Great Irish literature is defined by dissent. So why do so many writers uphold the status quo?

Article by Deirdre Browne.

Sadly we lost Edna in 2024 at 93 years young R.I.P

The main plot in this essay is fantasy and fiction. Journalists did not come together in 2021 to interview a large number of C-19 victims and bring accounts of their experiences to the public. This story is a necessary imagining of what could have, would have and should have happened in media accounts that declared they were fighting the New World Order Regime and C-19 medical violence. Journalists, you had one job to do.

Recently, the viewing stats on my account of this publishing platform were not being updated for a few weeks. I did not spend much time investigating why, but I have observed patterns of online controls during recent years. The timing of my stats not being updated coincided with WakeUpéiRe being shadow banned on X, following their criticism of statements/media mentions of Mr I. Cummins and Mr P. Morrissey. At that time, WakeUpéiRe X had also posted a link to a previous essay of mine.

A Dream of Real Journalism

My name is Carina, I am an Irish journalist in my 40s. A lot of people know me from TV3 programmes, I did fashion and light commentary on chat shows for 15 years, up until 2016. In 2020, I kinda knew that things were not right with the so-called Corona pandemic, and I saw how forceful and convincing the mainstream media and propaganda were, but I was busy with small kids and helping my mother to take care of my father.

But I did see the censorship, and by May 2021, five months after the C-19 injection had been rolled out, I had noticed 2 deaths in elderly jabbed people that I knew, and a few strokes and heart problems. Nobody was reporting these anywhere, something very sinister was going on. I remembered the National Union of Journalists’ code of conduct: journalists were supposed to ‘resist inducements to influence, distort or suppress information’. I decided to do my job, the thing I had trained for. I decided to focus on the jab injured, to interview these people and report their experiences to the public. I could use my media profile to gain the trust of people who might be shy or reluctant to speak in this era of extreme C-19 propaganda and coercion. And I knew many people would read my reports because of my trusted media name. It was a win-win pay-off for having worked 15 years in mainstream media. I was in a very privileged position, not many people in Ireland had the skills, experience, public profile and media savvy to break through the blanket code of silence on the C-19 suffering. I could rope in some help with childcare while I went chasing the stories of my people, to fight information war and to save lives and halt the C-19 killing machine by reporting the truth.

That was early May 2021, before the alleged cyber attack on the HSE on May 14th. The HSE, IT systems were crashed at a time when the number of post-injection deaths and injures was climbing high, when it was becoming very difficult for medical workers to pretend that this injection was not a bioweapon. But when the system crashed, the medical workers became so busy trying to work without their IT system, that they could ignore the big huge unethical, C-19 elephant in the room for a while, until their psyches had accommodated the new and evil normal. Since June 2021, I have published hundreds of reports from victims of C-19 medical violence. I focused mainly on the jab injured because I did not know how to manage the violent emotions I was experiencing when listening to the bereaved. I am a parent, and after I had sat with a woman who had buried her jabbed 17-yr-old son, I was in an awful state, I couldn’t handle it. I sat down in front of my laptop so many times and tried to write the facts, but I couldn’t do it. My husband came in one evening and just said, ‘Car, that work is going to break you. Why don’t you just focus on easier stuff?’ He was right, I was not the person to do that job. Another well-known journalist called John took over reporting the jab-bereaved accounts and he did it very well.

Unpregnant Judy

The first time I went out to source information, I went to a major Dublin hospital and hung around at the ticket machine in the car park. That didn’t work, the vibe wasn’t right, people didn’t want to chat or to waste time and to have pay extra for parking. I left the car park and went to Marty’s café close to the hospital. There was a queue for takeaway coffee, but they also had some tables on the footpath. I sat at a table in the sun, with a big cappuccino and played with my phone. Every now and then, I looked up and gazed into the air as if thinking something through, while I scanned the vibe and body language of the people around me. My vibe sensor picked out one woman, her dark straight hair was so sleek, she was young enough, the kind who would spend time on her hair. She had a gold, Michael Kors tote bag. I’d featured that same bag on a fashion programme years ago, so I gently looked over at her, cocked my head slightly to the side, raised my eyebrows with a little smile and said in a friendly woman-to-woman tone, ‘Love the bag’. Women were brilliant, we could start up a conversation with another woman of any age anywhere if it involved things of style or fashion. ‘Oh thanks’, she said, she kinda softened, but she wasn’t right in herself, I could see that. I wasn’t sure if she recognised me or not, so I talked about how ‘The coffee isn’t great here, but shur’ they’re making a bomb ‘coz it’s close to the hospital’. She said ‘Yeah, that’s true’. I continued, ‘Weather’s grand isn’t it?’ She nodded. Then I lowered my voice slightly and calmly threw in the comment, ‘Lots of jab injured here now’. She started slightly, but not much, didn’t say a word, and looked at me for a little while and then said in a quiet and serious tone, ‘Yes’. After that, I probed gently, then pulled back, and edged my way into a painful part of this woman’s private life.

