betrayal. O the horror.
He…what? He endorsed Hillary for President?
They supported and voted for Bernie because he was righteous and independent and above party politics. He was for the people. And they hated Hillary.
But now, Bernie has gone over to Her.
Make no mistake. Bernie’s loyal army wasn’t just vehemently battling against Trump. They were repulsed at the prospect of Hillary winning the Presidency.
And now their hero, their idol, the “last honest man in American politics,” has crossed over to The Dark Side.
Well, remember, he gave up his long-time status as an Independent when he entered the race for the Presidency. He joined the Democratic Party. He knew the score. He enrolled on the team. He knew, if he lost, he would have to endorse the Democratic candidate. Play ball, or you don’t get to play at all.
He can’t just wink and nod at his supporters, letting them know he’s faking his Hillary endorsement. No. He’s in the clutches of the octopus. He’s feathering the vulture’s nest. He’s delivering pints of blood to the vampire.
This is big-time Democratic politics. This is major-league. This is when compromises are made and deals are struck. And Bernie isn’t feeling the same burn anymore. This fire is a camp fire, and Bernie is sitting there along with other Party operatives and hustlers and propagandists and strong-arm closers and creatures of the night.
As a last gasp, Bernie tried to insert a plank in the Democratic platform opposing the TPP, another hideous Globalist trade treaty. And he failed. That would have been a good time to revolt and bolt and take a stand against the Party and go back to being an Independent—but it didn’t happen. Bernie ate the poison pill.
Meet Mr. Sanders; a Democrat; a dutiful soldier in the ranks.
Hillary, Ms. Darth Vader, her helmet removed, her blonde hair blowing in the wind, strides down the line, inspecting the troops. When she comes to Bernie, she pauses for a moment and inclines her head an inch toward him in acknowledgement. He was, briefly, a minor opponent. Bernie blinks, like a lost recruit in the middle of a nightmare who doesn’t know how he arrived at this moment. She moves on. She’s on her way. She sees the future.
Far away in the distance, a cry of anguish goes up from a huge rag-tag tattered mass of The Disappointed Ones. Bernie’s people.
Duped again. Bamboozled. Cut loose from the passing vision of a Papier-mache utopia of equality.
Did they really think Bernie was playing it straight? Did they really think he would remain above the corruption?
What they and the rest of the American public failed to realize was: this was a unique Presidential campaign in all of modern history. There were two major candidates (Bernie and Trump) who, although they hated each other, were standing for the same thing:
The defeat of Globalism. The defeat of the Globalist trade treaties that destroy communities across the land, as jobs flee overseas, as huge corporations set up shop in places where they use virtual slaves to produce goods that are then sold back to America, minus any fair tax or fair tariff or penalty of any kind. Thus the US economy sinks deeper and deeper into a massive swamp.
And between these two major candidates, Bernie and Trump, who were standing at opposite ends of the political spectrum, but who were advocating the same thing—Hillary Clinton, arch-Globalist, has been cruising right up the middle stripe in her gold and jewel-encrusted limousine, smiling and waving and laughing and conniving her way toward the Oval Office.
She’s shaking her head at the sheer beauty of it. Divide and Conquer is, once again, working like a charm.
And you’d better believe it, she knows that a goodly number of those young people protesting and rioting in inner cities are the uncomprehending sons and daughters of fathers and mothers and their fathers and mothers who were thrown out of work, cast out into the streets by the Globalist plan and program. She knows. And she doesn’t care.
And the beat goes on.
—Bye, bye, Bernie. You had your moment.
You inflated your balloon, then let the air out of it, walked away and joined the team.
Fold up the chairs, take down the banners, turn out the lights, exit stage left.
Bernie’s back home, inside the Beltway, in Washington, where the loons come out and play their grotesque games.
(Jon Rappoport is the author of three explosive collections, The Matrix Revealed, Exit From The Matrix, and Power Outside The Matrix).