CHARLIE MEETS BILDERBERG DICTATORSHIP POLICE STATE

WELL FOLKS AFTER READING THIS YOU WILL KNOW WHAT THE WORLD WILL BE LIKE UNDER THE FUTURE EU WORLD DICTATOR AND OBAMA IS GIVING UP AMERICA TO THE EU DICTATOR.SO HERE WE COME DICTATORSHIP GET READY AMERICA,WORLD.

ITS INTERESTING THE DICTATORSHIP IS SO STRONG ALREADY IN THE EU AS THESE WORLD GOVERNMENT,OCCULT ENVIROMENTAL,TAX GRABING ROBBERS THE BILDERBERGS WANT THE WHOLE WORLD IN THIS POLICE STATE LIKE THE LAST 4 DAYS.IT WAS IN GREECE WERE THEY HAD THIS DICTATORSHIP MEETING OF WORLD DOMINATION,PLAN DEATH AND HELL.

JIM TUCKER TOLD US THE BILDERBERGS HAD SUCH TIGHT SECURITY YOU COULD NOT GET WITHIN 2 MILES OF THESE NEW WORLD ORDER DICTATORS.THE WORST EVER SECURITY JIM SAID AT THIS MEETING.

Demonstrations against the secret meeting of the Bilderbergs in Aster Palace hotel 17 May 2009 :: 16:16:37

Demonstrations against the secret meeting of the world leaders, calling their elite club Bilderberg, took place in front of Aster Palace hotel in Athens. For the past few days the hotel has been guarded by divers, agents, and paratroops- just like in a Hollywood movie, because this has been the location of the meeting of some of the most powerful people on the planet, including kings and ministers, diplomats and businessmen, journalists and scientists.The discussions of the economical brains of the planet started with analysis of the results from the G20 meeting in Washington, and how they can be implemented. The conversations emphasized on the issue of banks’ public subsidizing and the best ways it can be used for revitalizing the market. A lot of theories were developed, and the speakers showed off knowledge and decisiveness on particular topics but a specific decision, however, was not reached, said the participants at the meeting to Vima newspaper. It is a surprising fact that one-third of the participants invited did not show up, justifying themselves with concerns about their security, despite the efforts of the hosts to make the area completely inaccessible for intruders. In the first part of the meeting the guests had the chance to get to know each other informally and share views, mainly on political subjects. The topics discussed by the closed company were related to the crisis in Afghanistan and Iraq, and what would be the consequences if American troops withdrew from Iraq. Other issues of interest for the world political leaders are the power industry, China’s strengthening and the relationships between USA and Europe, i.e. what is their condition during the current economic crisis.

According to the club rules, the members talk on one specific subject for 7 minutes, and comments, additions or questions may be introduced by the rest within 1 minute. Their only obligation is not to publish or disclose anything discussed. A record is made of the club’s discussions in which, however, the name of the speaker is never published. The official language is English, and the conversation notes are later published in a book. The most impressive fact is that at the round-table talks everybody can say whatever they want and make any suggestions they want, without facing the risk of being judged or opposed with regard to their words.
www.GRREPORTER.INFO

Welcome to the United States of Bilderberg
http://ddjango.blogspot.com/2009/05/welcome-to-united-states-of-bilderberg.html

This weekend, in an out of the way luxury hotel in Greece, some of the richest and most powerful people in the Western world are convening to decide the fate of that world. Among others, the US Secretary of the Treasury is in attendance, with one other so-far-unknown representative from our country, to receive instructions from these gods of empire and finance. On the outside, Alex Jones and some hangers-on are shouting righteous epithets through bull-horns from across the street. Alex is perspicacious, as always, but these folks are probably just mildly amused.Sticks and stones, they think. It's going to be a nasty summer, global warming, global cooling, come what may. Memorial Day is just around the corner. In the States we can use it to remember the death of the American Dream. By Labor Day, drained and exhausted from the summer, we'll know how bad our asses are on fire. Remember, it's not the heat; it's the stupidity.The following clips are from a Prison Planet report (though there have been some brief confirmations of this stuff elsewhere in reputable MSM news)...

