The accidental terrorist Mohammed Warsame, a librarian.
Many years ago I became a peripheral figure to a so-called terrorism investigation. I use the term “so-called” because it is a term that Malcolm X used so well to describe those gray area’s of language where the euphemism is used as if it is truth and the truth used as if it is a dangerous weapon. In the case of Mohammed Warsame, dubbed “the accidental terrorist,” I was a college news paper editor, with a healthy skeptical view of official narratives, and a historical perspective on morality campaigns and religion induced social panics.

I had then, and I have now, a keen sense of the six w’s of journalism (who, what, when, where, why, and how) in terms of what is relevant, and I knew then as I know now what a god story looks like. Worst of all, all news stories cycle and recycle throughout history, because news is, primarily, propaganda, sprinkled with factoids and intelligence. And so, not only do I recognize important stories, but I am generally ahead of the curve in predicting the details.In other words, when stories fall into my lap, they are usually the big kind.

Here is one example- a guy who was dangled before the press for the last few years as “an American, who was kidnapped by the Iranian’s!” Meet Bob Levinson, CIA contractor, and former FBI agent, stranded in Iran for six years.

When I first heard the story of Bob Levinson, I said to myself and others that he is CIA, though no other media, anywhere said the same. Then, after a few years as hope ran out, and the new version of the story- that he is a former FBI agent- was leaked, likely in the hopes of getting a ransom up, or to excite the Congress or the president to buy him back.

But I couldn’t officially say that he was CIA, because official source journalism depends on the slow leak, while blogging depends on the hypothetical, possible, and the speculative-the fifth estate is simply a more progressive medium that way, and often, by floating conspiracy theories or stories that lack crucial details, we are able to expose some things, which force others to expose other things.

In last weeks news, we the people can officially say what I said six years ago- Bob Levinson is a rogue agent of the CIA. Rogue agent, sure. There’s another “conspiracy theory,” chopped to bits.

Which brings me back to Warsame, the accidental terrorist, who was when I was acquainted with him, a librarian, and a math tutor. I said then what I say now-and my story hasn’t changed, though my life certainly has: Mohammed Warsame is at worst a bumbler who was entrapped in the narrative of terrorism, but he is and was harmless, and his biggest crime is that he wanted to teach others to read and write English, and tutor math. In the current America, these are the skills of terrorists, apparently.And while no one in our little news room could say that the guy was a terrorist, some knew he was religious like most religious people, and always looking for an opportunity to tell you about a dead guy in a dusty book.

And others said that he had smelly feet, or that he was suffering from “buufiis,” which the Somali’s call ‘desert sickness,’ which is a curious state of affairs where the country people of Somalia point to airplanes in the sky and say ” that is the work f the devil.”To me, Warsame wasn’t that odd, as I have also found similar responses in Baptists who point to technology, or airplanes in the sky in Texas, with much of that state back-country and obsessed with dead prophets. And as it turned out, thhe danger- at least to me- wasn’t Warsame’s back-country religion, or his acquaaintance with my acquaintances, some of whom-and FBI informant named James Doyle for instance-who he tutored; but the threat to me came from a hidden and constant, pervasive investigation, that, to this day has not abated.

Related Story: Panoptical Orpheus analyzes Warsame through the lens of what is esssentially COINTELPRO 2.0

Like the morphing definitions of ‘what is a terrorist’ that now include “people who speak for individual rights, or the U.S. Constitution,”, and slow-leaks that indicate that the war on terror is actually a Christian/Catholic/dominionist/zionist attack on America itself. and in that frame, I was morphed, and squashed, and mauled, and framed somewhere in one of those sooper seekrit hidden databases as a target of intelligence collection- but without the acknowledgement, until Edward Snowden leaked data that awakened all other American’s that they are targets too.

And, like all good stories, mine was buried for a decade, until other main stream and progressive journals began to talk about how most of these Somali terrorists are essentially created by the FBI. Warsame, though, was as close as they could get to ‘the real deal’ at that time, and he actually did attend a so-called terror camp, and teach English there.

This story has become art of my story, like so many other stories, whether I want it or not.So, herein, I begin to write it, and thank you for looking in. I have been an underground contributor to the news cycle since then, as my stories would take a legal team to report, an even then, at all times, under suspicion. My stories have been stolen from my phones as I wrote them; my research pilfered without warrants on multiple occasions.Such is the sad state of the attacks on journalists and journalism today.  And so, I write here, now.

