While researching his book
"Them: Adventures with Extremists," author Jon Ronson accompanied Jim Tucker of
the late Spotlight to Portugal to scout the annual meeting of the Bilderbergers
(for anyone concerned with such matters, Ronson is Jewish).
Here is part of his
report:
from pp.
135-137
"Portugal is not an eventful
country. There is tourism and there is football land there are golfing
tournaments. It was, then, all the more extraordinary that at around four
o'clock many of the world's most powerful people really did begin to roll past
us in taxis and anonymous town cars.
There was David Rockefeller,
net worth $2.5 billion, chairman of the Chase Manhattan Bank, huddled into the
back of a local cab.
"Good afternoon, Mr.
Rockefeller," murmured Jim.
The gatekeeper bowed and lifted
the gate. David Rockefeller waved, and the taxi disappeared up the
drive.
Then came Umberto Agnelli of
Fiat, Italy's de facto royal family, net worth $3.3 billion, barely noticeable
in the back seat of some old sedan.
"Big Bilderberg family," said
Jim. He was trying to remain matter-of-fact, but pretty soon he was grinning
broadly.
"Jim!" I
said.
"Damn right, soldier," he
beamed. "Pretty overwhelming, huh?"
There was Vernon Jordan, Bill
Clinton's closest friend, his unelected official adviser and golfing partner -
Vernon Jordan, who plucked the president from Arkansas obscurity and nurtured
him to the White House, and who is widely credited with pulling strings to get
James Wolfensohn his job as president of the World Bank.
There was James Wolfensohn,
president of the World Bank.
And there was Henry Kissinger,
possibly the most powerful individual the postwar period has known. Dr.
Kissinger, who sanctioned the secret bombing of Cambodia and later won the Nobel
Peace Prize, who revealed to the press his heart attack with the words, "Well,
at least that proves I have a heart" - and here he was trundling up the drive of
the Caesar Park in the back of an old Mercedes.
"I'll tell you one thing I bet
you didn't know about Henry Kissinger," said Jim. "His accent is as American as
mine. Creep up on him at a bar, as I once did, and whisper that you know
exactly what he's up to, and he'll sputter and shout at you in an
accent as American as Mom's apple pie."
I attempted, for a moment, to
judge rationally whether there was any truth to this startling claim
- whether Henry Kissinger really had throughout his life adopted a fake
European accent to camouflage his American one. But I couldn't. My rationality
had suffered a tremendous blow, and I now no longer knew what was possible and
what was not.
The taxis kept coming. There
were CEOs of pharmaceutical giants and tobacco companies and car manufacturers,
the heads of banks from Europe and North America. Some, like Richard Holbrooke,
America's United Nations representative, gave us friendly smiles, which Jim
returned with a glare of undisguised loathing.
"Who are these people," said
Fred. "Why does nobody want to know?"
"They're the masters of the
universe," said Jim. "The rulers of the world. You know their names
now."
End of
quoting.
"Belief is the enemy."
-- John A. Keel, The Mothman
Prophecies