According to a London Times report, U.S. Treasury Secretary Timothy Geithner will probably be in attendance at this week’s Bilderberg Group meeting, as top globalists meet to plot the financial future of the planet behind closed doors.The Times article notes that US Treasury Secretary Tim Geithner’s public schedule is mysteriously empty for the next two days,speculating that he will be in Vouliagmeni, Greece for the annual elitist confab, following in the footsteps of Federal Reserve Chairman Ben Bernanke, who attended last year’s conference in Washington DC just months before the collapse of Lehman Brothers and the start of the economic crisis ...Geithner’s presence at Bilderberg is noteworthy, not only because Bernanke attended immediately before the economic crisis last year, but also because Bilderberg’s agenda for 2009 is heavily weighted towards the financial crisis. According to a pre-meeting booklet handed out to members that was leaked to investigative journalist Daniel Estulin, Bilderberg is divided on whether to put into motion, Either a prolonged, agonizing depression that dooms the world to decades of stagnation, decline and poverty … or an intense-but-shorter depression that paves the way for a new sustainable economic world order, with less sovereignty but more efficiency.It isn't as if this happened overnight. These forces of international finance capitalism have been around for centuries, their power handed forward from father to son, conclave to cartel, church to cult. Wars have been fought, governments undermined, people great and small assassinated or disappeared. All in a day's work, I suppose. Or at least that of the last century, with the pace stepping up as soon as Hitler's bunker was stormed and Hiroshima and Nagasaki levelled. The pace quickened again immeasurably when the Wall was breached and the Soviet resistance to the so-called New World Order crumbled into dust. Please look at the history; make the connections.

This the end game, I think. No, the world will not end. But the Dream will, hope as you might that this economic Titanic will miraculously right itself and you will be on the sundeck watching the beautiful, glittering icebergs drift slowly to starboard and port.With the market bubble artificially reinflated (once again sucking loose change out of hope- and greed-crazed small investors), little snorts of platitude have emanated from the south ends of both DC and Wall Street: we may be bottoming out, turning the corner, they say; the pace of the crash is slowing.Less people lost their jobs last month than the month before! Hoorah!! I hope it occurs to you that there ain't that many jobs left to lose. Do you finally give up all hope only when all the McDonald's close and Netflicks goes tits up? As the saying goes, We've got em right where they want us.This is the news from Yahoo Finance (in full - so sue me):

The green shoots story took a bit of hit this week between data on April retail sales, weekly jobless claims and foreclosures. But the whole concept of the economy finding its footing was preposterous to begin with, says Howard Davidowitz, chairman of Davidowitz & Associates.We're in a complete mess and the consumer is smart enough to know it,says Davidowitz, whose firm does consulting for the retail industry.If the consumer isn't petrified, he or she is a damn fool.Davidowitz, who is nothing if not opinionated (and colorful), paints a very grim picture: The worst is yet to come with consumers and banks,he says.This country is going into a 10-year decline. Living standards will never be the same.This outlook is based on the following main points:

-With the unemployment rate rising into double digits - and that's not counting the millions of underemployed Americans - consumers are hitting the breaks, which is having a huge impact, given consumer spending accounts for about 70% of economic activity.
-Rising unemployment and the $8 trillion negative wealth effect of housing mean more Americans will default on not just mortgages but student loans and auto loans and credit card debt.
-More consumer loan defaults will hit banks, which are also threatened by what Davidowitz calls a depression in commercial real estate, noting the recent bankruptcy of General Growth Properties and distressed sales by Developers Diversified and other REITs.

As for all the hullabaloo about the stress tests, he says they were a sham and part of a con game to get private money to finance these institutions because [Treasury] can't get more money from Congress. It's the greater fool theory.We're now in Barack Obama's world where money goes into the most inefficient parts of the economy and we're bailing everyone out,says Daviowitz, who opposes bailouts for financials and automakers alike.The bailout money is in the sewer and gone.I truly hope you enjoy the summer Star Trek and Terminator flicks this season. Me, I'm looking for some Bugs Bunny, Elmer Fudd, and Daffy Duck reruns.Thufferin thuccotath!