At one point, she stopped, looked at me straight and asked, ‘Did you get the jab?’ ‘No’ I answered. ‘Lucky you’, she replied. I just nodded my head once in agreement. After that I told her my purpose, I wanted to listen to as many jab-injured people as possible, to record their accounts and their experiences, and to report these both online and in a series of flyers to inform the public. I told her that there was blanket censorship on the truth of the injection harms, and we had to get the truth out there, for others. She paused a little, then her lip puckered, and for a moment she was as open and as vulnerable as a little child. Everything inside of me halted, my belly was feeling it and there were tears sneaking into my eyes too. I knew she had something painful to say and I knew that she was going to open up. She was going to tell the truth, and I was going to be the one to record this and serve it to others. It felt sacred there in that moment. I will always remember her, she was the first. Her name was Judy, she was 31 and she was a Dub.

She had had a miscarriage, she had bought the gold handbag for her honeymoon, 3 years ago, and she still really liked it. They had wanted a baby, and she had got pregnant easily, but then this happened. The rest of the story was rotten, but not in a normal miscarriage kind of way, it was weirdly rotten. Six days after the injection her baby had died inside her. She said she had bled heavily and had gone to the toilet and then flushed it quickly, and only afterwards did she think. She paused then, and I got the picture: the remains of the foetus flushed into the sewage system. She knew it was the jab, and she felt a weird kind of shame for having taken it in the first place, but her doctor had insisted that she take it. The whole thing was weird and dark. We sat together, she didn’t look at me much, her eyes looked at the ground to her left. We were together, we were doing a form of silent talking and our heart-minds were converging on the awful question: if our medical people were witnessing the obvious jab injuries, why had they not come together and stopped it all? We didn’t say this out loud, we were not ready for the enormity of this question, the banality of evil.

We spent more than half an hour talking. She told me different bits of her story in a disjointed manner, she had been thinking that the baby was a girl. She was still in pregnancy mode, still ruled by the biological intelligence that makes us women the carriers of the next generation, still governed by the life-protecting hormones that linger on even after a baby has died inside. Her husband and her mother were not really convinced that the injection had caused the miscarriage, but her grandmother knew, even if she hadn’t said so, Judy knew that she knew. I was glad that she had not recognised me from the TV, we had connected as two ordinary women, the way women bond over the special types of life pains that only women can can know, the way we women mind each other in this crazy world. This made the Judy story so very special to me.

Huge New Uncharted Darkness

That was the first day, I only did one interview. I walked away realising that this was going to be very difficult work. My mind was a bit of a flurry, but I could see that this was the information that would expose the medical violence and murder, the medical professionals, the media, the government, and the entirety of the Irish establishment. I drove home, in the car the radio was playing the song Crazy World by Aslan. My mind was in a new space, I felt deeply into every line of that song like I had never done before. My husband was at home with the kids, I texted him to put on the hot water. When I got home, I ignored the kids and I ran a hot bath, poured in a cup of Epsom salts, and lay there in the water for a long time. Did I cry? Yes, I cried, but the tears were not for me, they were for my people and for our world. I was seeing directly into a new type of smooth evil, and I was seeing that this stealth evil had been injected into our entire society, and I was particularly alone in my seeing. That was the difficult part. I knew that people were going to reject the horribleness of it all, and that a lot of people were going to hate me for telling the truth. I would have to work hard on removing my personal views and feelings from my writing, and I was going to have to meet with awful and painful things. But this is what I had trained for. I had done four years of university to prepare me for this kind of work. Yes, this was a sort of sacred work, Bail ó Dhia ar an obair.

Artwork done in 2023 by Ella, aged 17.

My body was immersed in the bathwater, I stroked my belly, the silly stretch marks at the side that wouldn’t go away after the second baby. At the time I was annoyed, I wanted to have my former body back, no belly flab, an unstretched vagina and all that sort of thing. How stupid was that? I had had 2 healthy pregnancies and 2 healthy children, I had not known miscarriage. My sister had had a miscarriage, when she was in her mid-20s and living in Australia. But hers was a normal miscarriage, part of nature’s ways. Judy’s miscarriage was pure medical violence and eugenics, and now she had to go back to the eugenic mainstream medicine to be treated, and she had to walk through the corridors with all the yellow ‘Convid’ signs, and all the mask wearing, and she had to play their cruel game of pretend, as if the ‘Convid’ jab had nothing to do with her miscarriage. The whole thing was so psychologically abusive, so sadistic and so twisted. It was a covert form of humiliation, a murdering lie by omission, and a pure head-wreck in the guise of medical ‘care’.

