A Nation Betrayed: Secret Cold War Experiments Performed on Our Children and Other Innocent People (6 page)

“First, there would be the creation of a personality who is all violence. This individual wants to stop the trauma, but given the young age, he or she is helpless...The second personality that is created comes the moment the mind realizes the body is helpless to fight back. This is a personality capable of enduring anything-pain, grief, exhaustion.”
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This is a very apt description of Samantha who had been created the previous day.

The CIA had proposed a three to five year outside research project to search for exceptionally gifted individuals who could obtain both perfect and scattered ESP test performance.
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Since I displayed psychic abilities, they trained Guy to use these abilities in a way they hoped would benefit the agency.

The CIA then made sure that this project would never be made known. The document says, “It would be necessary to be exceedingly careful about thorough cloaking of the undertaking. I would not want anyone here in the deleted except deleted and myself to know about it... Funds necessary for the support of the work would carry no identification and raise no questions.”

It is my belief, that these studies done in secrecy for ten years became the foundation for the ESP experiments under MKULTRA Subproject 136 mentioned in the preface.

Little Girl Continues:

Then Daddy Sid says,

“Dr. Black has a few words he wishes to say to you.
^xxi
You will listen attentively, and then when I say cheese, you will return Baby to me. Remember to stare at the white light at all times. Do not look at Dr. Black’s face. Only the white light.”

We turns our attention to the bulb that is being shone into our face. When the moon hits the sky like a big piece of pie, that’s amore. It’s like staring at the full moon.

Dr. Black says,

“Freda, my darling girl, are you there?”

He likes “schpunky” kids, so he really likes our Freda who was use to fightin the Grandfather off. Dr. Black rocks back and forth on his heels with his hands behind his back, and tells Freda that he’s gonna make her a twin and they both will be “Mengele’s Kids.”

Dr. Black says,

“Ah, you are so cute. It’s time to put you under the microscope to see what makes you tick. Who in there is small enough to fit under the microscope?”

They be drawing blood from our arm now and we have to watch while they put it under the microscope. It has a flat piece of glass put on top of it and they be telling us this is Connie. She be forever this small and if we don’t behave, the bad doctor will stomp the glass under his shiny black boot. We believe, cause he show us just how he do it with another slide. We think we gotta get some anti-puke medicine if we gonna be this dude’s kids. Either that or a big straw to blow Connie back up.

(Because of my belief in what Dr. Black said that day, I automatically created Connie when the blood was drawn. From that day forward she was to remain flat as a pancake, until I rescued her by understanding the lies told that day.)

Dr. Black says somethin about nucleo peptides, strings of dna and discoverin the truth, and he wanna preserve our dna. Then he says somethin about double helix, strands of dna, and tissue samples that are gonna destroy the foreign material.

Now someone be singing,

“Follow the yellow brick road, follow the yellow brick road.”

We be told it’s time to create Scarecrow. Scarecrow got no brain. They sucked it out with a needle. Iffin we gets caught and questioned when we’s carrying out orders, we’s supposed to turn into Scarecrow. Iffin we don’t, we get smashed under Dr. Black’s shiny boot. We never, ever tell, oh no. We don’t have no Brain. Iffin you don’t got no brain, then there’s nothin to tell. Then we gets that awful lectricity in us again. That’s all we remembers.

Next thing we remembers we is in a different place and we gots our black patent leather shoes on again. This man is askin if we been a good Little Girl. We smiles and says yes. He’s gots a nice office with pictures on the wall and a pitcher a water on his desk with a glass for us cause we’s real thirsty. We gots a real bad, dry taste in our mouth.”

He says, “No worse for the wear.”

He’s relieved cause he don’t want us going home lookin disheveled. We don’t know what that means, but we’s glad we don’t look that way. We getta come back soon he says, cause we’s a good little spearmint--not gum though. He’s very happy with Mr. Dull-ass. He gotted a good little patsy in him.

If you are finding this hard to believe, I understand. However, a declassified document talks about the Chief of the Technical Branch’s trip to Detroit in 1952.
⁵⁵
Gottlieb also admitted that he made approximately six trips to New York in 1952, and that he “visited George White on two or three occasions in 1952 to discuss his becoming a consultant for the CIA in LSD research.” Apart from his contacts with White, Gottlieb also declared that he might have visited Dr. Harold Abramson, a physician who later became an MKULTRA consultant in New York in 1952.

Dr. Sidney Gottlieb was a man who seemed to have had his soul buried in his own ego centered energy. I am not the only one to feel this way. Ted Schwartz says this about him: “Sidney Gottlieb seemed to approach the chemistry division programs with an eye for truth and a mind not hampered by moral considerations. He was like a delinquent child with a loaded gun who comes to understand trauma, pain, and death only by firing a bullet into someone’s heart. A multitude of sins could be whitewashed in the name of scientific knowledge and the search for truth in a world filled with lies and secrets.”
⁵⁶

There is even a declassified document that Alan Scheflin found in which the CIA considers building a laboratory for its experiments,

“This laboratory will include a special chamber, in which all psychologically significant aspects of the environment can be controlled. This chamber will contain, among other things, a broad-spectrum polygraph for simultaneous recordings of a variety of psycho physiological reactions of the individual being studied. In this setting the various hypnotic, pharmacologic and sensory-environmental variables will be manipulated in a controlled fashion and quantitative and continuous recordings of the reactions of experimental subjects will be made.”
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A 1951 declassified document also clarifies the kind of people that were employed by the CIA to teach hypnotism.
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The document says,

“On 2 July 1951 approximately 1:00 p.m., the instruction began with deleted relating to the student some of his sexual experiences. Deleted stated that he had constantly used hypnotism as a means of inducing young girls to engage in sexual intercourse with him. Deleted a performer in deleted orchestra was forced to engage in sexual intercourse with deleted while under the influence of hypnotism...Deleted further stated that many times while going home on deleted, he would use hypnotic suggestion to have a girl turn around and talk to him and suggest sexual intercourse to him; and that as a result of these suggestions induced by him he spent approximately five nights a week away from home engaging in sexual intercourse.”