Our man at Bilderberg:You are not allowed to take pictures of policemen! Charlie Skelton is scared, jumpy and hacked off at the police state built around Bilderberg. So hacked off, in fact, he has asked the police to stop following him. Bad move.guardian.co.uk, Sunday 17 May 2009 12.43 BST
http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/series/charlie-skeltons-bilderberg-files

This man is following me. It's true. I'm not imagining things.Photograph: Charlie Skelton.I need to go back a day and tell you exactly how I came to be in an Athens metro station at 8am, grappling with two strange men, struggling and yelling: Help me somebody! Security! Please! Someone get security! Get the police! My voice still hurts. My brain is ready to explode.But that is today. Yesterday divides in half: the half where I flee the Bilderberg resort, too scared and strung out to remain, and the half when I have to bundle myself in a random cab and drive to the British Embassy for my own safety.I am being hounded. And all because I dared report on Bilderberg. Because I dared point my finger at them, there, in the darkness of a seaside peninsula. Ecce Bilderberg! I am not lying. I am not exaggerating. I am not imagining. I am not hysterical. If anything, I became incredibly calm when I finally stopped being the ­criminal, stopped being the hare, and grabbed one of the men who's been following me. I was turning the madness back in on itself, grabbing their wrists and plunging all of us further down the rabbit hole.So yes, to be clear, I've just been tussling with two men in the bleak marble atrium of an Athens Metro station. But that was this morning. I haven't even had breakfast yet. I need to tell you about yesterday.I wrote the words below a thousand years or so before all that's happened to me in central Athens. See me now, back in Vouliagmeni, sitting in a cafe by the sea, being watched (of course) while I sip my orange juice. It is another beautiful day on the Greek Riviera …

That's it, I'm done, I'm gone.Believe me when I say, I feel physically intimidated; I feel afraid. I've had my own little seaside dip into a police state and the water's coming over my head.If you've ever been bullied you'll know exactly what I'm feeling: the tightness in the chest, looking both ways down corridors, hating the fear, hating your mind for asking "am I safe here? Am I safe? I've been bullied out of Vougliameni, bullied away by Bilderberg for daring to be near.I am leaving the toxic orbit of Bilderberg so I can breathe freely. So I can walk down a sidestreet without being followed by plainclothes policemen. I'm tired of men in the lobby, men on the stairs, the same men in different doorways, on different corners wherever I go. Cars pulling away from the kerb when I approach. The same cars, the same feelings. I'm tired of complaining at the station. I've complained three times now, and the final time turned nasty. They denied outright I was being followed.This is an idea in your mind! I showed them a photo I took today, when I took my tail on a looping stroll through the hills, waited round a corner, and snapped him unawares. They're not very good at this, but that just makes it worse. If they were a bit more subtle I could pretend they weren't there.I have been made to feel weak, but buried in my weakness is a fury. How dare they make me feel like this. How dare they! They have turned this corner of the Greek Riviera into east Berlin (a helicopter circles above me as I type these words, I swear) and I haven't the backbone to brazen it out. Checkpoint Charlie here I come.Of all the things I am furious about, the one that rankles the most is the fact that I've become jumpy. It's crazy that I'm keeping my room door open as I pack, and the balcony door. Two exits. It's crazy that I've started checking the bathroom and the wardrobe when I enter. That I'm taking photographs of my laptop when I leave the room, and finding it moved. I want to be in the open, in the sunlight, in front of people. I crave the fresh air of Athens city centre, and that's saying something.

Nor am I imagining things - this is not an idea in my mind. And how extraordinary that I have to write that. It is shocking and upsetting that I have to justify my sanity, defend my perceptions and stand in a police station being told I am imagining things. I showed them the photo of the man I caught round the corner. An officer asks, absurdly:How from this photograph do you say he is following you? I just see a man.I take a deep breath.Well, yes, he isn't holding a sign which says I am following Charlie Skelton' so I suppose you have to take my word for it.In comes the chief. Bossios Hoggios. What the problem? I tell him that I am being followed by the police, and that I would like it to stop, or be told the reason. Why you here? he barks. I tell him I am here for the Bilderberg conference at the Astir Palace.Well, that is the reason! That is why! We are finished! And he washes his hands of me, dismissing me with a gesture, striding back to his office. Idiot,I mutter, unheard.Back to the photograph.How you know he is a policeman? I know that he is, I've seen him talking to your colleagues at the checkpoint.You are not allowed to take photos of policemen.
So I am being followed by policemen? He gestures out of the window.Where is he now, this man you say following you? Show me him.I'm standing in a police station. I don't know what to say. They tell me to ring the police if I see them again. To ring the police if I see the police following me.I shouldn't have called the officer an idiot. I shouldn't have raised my voice and derided the craziness of the situation. I'm not in a friendly room any more, so I decide to leave. I clap my hands together with as much mockery as my anger allows, and cry: We are finished!I wash my hands of the Greek police.