I started putting myself in the Judy’s shoes, what about future chances of conception and normal pregnancy? Would someone develop a test for women to check if the jab had damaged their ovaries, their womb, or their general chances of getting pregnant? Were there good jab-detox plans? Would the government offer a free treatment to help reverse the damage? Would she be able to restore her confidence in her body? I saw a boom in the market of assisted fertility. What of the massive trick that had been played on us all? What about the damage to our psyche, or was this the overall aim, to convince us to opt into a vile self-harming action, suppress the truth of our suffering so as to head-wreck the entire population? And then what? Was there some specific aim to this massive abuse scheme? What of all the nurses, daughters and granddaughters of women who had lived the Ireland of Church oppression and abuse that had targeted the body female? How long would it be before these women stood up and spoke out against this awful medical violence?

I saw the urgency of what I was doing, the only thing that counted now was getting the truth of people’s C-19 medical experiences to the public. I thought of all the people who did not know the truth of the injection, of all the conversations I’d had with the people of Middle Ireland, and how I would have to write in a style and form that would penetrate their uninformed mindset.

Pilgrim Souls and Mother Ireland

I had to switch off from the immense darkness and the gravity of this new work. I was a bit freaked out by the uncharted hugeness of it all. In my mind I went back to my roots, back to the things that had directed me towards journalism. My mother was from Scarriff, in East Clare. She had told me about the writer Edna O’Brien who was from the next village. Edna had gone to live in Dublin in the late-1940s and later moved to London, where she had written a book that was open and truthful book about women’s lives in rural Ireland. In 1960 she published The Country Girls and it was immediately banned in Ireland. When I told my mother that I wanted to be a journalist, she smiled at me with soft eyes and said, ‘My own little Edna’. That evening in May, after the bath, I looked up some YouTube videos of old interviews with Edna from 50 years ago. She spoke with care and clarity in a style that was at odds with the mood of our times now. She had a pilgrim soul and she breathed this into words. She was Irish, she was all woman, and she was self possessed. They must have hated her back then in County Clare. Sometimes during the interview she would pause to think and search for the right words. When the interviewer with the posh British accent made a few superficial remarks about the backward Irish, she gracefully cut him to pieces and exposed his lack of depth, and in doing so she demonstrated that to be Irish in the 1960s was also to be custodians of a spiritual, Gaelic consciousness. She knew Ireland, she loved Ireland, and she was of Ireland, but yet she could not have survived here in that era. She had read directly from John Mitchel’s Jail Journal. I loved her.

Edna had said that when she was young she had thought that words came directly from God. I remembered Sinéad O’Connor saying something to the tone of, when she was singing, she closed her eyes and it was just her and the Holy Spirit. Two Irish women, describing things accurately and honestly, and fighting oppressive forces with words. Irish women, synced with the pulse of our tribe and singing the cosmic song.

My aunt from Limerick used to recite verses of The Drunken Thady written by the Bard of Thomond, Michael Hogan. He was a self-taught, working-class poet of 19^th-century Limerick, and he had got into trouble for writing about local characters. Oh, how people hate the truth. I asked my aunt for her 1925-copies of the Bards pamphlets, Lays and Legends of Thomond, and I was astounded by the writing. This guy was a genius, another pilgrim soul. I could have copied and pasted what he was saying about 19^th-century society directly onto the situation in Ireland today. He made me cry, and I rested into something so good, so basic, so noble and so perfectly Irish. Then it hit me: I had never been taught about this Bard or others in all my formal education. I had been systematically unschooled to the wealth and depth of our indigenous culture. The Bard wrote a lot about the Gaelic Kingdom of Thomond (Tuadhmhumhain, North Munster), modern-day Clare and seat of the O’Brien clan. Surely Edna’s family were descendants of these O’Briens? One of the Bard’s more simple poems seemed to fit perfectly in 2021, at a time when informed people were warning about the digital slavery coming with the New World Order (NWO).

‘An Irish girl in heart and soul !

I love the dear old land !

I honour those who in her cause

Lift voice, or pen, or hand －

And may I live to see her free

From foreign lord and knave !

But heaven forbid I’d ever be

The mother of a slave !’

From The Patriot Maiden, by Michael Hogan, the Bard of Thomond (1828-1899)

A few months later, I watched recent interviews done with Edna. There was one interview with a Guardian journalist in 2012, during which the journalist opens the interview by asking about two of her early books, and asks, ‘Which one (book) did you enjoy the most?’ And it hit me there and then: how often, when working in mainstream media, had I opened an interview with a question such as ‘How do you feel?’, ‘What did you enjoy most about…?’ How much of recent journalism was focused on feelings-based thinking? The 1970s, Edna interviews were rooted in principled thinking, in an honest search for meaning, and a sense of duty to be careful about the things about life, to strive to serve the truth. The 2010s videos talked about fleeting emotions and feelings. That was the mood of our times, the urgency of instant gratification, the supreme goal of self satisfaction and personal happiness, the loud exaltation of enjoyment at the expense of the things that make human life so worthy, such as value, meaning, purpose and alignment with humanely adroit principles, and truth, the kind of dignity and valour the Bard of Thomond wrote about.

