The Day the SAS Visited Me: the Aftermath

Rixon Stewart — May 4, 2016

The writer aged 7. Even then life looked like a serious business

The writer before he became a full blown dissident. Even then life looked like a serious business

In this world nothing is as it seems and sometimes it takes a while to fully comprehend what we are confronted with. This is especially so for me because, I have to admit it, I can be a little slow on the uptake.
So it was when British intelligence, or at least one of their Special Forces lackeys, visited me. His visit had unexpected and ultimately tragic consequences, although it took me years to grasp their full extent.
Following my publishing material the authorities wanted suppressed, I suspect that plans to have me taken out were drawn up and then modified following an initial reconnaissance. Something happened during that first scouting foray and I can still see the look of barely disguised surprise on the face of the ex-Special Forces member who had been sent to check me out.
He must have reported this back to his superiors and with that plans to permanently silence me were changed.
They weren’t going to use confrontational strong-arm tactics, they knew I would fight back and that might draw unnecessary attention. Crucially, they also realised that they might not be able to catch me unaware so they opted for more covert, underhand methods.
A few years before I had worked in a local factory, cycling to and from work along a canal footpath. I kept my bicycle in the flat’s communal bicycle shed and early mornings I would often see the chap who lived in the flat opposite mine in the next block. We could see directly into each other’s respective kitchens but apart from greeting each other in the morning before we cycled off to work we paid little attention to each other.
I did not even know the guy’s name.
Then, a few weeks after the abortive reconnaissance mission I heard that the guy in the flat opposite mine had committed “suicide”. Sure it was tragic, suicide is, but I hardly knew the guy so took little notice.
Although there was a waiting list for flats on the estate, the flat that had been occupied by the guy who had committed suicide seemed to stay empty. Again I took little notice.
However, it should be mentioned that the estate manager seemed to look up to authority. In other words he would do what he was told without question. So that if he was asked to ignore procedure and allow someone to move into a flat without question he would do so.
Dees: microwave weapons. Click to enlarge

Dees: microwave weapons. Click to enlarge

Then, late one night while I worked on the Truth Seeker periodical a low frequency humming suddenly suffused my whole flat. It was barely audible but it was there nonetheless and, crucially, it seemed to be coming from the flat directly opposite mine in the next building; the flat that had previously been occupied by the guy who had committed “suicide”.
My flat seemed to be the focal point. I would step outside and hear absolutely nothing but once inside the front door and a barely audible low frequency humming was discernable.
In other words a microwave weapon was being directed at my flat. I suspect that the objective was to trigger a fatal epileptic fit — following a major motorcycle crash I’m supposedly prone to epilepsy, although I’ve never had a fit — or to induce a fast acting cancer.
However, I was gone before that could happen. Money suddenly materialised that allowed me first to rent, then buy, a house in a much more expensive town nearby.
If they wanted to get me the powers that be would have to buy property in an upmarket estate bordering a posh public school; and I was obviously not such a priority in their budget. As the low frequency hum didn’t follow me to my new house.
As always though it took a while for the episode’s full significance to sink in. However, a few days ago I was reflecting on what had happened and the penny, as they say, finally dropped.
In brief: after I start publishing a small periodical that exposes what the powers that be want concealed they decide to take me out. I’m a nobody so if they do it discretely no one will notice. However, their initial reconnaissance reveals that the job might not be so easy and it might even get a bit messy.
This is something they want to avoid as it might attract unwanted attention. So they switch to plan B. This involves using microwave weapons to induce fatal epilepsy or fast acting terminal illness.
The thing is: to do this they need the flat opposite mine in the next block, so as to fire microwave weapons directly into my flat. The only problem is that this is occupied by a law-abiding, working man who has lived there for several years. So what do they do?
Answer: they have him covertly “suicided”.
Then they approach the estate manager and ask for access to the flat. The estate manager doesn’t question those in authority and provides them with the keys. After all, he’s been told that they’ll only need it for “a few weeks”.
That’s how long it would have taken to finish me off but, of course, it didn’t work out that way.
Think about it though: what does this say about the nature of those that rule us? Like Stalin or Hitler they are more than ready to kill those who criticise them but unlike the dictatorships of old, they conduct their crimes in secret. The have to. It’s vital that the real nature of their power remains hidden
Deception is the name of the game and it’s crucial in maintaining the illusion that we live in a “free society” where justice prevails. In this the powers that be are aided by the corporate media, which like the press in communist Russia or China, studiously ignores crimes carried out by the ruling regime.
How many others have been “suicided” like my humble neighbour? We may never know but I suspect that there may be more than we realise and that their numbers are growing.