But I'm not done with Bilderberg.

I finish my orange juice, pick up my rucksack, and walk down the street to hail a cab. Which is when I'm detained for the third time. I'm a good half mile from Bilderberg, trying to leave the resort, sick of it all, but Checkpoint Charlie has just slammed in my face.You take photographs! I'd done no such thing. I was waiting for a cab.Show me your camera! Why you here?! They circle round. Local cops, a riot officer, two private security men. I looked at their lanyards: Avion Security. One of the Avion goons prods me with his walkie-talkie. Why you here? I tell him, wearily, that I'm a journalist. He rubs his chin and says the words that even in a 30-degree sun turn my blood to ice.Show me your papers.

Our man at Bilderberg: I'm ready to lose control, but they're not,Charlie Skelton feels a sudden need to apologise for the trouble he's caused, swiftly followed by a rush of revolutionary rage against the powers that be being so, well, powerful Charlie Skelton guardian.co.uk, Friday 15 May 2009 17.22 BST

I want to talk about Bilderberg 2009. But beyond a simple yes, it's happening, it's real, the leaders of the world are hanging out here for the weekend, what can I say? It's a private meeting.I don't know if they're discussing global financial unification or the season finale of Grey's Anatomy over their prawn cocktails. I don't even know what the vegetarian option is for starters. Butternut squash? You're going to have to forgive me for speculating, but that's all I can do. I'm not a proper reporter. I don't have the foggiest of my rights (if any) to stand on public footpaths and point cameras. I don't even have a proper camera. But what I do have is this: a sense of something rotten in the state of Greece. To my nose, there's not a healthy smell wafting down from the Astir Palace. Or maybe that was the egg and pepper roll I had for breakfast.Sorry if some of these speculations are wrongheaded, but I'm doing a lot of this thinking for the first time and I've only just shaken off my police escort. Sorry if I sound shrill or petulant, self-righteous or precious, sorry if my perceptions have been tilted by anger … sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry. Sorry for bothering you Mr Bilderberg. I've spent the last three days apologising to everyone. Sorry to the staff at my hotel for having plainclothes officers loafing around in their lobby. Sorry to the plainclothes officers themselves for having to drag them around Vougliameni on a wild goose chase (I bought them some chilled water, and took it to them while they shuffled awkwardly behind a tree). Sorry then to the desk sergeant for bothering her with my predicament: I'm being followed around like a criminal, I wonder if you wouldn't mind asking them to stop? I'm not doing anything wrong, and it's getting … well … a bit annoying.

I'm going to stop apologising now. I'm going to try and make sense of my experiences. It's not easy; I don't want to sound feeble-minded, but this has been a lot to take in. I feel a bit like I've driven down the wrong alley and suddenly don't recognise anything, and people are staring at me and not simply to admire my hair. I'm jumpy. I think someone has been in my room and moved my laptop. I know this sounds bonkers, I know it does, but I took a photo of it before I left the room and it wasn't where I left it.Listen to me. I sound like a fruitcake. Three days and I've been turned into a suspect, a troublemaker, unwanted, ill at ease, tired and a bit afraid. And I haven't even walked up the road to the Bilderberg hotel since the whole get in the car! incident. I've been trying to stay out of trouble, but trouble has followed me down the hill.So – to make sense of it. I'm going to begin here: with the face of the first Bilderberg delgate I saw in the flesh. I was trying, lamely, to get a snap of some delegates as they swooshed through Vougliameni in their mirrored limos with their plainclothes motorcycle outriders and police escorts. And one of them had their window open. I was so excited I forgot to bring the camera to my face and took a photo of the hubcap. What I saw I won't forget. It was a 40-something man with his head thrown back, laughing and laughing, the perfect photograph that only my retina will ever see.And you know what: no wonder he was happy. It must be WAY COOL to be sirened through Greek streets in the back of bulletproof limo on your way to the COOLEST party in the world. You've been invited by the coolest of the cool kids to hang out for the weekend. Your cool cousin's über-cool older brother and his way cool friends have got a keg of beer and a pool in the yard, and their parents are away and you think Jessica might be going. THIS IS THE BEST PARTY EVER! Turn on the sirens! We're coming through! Woohoo!