The Regime Says ‘You Must Be Happy’, Forget about Decency, Integrity and Honour

The weather was fine on that June day when I had interviewed Judy, and when I went home, my neighbour greeted me and told me to ‘Enjoy the weather’. I had something meaningful and important to do, it was not going to be enjoyable, but it might just be the most important work I would ever do. Earlier that day, when Judy had paid for her coffee, the server had told her to ‘Enjoy’. Judy was not going to enjoy anything that day, and it was cruel to have to listen to the slavish virtue signallers of Ireland who loudly insist to strangers that they must enjoy basic and daily actions. Judy was also sad because her husband couldn’t come with her today. He had an important deadline at work, would she mind if he didn’t go with her? There were two sides to this. In one way, it was better, because he was in denial of the fact about the injection, and she didn’t need a person close to her who would be super nice and grateful to the pro-eugenic medics. But in another way, it was a bit of a rift between them, the lack of agreement about what had caused their baby to die inside her. She was alone except for her grandmother, a woman of Edna O’Brien’s generation.

‘The More Things Change, the More They Stay the Same’

After a few interviews, I started to think about the ugly virtue signalling of medical-harm mercenaries, and I couldn’t get away from the fact that this was the exact same dynamic of the enforcers of religious violence and abuse in last-century Ireland. In the last century, Church people who were violent and abusive, or those who protected them with a code of silence, postured as spiritually intelligent people who worked for God’s organisation on Earth, a theocratic army of enforcers. The modern harming medics postured as healers and intelligent people who worked for the national ‘healthcare’ organisation, a pharmocratic army of enforcers. I was going to write honest and open accounts about people’s C-19-jab suffering, and just like Edna, most people in Ireland were going to hate me for telling the truth.

The Ciaróg Club

Soon I discovered that there were other journalists interviewing jab victims and bereaved and also medical workers and whistle-blowers. We came together organically, aithníonn ciaróg, ciaróg eile, and by the end of 2021 there were 17 of us working loosely together. We called ourselves the Róisín Dubh Press. We understood that in information war the media professionals and the journalists are the soldiers. We were the ones to fight by bringing forward the truth from the ground, and the truth would set people free. Everyone involved laid down their egos and gave of themselves fully.

Nobody drew a salary and many of us emptied our pockets to pay for printing. It was beautiful. One guy, Sam from Dublin, had said to me, ‘This is our 1916 moment’. We agreed that there were three types of information the public needed to know about in 2021: the testimonies from C-19-jab injured and bereaved; testimonies from medical workers and whistle-blowers; and the HSE Corona payments schemes to GPs from 2020 to 2021.

Sometimes we met up or just video called each other. We would talk of the stories that really hit us badly, or of the moments of witnessing the shell-shocked human brokenness. This was war. We were listening to all sorts of people who had experienced medical violence, power-tripping consultants and GPs who brutally minimised them by denying the jab truth. Double-thinking medics who admitted the truth, but kept injecting anyway. The people were in a state of broken bewilderment, regret, vulnerability, and shock, and yet most people were still under the spell of medical establishment puissance. This was the most difficult aspect of our work, encountering the iron-clad social status and power grip that the medical establishment held over our entire society. Speaking out against a doctor was taboo, just as it had been taboo to speak out against a parish priest in the last century. Nothing had changed at all.

Lays and Legends of Thomond, by Michael Hogan (1828-1899), pamphlet no. 19, printed in Limerick in 1925.

A few of us were jabbed, and these were the ones whose writing started a revolution. They were different to the non-jabbed, they went deeper than the rest of us could ever go. We non-jabbed were merely spectators, they had been in the body-mind battle, they had been violated on a cellular level, and now their writing was the thing that pierced through our spectator stance and sheltered groupthink. The jabbed writers had gone into the inner city, into the ghetto of this C-19 violence, while we had hung out in the suburbs, sipping tea and discussing theories at polite garden parties. The controlled opposition had installed psychological zip wires across the C-19 city, and unjabbed fighters could cross the city by riding these zip wires and avoiding the dark ghettos. These jab-regrettor journalists produced writing that broke the ceiling on anything we had seen in Ireland in decades. The Bard of Thomond was smiling down on us. He had also lived through a huge genocide, the historical Irish potato-starvation, depopulation scheme that begun in 1845.