My first classes in journalism, however, were in the fifth grade, as I took special classes for “gifted and talented” children, who suffered from high IQ. I studied “All the Presidents Men,” and was an early fan of Woodward and Bernstein, though previous to that class, the only Bernstein’s I had ever known were the Berenstein Bears children’s books, which I found odd and not really interesting. Like Shel Silverstein and many others, even at 11 years old, I was aware of cultural forces shaping narratives of culture, and also, that religious narratives flowed through culture. I often felt sorry for my parents and others who worked hard to get me to read their pet socio-cultural narratives, with my mother on one hand rebelling from Jewish cultural indoctrination, and recommending children’s books with Jewish authors, and on the other, I was aware that most of dad’s books were verbotten, because, subject matter.
But the Watergate break-in changed that for me, and the teachers that spurred me to read and write were keenly aware of their mission to preserve American democracy through the telling of this great story to a child. I cannot recall my teacher’s name, because we moved around a lot- the curse of the intellectual child is to be moved around a lot, because the intellectual child requires stability, and a solid foundation. But she was herself quite a spectacular woman-tall, big boned, Nordic and sparkling in the way that very few Nordic women sparkle-her eyes were like keenly tuned empathetic, and ever present message boards, directing me to the right path, and reflecting approval at my achievements; her words somehow intuitive and on my level at all times.
Watcing the movie ” All the Presidents Men” enabled e a view into the big persons world, where presdents could be crooks, and crooks could be saints, but where either way, cps and intelligence officers never got punished, but for this rare time in history. Looking back, it is clear that this was a contrived and political narrative as group A’s international bankers were routed by group B’s-and the American people none the wiser, as they were led to believe by the media tat this was a democratic process in action. We see now, how it was little ore than group A versus group B.  The only good news in  the whole event was that it showed we the people that indeed, democracy is possible, but that intelligence agency coup de tat’s are an all too real fact of modern life.
Much later, I would become my high school newspaper’s editor ( no other kid was a big enough loser, nor possessed with the word demons, or the ostracized pathology of the intellectual child) and spurred on by the ‘liberals’ amongst my faculty to write humorous or otherwise Holden Caulfieldesque narratives of alienation and anomie, having realized I was one of the “dirts” in a town full of kids who grew up together.

There is little irony today as I watch how this mechanism of politics and media plays out anymore, or how the CIA has in fact, co-opted all media, and used “Jews” t tell uncomfortable stories, or to manipulate the masses for ready consumption of the days narratives, or fake news. Real news, I have learned, is most often a matter of discretion, and that best told with a team of lawyers at your beck and call. Everything else is just PR.
But my current daughter somehow loves the Berenstein Bears-especially for some reason, the thick storybooks with more than one story, and though I will not give her shel Siverstein, she has at her beck and call a true subversive- a Henry Miller, or an Edward Abbey; a Bob Woodward, or a Frederich Nietzsche as her father. none of that pays well, rest assured that she is able to read between the lines, even at five years old. And, she knows bullshit when she sees it-and she can fight with fists or feet as quickly as she can crack a Broadway routine, or a Vaudevillian skit. This, really, is what writing is in actuality, but n black and white.
When my father taught me to read newspapers-back in the day when even he could be seen proudly toting a copy of the Chicago Sun Times, or the Tribune, folded in half under his armpit-he once taught me thus: ” What do you see here?” pointing to a page.
I said “Ants. It looks like little ants crawling on the paper.”
” No,” he said. “Those are words and letters-words like you just said. These worst have meaning, and tell us stories.”
“What are stories…?” and so on.
While I have never been fully convi

nced that all stories are created equal, and I have found much t my dismay that most stories that are repeated around thhe world are total b.s., propaganda, or worst of all, have a religious bias at  the heart of them. I am certain of one thing though: dad was sold on words, had the gift of gab, and taught me the use f words as weapons and as tools- but then, he had no idea what I was talking about with the ants*. Years and years later, each time I encountered the ants again, I knew that someone, somewhere, knew what I knew about ants, but that’s neither here nor their for now.
And for now, every time my daughter looks at a word, or I teach her to type a word- I am careful to listen between the lines-and hear her stories too, most of which she cannot write yet. Those stories will be good ones, I am certain of it. And I am always listening. I will not allow my daughter to become trapped in the binary are’s of red ants, versus black ones, fighting endless and merciless wars on the pavements of the world.
Instead, and so far, I have focused her on other things-because binaries are useless, and false, black and white, and designed to kill creativity, or alternative explanations of behaviors.
* The ants is a story about mind control, Nazi’s, and that era between ww2 and today, where the hive mind has been formed and manipulated to what we see today in the transhumanist and artificial intelligence movements. Then, many psycholgists were obsessed with mind control n one hand, and denying that mind control is in fact the ultimate goal of post war psychology.They struggled to explain Nazi’s and what they called the Nazi mindset, and in my childhood I was surrounded with Jews, some of whom had spent time in the camps.
Today, we see that little has been learned, as Jews themselves, particularly zionists, have emulated most every Nazi experiment, from genocide, to human experimentation of that era.