And your life is already pretty cool. You already own a newspaper or head a thinktank, or you're the UK secretary of state for business, enterprise and regulatory reform, or you run Fiat, or you're chairman of the Federal Reserve or Queen of the Netherlands, or president of Shell Oil. You run stuff. You have big ideas. You're in control, and control is fun.Bilderberg is all about control. It's about what shall we do next? We run lots of stuff already, how about we run some more? How about we make it easier to run stuff? More efficient. Efficiency is good. It would be so much easier with a single bank, a single currency, a single market, a single government. How about a single army? That would be pretty cool. We wouldn't have any wars then. This prawn cocktail is GOOD. How about a single way of thinking? How about a controlled internet?

How about not.

I am so unbelievably backteeth sick of power being flexed by the few. I've had it flexed in my face for three days, and it's up my nose like a wasp. I don't care whether the Bilderberg Group is planning to save the world or shove it in a blender and drink the juice, I don't think politics should be done like this. This might be a facile point, but if they were organising a charity snooker league, they could do it upstairs at Starbucks. If they were trying to cure cancer they could do it with the lights on. Innocent thoughts can be minuted.Or maybe they're simply swingers. Maybe that's why the curtains are drawn. Imagine chucking your key in the tub and pulling out Ken Clarke. Sorry Timothy Geithner, that's the cost of doing business.I have a confession. (I'm not a swinger, that's not it.) My confession is that being tailed today by Greek special branch, and doubling back through a cafe and catching them out, and buying them chilled water on a hot day like in Beverley Hills Cop, when Eddie Murphy has room service sent to their car – all this was pretty exciting. It's was my own little episode of the Equaliser. (The Greequaliser? No, really no, I'm tired). Being tailed was exciting and funny and absurd and confusing and terrifying and utterly, utterly wrong. And I know this sounds pathetic but I got a bit teary in the police station when I was telling the nice desk sergeant lady that I'm not a bad person and not a threat to anyone, and it would be nice if someone could call off the goons. I don't like to be made to feel like this. I've been put in this position, and I haven't deserved it.Bilderberg is about positions of control. I get within half a mile of it, and suddenly I'm one of the controlled. I'm followed, watched, logged, detained, detained again. I'd been put in that position by the power that was up the road.

Likewise, the Bilderberg delegates occupy a position of power over the bobbing ignorance of the people patting beach balls in the sea, and me with my crappy little camera and my curiosity and my ill-formed sense of citizenship. I may not be very good at bearing witness here, but I'm doing my best. I haven't shinned over the fence and shoved a camera in David Rockefeller's face but I don't want to be shot in the forehead.A final thought for the day. In the fable, the men may have been blind but they did at least get to grope the elephant before trying to describe it. Now shove that elephant in the back of a blacked-out Mercedes S600, whisk it off into a luxury Greek resort, circle it with heavily armed guards and helicopters, hand it a Martini, and pay the local police to harass, detain and follow anyone showing even the slightest interest of grabbing a flank. That, my friend, is the beast that is Bilderberg 2009.

Our man at Bilderberg: They're watching and following me, I tell you,Charlie Skelton is now being followed by the police and still hasn't done much more than eat a club sandwich. Global secret cabals have no sense of humour.Charlie Skelton guardian.co.uk, Friday 15 May 2009 10.58 BST

Now I've got too much to report.