We Róisín Dubh journalists were living in an emotional horror chamber of disgust, pain, anger, repulsion, and extreme frustration. The vileness did not abate, it was saccharine and depraved, and it was hardcore evil. At times it was hard to fathom it all, we were kinda head-wrecked. The general public was in a weird state of denial, that had been systematically manufactured by the blanket censorship on the medical violence, combined with the reality-denying positivity mania, and the Regime’s massive superficial well-being propaganda that generated a pumped-up force field of high-octane, chirpy vibrations, so that it was very difficult to acknowledge the slow and aching throb of human pain and brokenness underneath it all. This was a holocaust, but the world had never seen anything like this before, it was so super-duper slick and so sick on so many levels. It was one massive, all-pervading, and biological-psychological war machine to capture and defile the body-mind of Western people, a constant taser-gun to our psyche, until our minds were so frazzled and fried that we we had become blob-like thinkers, only capable of reproducing flaccid thought structures that matched the patterns produced by the war machine. The Regime wanted us to normalise this state of being. They were killing off our sense of entitlement to basic human decency or any accountability from the establishment. Truth-based, deep thinking was a no-no. This was war, we journalists were the soldiers. We began to greet each other with the Gaeilge saying, Bail ó Dhia ar an obair, and we meant every single word of it.

I was finding it more and more difficult to spend time with uninformed people, and anyway, a lot of people were avoiding me. Someone had scratched the front door of my car with their key, some people had stopped talking to me, the local shopkeeper hated me, many neighbours put their heads down and kept walking past me, but nothing violent had been done to me. I lived in Dublin, but the force of Irish oppression seemed as strong as that of County Clare of my mother’s childhood. I stopped going for morning runs and I took up fags again and my belly was developing a small extension. Previously, I used to have blood tests done once a year at my GPs, but now I prayed that I would never have to go anywhere near mainstream medicine again. We started homoeopathy, and I had said to my husband if the kids broke an arm or leg, that he would have to be the one to take them to hospital.

The War Effort

When censorship blocked our reporting online, we knew that our work was really important. We began to focus on flyers only. We would put 7 different testimonies into one A5 flyer, with a short explanation about the C-19 injection, the so-called Covid death stats, and C-19 payment schemes to GPs. We needed funds to pay for printing, most of us emptied our pockets for the war effort. One small Dublin printer did 500,000 flyers for free. A couple of other printers gave decent discounts. There was a number of big-name, Irish C-19 rebels who did events and promoted themselves and their policies/books/courses/election candidacy. A few of these admitted that the only thing that counted was informing the public outside of echo chambers and they provided funds. The scientist-rebel woman who bought the 16^th-century castle in Kildare for €450,000, gave €25,000 towards printing, the empirical data-and-charts guy who ran events on C-19 statistics gave €15,000, the financial expert from Cork had contacts with wealthy people who were delighted to help. He sold books and held public events for his followers at which he passed around a Roisín Dubh donation bucket. The American woman who campaigned about de-sexing instruction in schools gave a nice donation. Her husband was employed in big pharma, and she said this would help her ease her guilt about how her family had profited from pharma eugenics. The barristers did videos about free speech, use of the word ‘vaccine’ and the censorship of the C-19 victims’ voices. They opened go-fund-me accounts and pulled in a lot of money. There was a number of GPs who had refused to inject, they contacted us in private and donated some of the money they had received from the HSE Corona payments in 2020. They said that the HSE Corona payments were pro-genocide blood money.

(The truth is that there was an Irish group that produced flyers from May 2022, WakeUpéiRe, but they did not receive any funding or promotion from the big-name C-19 rebels.)

When GPs Did Medicine and Halted Medical Violence

(Remember, this is fiction)

In late 2021, a few GPs started making videos with their injection injured patients, and these became the thing that really broke the code of silence on jab injuries. These were the most powerful reports of the entire campaign. The public really woke up when an ordinary and trusted GP made a video with an injured or bereaved patient. It was the combination of real-life suffering and the authority of a scientific-medical professional that convinced people. Both doctor and patient were camera-shy, they did not want to go public, but they knew that this was the only thing to do in the time of mass censorship. At first the establishment launched a smear campaign against these doctors, but people soon rallied around them to support their message of medicine, science and care. People stood outside their surgeries with large signs saying ‘Covid-Injection Injured’. These GPs were generally adverse to personal publicity, but other people started to post the videos online, and then the Regime censored these. This led the GPs and the people to start holding outdoor meetings in shelters and semi-covered spaces in sports clubs, community centres, playgrounds, band stands in parks and any place where people could convene outdoors and avoid lockdown hassles.