If you still find it hard to believe that people in power will use four year old children if it suits their needs, then I refer you to an interview done by Allen Abel of
Saturday Night Magazine
.
⁵⁹
On February 10, 2001, Dr. Peter Suedfeld, President of the Canadian Psychology Association and Director of Canada’s Society for Academic Freedom and Scholarship, talked about selection of people for good performance as crew for a Mars mission. As a long time advisor to NASA, his solution was that an astronaut named Amanda Robinson be named as commander. “She’s four years old,” her grandfather says. She’s quite small that will be important in crew selection for a long-duration mission and she’s absolutely indomitable. Nothing gets her down. I call her Colonel. Boy, I’d love to live to see her go to Mars.”

Mr. Abel also reports in this article, that Dr. Suedfeld, a psychology professor at the University of British Columbia, “made few friends when he suggested in articles and lectures, that many people came out of the Nazi death camps in pretty good emotional shape.” The professor said, “Both the psychology and the Jewish communities accused me of trivializing the Holocaust by claiming people weren’t all that crippled by living through it.”

Now you tell me. Is using a four year old so hard to believe?

Chapter 3 -
HOME SWEET HOME

Everything seemed back to normal when I found myself at home in the living room with my new little sister in a bassinet.
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My aunt, my father’s only sister, looked over at me and said,

“You know Carol Lee, you don’t get to be your daddy’s Little Girl anymore.”
^xxii

I stood there looking up at her, hoping that it was true. Maybe my baby sister could take my place, and I wouldn’t have daddy’s awful thing stuck in my face and mouth anymore. I walked over to the dining room table, crawled underneath, and sat down. The avocado plant was cascading down from the center of the table so no one could see me. Maybe if they didn’t see me it would be true. Maybe, just maybe, she was telling the truth.
Then I remembered that nothing is as it seems and grownups only pretend to tell the truth. Daddy said I would always be his “Little Girl.”

Luckily momma didn’t forget I was there. She would take time away from the care of my little sister to steal out of the house and sit with me on the porch. It was early morning and the sweet morning dew still lay on the grass. Rays of sunshine were falling from above, warming both my shoulders and my mind as her fingers were entwined in my hair. She worked the brush furiously to create the ringlets that crowned my face. I could feel her breath on my cheek, and her smell
warmed my
belly. It was our morning ritual, our special time. I grasped it to my breast, and held onto the feelings so tightly that it took my breath away. Too soon the boys would be whining for their breakfast and their lunches would need to be made. Yuk, baked bean sandwiches. Glad I didn’t have to go to school yet.

Whenever I return to those days in my mind, I remember a day in August the following year. We are again sitting on the porch, momma and me. My head is in her lap, and we are waiting patiently as the rescue team searches for the body of my two-year-old cousin in the creek behind our house.

It started so innocently with a game of follow the leader. Momma is upstairs checking on my little sister when my older cousin, Norman, has us form a line behind the garage. Holding hands with my brother and my
younger cousin, we follow him to the waters edge. It is a game. We like games! He chooses my younger cousin and starts spinning his little body, till he pushes him over the edge. I watch in horror, frozen like a statue, as he picks up a rock and hits him over the head as he comes up for air. My brother grabs my arm and we start to run, but Norman is too fast. He reaches out, and I soon become the center of a tug of war.

“If you ever tell, I’ll do the same thing to you.”

I believed.

As Eva Mozes Kor, a child survivor of the Mengele Twins experiment said, “I was just a child who grew up fast, because children who have to face life and death situations are no longer children.”
⁶¹
For 40 years I placed this memory in a place in my mind where the pain of it could not touch me. Disassociation had become a way of life for me to cope with tragedy. I had no control over it. It was standard operating procedure, my mind’s way of allowing me to stay sane when everything around me was totally insane and out of control. It had also been the means by which the CIA chose to assure my silence and create personas to use in their experiments.

Life was indeed uncertain. No one could understand why I still sucked my thumb or actually fell asleep during naptime in kindergarten. One moment I was watching Howdy Doody, Kookla Fran and Ollie or Mighty Mouse saving the day. The next I was being molested or poked and prodded by some government official. The days of making mud pies and playing store with my friend across the street were overshadowed by these dark sinister days and nights of terror. At times I would feel like an elfin sprite when I was running through the grass barefoot, catching fireflies and making rings and bracelets with them. Other times I wanted to join Buster Brown and go live in that shoe. I yearned for a gramps like Timmy and Lassie’s, and I would imagine that Zorro would come and put his mark right on daddy’s chest for the whole world to see. It never happened.

I started first grade when I was five and a half, and sometime that fall I was playing at my aunt’s when I must have looked very forlorn. She came over and sat beside me on the cement porch rail and asked me,

“What’s the matter, Little Girl?”

That phrase again triggered Little Girl to come out and proceed to tell her exactly what the matter was. With every word that Little Girl spoke, my Aunt’s face seemed to turn a lighter shade of ashen gray. After lengthy questioning about what Little Girl was describing, there was no doubt in my Aunt’s mind that Daddy was gratifying himself in ways that didn’t involve penetration, but were just as awful. She promised to talk to momma and told me she would make it all stop. I was only privy to the screaming and yelling that took place downstairs after the disclosure. My mother had sent me upstairs after telling my aunt that “Eddy would never do that.”