I'll talk later about the strange secret circus of limousines, blacked-out windows, sirens, helicopters. No time to relate being detained for a SECOND time, for the crime of being half a mile from the Bilderberg hotel gates trying to take arty photographs of limousine wheels as they whisked past. Doing so little wrong that I was doing it while standing next to three policemen who were fine about it. Until the call came through on the radio and the motorbikes and squad cars squealed around me like a bad dream. I'll tell that story later. I have to talk now about what just happened.But before I begin, please believe me when I say: I haven't gone nuts. I really haven't. Nine times seven is 63 and the capital of Italy is Rome. I know what I know. And I know that I'm being followed. I know because I've just been chatting to the plainclothes policemen I caught following me. As absurd as it sounds, I've just made my tail.They're watching me now. REALLY. They're sitting on the wall outside the cafe Oceania or whatever this is called, watching me type this sentence. I asked them in for a coffee but they declined. They laughed sheepishly when I called them Starsky and Hutch. They asked my name. I told your colleagues. Twice.They asked again. I told them. I asked back. There was an awkward pause. They're not very good at this.... ... Nick … … … … and … John.So there we were, me and my shadows. Nick and John. We're just walking up and down.That was their cover story, and they didn't bother sticking to it. They simply couldn't resist: How many days you spend here? – Where you from exactly? – You staying here alone? I was laughing. It was too bizarre. What is your job? I told John I wrote jokes for television programmes. He almost instantly forgot. It wasn't on the profile he'd just learned, clearly.So what papers you write for?

I noticed them in reception after breakfast. Like I'd noticed the similarly dressed, early-30s, bland-looking fellow the night before. He seemed to be staring at me. I turned round and caught him whispering to the receptionist and looking at me. I swear to God. I know this makes me sound like a lunatic, and if it weren't for my chat just now with Starsky and Hutch I might start assuming I've had a touch of the sun. Last night, the phone rang in my hotel room and someone hung up when I answered. The call came from inside the hotel. I assumed it was one of the other reporters ringing the wrong room. Maybe it was.I'm just remembering now. I had a shorter than usual breakfast this morning. I came out. Nick was alone in the lobby. He was on his mobile. I trotted upstairs to my room. Down the stairs comes John, also on his phone. I'm slotting together memories now, as I type. I haven't gone mad. This is happening.

Was he in my room? They knew I was in breakfast. This is crazy.

Here's what happened next: I headed out of the hotel with my laptop. And I thought to myself: you know what, if they're REALLY cops, they'll follow me. So I stopped, turned round, and waited. Ten seconds. I felt an idiot, standing there, waiting for an imaginary policeman to follow me out. Fifteen seconds. Eureka! Out comes John on his mobile phone. He looks confused to see me standing there and crosses the road. I sit down on a wall. He dawdles by a lamppost. I get up, walk to the seafront, turn left, walk a bit, cross the road (gives me a chance to look both ways – and yes, there's John).I walk into the far entrance of the cafe. I'm in an episode of The Wire. The cafe is long and thin. I double back on myself and stand, hidden, by the earlier entrance. I'm standing behind a shrub, clutching a laptop to my chest, my heart beating like a Phil Collins solo (on drums, not piano).I'm just an ordinary guy. A concerned citizen. For this week at least, a blogger. Barely a reporter. A terrible photographer. No threat to anyone. I'm nobody. But just up the hill, in a luxury hotel, there's a meeting of the most powerful somebodies in the world. Bilderberg. I've been hauled off to the police station twice. Before this week, I've never had so much as a cross word with a policeman IN MY LIFE. I once drove at night with my lights off and was pulled over and told not to drive like an idiot. And that's it. I'm not a bad person. I don't even know what I am any more. I think I write jokes for a living. I think maybe I used to. I'm a man clutching a laptop to his chest, trying to breathe quietly. Ten seconds. Fifteen. John comes round the shrub and steps back, bewildered.Hi.I'm no threat, you know that, don't you?Poor John. I felt sorry for him. He wasn't very good at this. I'm not the smartest shoe in the window but it took me all of four minutes to blow his cover.They didn't want to come for coffee. I asked them to take my photo. They did. I took one of them. No fotografia! Show me the camera! Poor Nick, he was in a real bind. He couldn't remember if he was a policeman or not.They seem nice, mostly, the police who have been harassing me for standing around and taking bad photos with a cheap digital camera. Yesterday, I got chatting with one of the motorcycle cops before I was bundled off in the squad car. I told him that I hoped tomorrow there would be protests here – not riots, but protests. He agreed.It would be nice to hear another voice,he said, sadly. A big man in leathers, caught up in something far bigger.But today I have to do my job. This is not a good situation.This is not a good situation. It would be nice to hear another voice.I'm going to pay for my coffee now and head back to the hotel. Just the three of me.Charlie Skelton will continue to file regular updates from Athens because it seems safer that way.