These videos and the meetings were the turning point in halting some of the C-19 injecting violence. Once other GPs saw that the ‘good doctors’ were informing patients about the medical harms, many of them stopped; they didn’t want to look bad or lose customers. These true-life, doctor-patient jab videos also made the boo-hoo, celebrity docs look vain and stupid (or controlled) and after a few journalists had accused them of vulgar self-promotion in the time of genocide, they slunk off into the background. Since rollout in early 2021, every GP had been witnessing their own patients suffer injuries or die from the jab, and every single GP should have stopped injecting. But by late 2021, the majority of Irish GPs were still injecting, and they had exposed themselves as cheap and depraved opportunists, heedless of the fact that they were responsible for their actions and their omissions, and unfit to practise. By 2022 people were talking about how the NWO Regime had plans to introduce AI-led medicine, and that the public would easily accept AI systems if the medical professionals continued to expose themselves as idiots in C-19 situations. For this reason, we decided to play down the fact that most GPs were depraved idiots. I sometimes saw my former GP in the town, he was an avid C-19 injector. I now saw him as a soulless being, a superficial man-child with a well-paid and responsible job who kept killing and injuring his own patients. I had a responsible job, with no pay, but I knew that if I died tomorrow, I would die clean.

Many GPs still continued to inject. We produced a flyer detailing all the HSE Corona payments made to GPs, and some facts about the pharma capture of mainstream medicine. It was damning evidence. The HSE circular letters to GPs were available online, and everyone could see that in 2020, GPs were paid €30 for every phone call with any patient, including medical card holders, who had two flu symptoms, so-called Covid symptoms. They were paid €25 per jab, despite the fact that this new-technology product was still in experimental phase. They had thrown medical ethics out the window altogether. People were starting to bring these flyers to GP visits, and leave them on the desk as they walked out. The GPs could do nothing, they hadn’t an ethical leg to stand on.

This campaign developed into a broader scheme to educate the public about HSE appointments and salaries, GP payments, HSE budgets spent on replacing the one-word ‘sex’ with the vague and incorrect ‘g’ word, consultant fees and salaries, private health insurance companies and deals with medicine systems, corporate pharma sponsorship of medical education, corporate sponsorship to individual doctors and consultants, and the host of other part-eugenic, the ingredients in traditional routine vaccinations, anti-health policies and hidden profit schemes in mainstream medicine. The Irish College of GPs started to shake up, they overhauled their branding and their website, and replaced statements which indicated that this was an organisation of business people, whose purpose was prosperity. Some top-quality holistic practitioners were asserting dominance for correct and intelligent medicine and therapies. A woman from Galway proposed connecting all the parties interested in crashing the current medical system to create a real medical-healtcare system. There were teams of people who went to study the more egalitarian public medical systems in European countries. It was real revolution. After centuries of oppression, Ireland was shaking off her post-colonial deference to establishment abuse and corruption. It was sort of sacred work, and the Róisín Dubh Press had been at the core of it all.

The Danger of the New Ignorant Cognoscenti

(This isn’t fiction)

I had noticed one small media team had put out a printed newspaper, but the language was all wrong, it was never going to penetrate Middle Ireland. My old friend John said he thought they were controlled opposition, they were presenting truthful information in a way that would only appeal to a very limited group of highly-informed people. Every sentence was a bullet, and they often coded in superiority or outright hatred for non-informed people. They were seeding divide and rule, in information war, in the middle of a genocide.

In fact, there was a bevy of fake-rebel journalists who shunned all accounts from victims, bereaved and medical workers, except for the look-at-me, anti-C-19, celebrity GPs who talked of how they were being punished by their pro-genocide professional bodies. These journalists kept the truth of the people’s C-19 experiences out of the captured, rebel echo chambers. They were designing and packaging a stifled psychological landscape full of safe theoretical spaces, detached from the ordinary and gut-wrenching reality of jab-injured or bereaved people. Their followers were protected like babies, nurtured through psychic umbilical cords to the establishment that lactated corporate-pharma data, statistics, expert opinions and lots more. They generated a mood of chummy bonding among the informed or non-jabbed people of Ireland, and strove to form a new kind of commentary elite, a cognoscenti ignorant of reality, who postured as superior to the uninformed or jabbed masses. The online commentary spaces were jam-packed with talk about everything and anything, except the only thing that was ever needed, the accounts from the people on the ground.

It was wide-eyed display of pumped-up, talking mé-féiners who had the gall to posture as concerned for Ireland, but not the jabbed people of Éire. The Bard of Thomond would have gracefully cut them to pieces. They focused on stats (devoid of the human suffering stories involved), riveting news snippets, information on secret cults, satanic rituals, ancient civilisations, theories on Jewish world-power dynamics, George Orwell quotes, focus on old-men, billionaire leaders of globalist organisations in faraway countries, debates about the shape of the Earth, or about the true sex of well-known personalities, charts, data, memes, gossip and entertainment, and lots and lots of posts with the tittle ‘Dr’ included, so as to subliminally programme the fightback to associate doctors exclusively with good. They kept using the word ‘vaccine’, and shunned the correct word ‘injection’. They focused exclusively on the places where the genocide was not happening, and shunned the places where it was happening, the Irish jabbed and the medical settings right in front of everyone’s noses. These journalists were jamming up their commentary spaces so that the voices and accounts from the people on the ground were completely drowned out. Followers’ minds were so inundated with non-jabbed information, so jam-packed with other stuff, that they began to believe that all this non-injection information was the reality they were fighting. In these sealed-off chambers, the truth on the ground was starved of oxygen, it had died off and the so-called informed people hadn’t even noticed. War is horrific, there is killing and injuring, and this generates deep and lasting trauma. A new kind of warfare that was killing and injuring by stealth brought with it a new kind of searing trauma, but the manufactured fightback managed to avoid listening to the thudding pulse of this dark, new-war horror. The dominant groupthink became self-righteous and clinically detached from the C-19 medical and psychological warfare silently raging through the people in Ireland. It was loud and opinionated, with an askance view that lacked compassion, and therefore was never going to be truly effective.

Grass grows on the ground, grassroots movements come from the people on the ground. The corporate, anti-C-19 rebels were individuals who had been professionally ambitious and had climbed high on establishment ladders. They heavily promoted their personal image, with portrait photos and videos. They were establishment people, not ground people. The ground was a battle field now, with huge numbers of deaths and injuries. Their corporate, niche marketing strategy provided anti-C-19, branded personalities for non-jabbed people to latch onto, so that they could avoid interacting to the actual horrors of war. Some followers had powerful bonding and staunch brand loyalty to their favourite persona. The C-19 medical violence and abuse was a tangle of very human, messy, vulnerable and painful awfulness － it came from the darkness of our species. It was easy for people to self-soothe by shunning the psychological gore of the battle. They could avoid the reality on the ground by working on their own personal rebel style, selecting a few belief systems from the array of intriguing theories on offer. They could latch onto the security of the branded ‘rebel’ personalities and their own interpretation of societal power dynamics. They could hang out with each other in these emotionally sanitised spaces and unwittingly construct a huge thick wall in their minds that would protect them from knowing the war horrors, the lived experience of C-19 medical violence going on everywhere around them. They were walking around on stilts, but they didn’t know it, and this could become their default setting. They could develop a strut and stride, and a stridulent battle cry that shunned the vibration of brokenness of their own people on the ground. The ignorant cognoscenti could turn out to be stilted, headstrong, reality-denying, virtue signallers. These could become very dangerous players, unwittingly serving the NWO Regime.

HSE, annual publication, Statistical Analysis of Claims and Payments, listing GP fees for 2020 at €605.22 m, and fees for 2019 at €429.14 m. The red arrow points to an icon of a person wearing a tie, indicating a male worker, at odds with establishment focus on eliminating sex-based discrimination. Is it a tie or is it a noose? Give them enough rope…The so-called fightback commentary shunned any analysis of HSE Corona payments to the business-people who became genocide enforcers, such as GPs and pharmacists.

(Fiction again)

If we Róisín Dubh journalists had not reported the stories from the ground in 2021, there would have been a blanket code of silence on the people’s suffering. The jabbed masses would have nowhere to express the truth about medical violence and killing, they would carry the truth in their bellies as a suppressed anger and a new unconscious force. The NWO Regime was then going to inject huge numbers of immigrants from very different cultures into Ireland, and this was going to cause mayhem in some places. The Regime was working to programme the recently violated and abused population so that they would be incapable of admitting that the ordinary medics in their society had killed their own people. This would generate huge pent-up anger and visceral angst that required release, and so when these violated people would see the new dark-skined immigrants they would feel justified in projecting their anger at these people. It was super-slick psychological warfare, and, if left unchecked, it could foment hot war.

Digital-Twin Warfare

The Regime wanted algorithmic tallies on social media accounts of fightback people that registered a high number of posts with a positive mention of the title ‘Dr’; a low count of posts that identified real-life experiences of C-19 medical practices and/or C-19 profits earned by medical businesses; a low count of posts that mentioned the name of a medical professional who behaved badly; and a high count of posts that showed the photo and/or name of a new immigrant who had behaved badly. The Regime wanted a medically-abused population who were unconsciously self-censoring themselves, and were unwilling to name and shame medical abusers and killers whom they knew personally. And they wanted this angsty population to be quick and eager to name and shame new-immigrant abusers and killers that were personally unknown to them. It was a slick manipulation of unexpressed anger energy.

But the Róisín Dubh Press put a spanner in the works of this evil psychological warfare.

Spreading the Word about Words

In 2022, the Róisín Dubh Press began teaching the public about how the C-19 propaganda had manipulated our relationship with ordinary words, so as to either downplay violence and abuse, or to exploit trusted and positive associations of a particular word. The list of coded and loaded words included: Covid vaccine instead of Covid ‘injection’; the term biological sex, or the ‘g ’word (instead of the one-word ‘sex’); conspiracy which actually programmed earnest fighters to use this slur word to describe the greatest uprising of independent thinking done in human hearts and minds in recent history. Other word and terms included: elite, died suddenly, far right, inclusivity, diversity, gaslight, narcissist, inappropriate, mental health, and healthcare (for medical services). Anyone serious about fighting information war avoided the coded words. We also explained how the controlled opposition was programming language style into the fightback to make messaging weak and ineffective. We explained how the use of irony or blame-free statements/questions were harmful to messaging, such as ‘Died suddenly, wonder why?’ (this is untruthful, the writer believes the injection caused death, but refuses to state facts and inform correctly), or ‘doctors are baffled’, when doctors were not innocent and baffled, they were denying the medical reality, and guilty of this. There was a strict ban on anyone who used laughing emojis on posts about the C-19 genocide. After our education campaign, people began to call out anyone who ever used the words ‘vaccine’, ‘biological sex’ or the ‘g’ word.

We also requested that people observe how often the word ‘Dr’ appeared in their lives. One woman sent in a photo of all the skincare products in her house. There were 7 different brands with ‘Dr’ in the name. I recognised my face cream brand, ‘Dr Hauschka’. After that, an artist from Limerick did a large collage depicting a huge syringe. It was composed of 538 pieces of printed sentences cut out of from advertising or media that started with phrases like ‘Doctors say…’, ‘Doctors have discovered that…’, ‘Doctor reveals the secret to a healthy gut…’, etc. It was very effective. An influencer in Cork produced a 3-minute video with clips from all the major medical dramas on TV in Ireland since 2000. I was shocked by that, I’d watched Scrubs, House, The Mindy Project and The Good Doctor, and I don’t ever remember seeing a doctor or nurse who continued to administer a harmful pharma product to people. Another rebel made a rap song, Doctor in the House, with snippets of friendly doctors giving advice on Irish media. The new song used the refrain from the 2016 hit by Macklemore, Drug Dealer: ‘My drug dealer was a doctor, doctor; He had the plug from Big Pharma, Pharma; I think he trying to kill me, kill me; He tried to kill me for a dollar.’ Somebody resurrected old children’s Ladybird books with cover pictures of male doctors using their stethoscopes.

In early 2022, my father’s jabbed friend died soon after a stroke. He had five adult children and one of his sons was a doctor. I had not known this fact until I read the death notice which listed the four ordinary children’s names, plus the special son, Dr. Seán. It is a vile irony that the titled Dr. Seán may well have been the person who injected his father a few times. Had the father been proud to have had a son who became a doctor, a member of the profession that killed a lot of people? I did a piece on how the word ‘doctor’ originates in the Latin word docere, meaning to teach, and is related to the word ‘docile’. Establishment people can be educated to avoid congruent thinking, which makes them morally docile puppets.

This C-19 injection killing and injuring was done by pharma-brainwashed medical professionals, to ordinary people who had opted to be injected after being subjected to intense psychological warfare and decades of social programming. It was, and is, information war. We journalists were the soldiers that saved people’s lives, and assisted the revolution by bringing the truth, the accounts straight from the victims’ mouths to the public.

Now I am a broke, unfit, overweight smoker. My former fashionista wardrobe doesn’t fit me any more, but I am so proud, so happy, and so grateful to have worked as a journalist in mainstream media and have had the skills and public profile that permitted me to fight for Ireland in this information war. We were a new breed of valiant warriors, fighting to bring forth the truth of our people, like the new bards of Ireland. It was our 1916 moment.

Reality in 2021

…or was it all a dream, a vision, an aisling. When we look back at the reports done by media professionals and journalists to inform the public about our people’s experiences of C-19 medical violence and killing during 2020, 2021, and 2022, it is like the lines of the Aslan song, Crazy World

‘Can you hear the sound of nothing, nothing?’

Yes, in reality it was a ‘slow and obscene’ hacking to death of any expectation of dignified reporting and truthful expression reported about the people who suffered the C-19, stealth, medical violence and killing. In the future we will have holocaust museums, and there shall be special sections dedicated to people who suppressed the voices of their own people on the ground. In May 2025, we have 23,000 extra deaths in Ireland since the jab rollout in 2021. We had the highest rate of booster uptake in Europe. The people were not informed, it was information war. Now there are many people taking to the streets in organised demonstrations, with tricolour flags in their hands, so that they cannot hold a sign that says ‘Covid-Injection Injured’ or ‘Jab Regret’, so that the truth remains crushed, and the visceral anger and suppressed force of an abused population can be captured and manipulated by a bevy of fake rebels who never cared about the killing and injuring of their own people. This is war, these individuals are taking big risks, history shows that the Regime will spit them out as soon as they have served their purpose, and that the people on the ground will have a very particular form of vengeance that is only ever reserved for traitors.

Please Support Dierdre, For payments: