On Dec 3, 2022, very early in the morning, I took a car from my cozy hotel in Boston, to the open commons in front of Yale’s Old Campus. I alit from the car in nearly freezing weather.

Nothing was open. The early day was overcast. I had had no breakfast, and I needed coffee. The night before had been a late one for me, as I had made an evening business presentation. So I was cranky, hungry, cold and tired. I had nowhere to change or to brush my hair, so I did the best I could in the ladies’ restroom of the New Haven Public Library.

I mention the discomfort of the morning because it seemed to be emblematic of the icy shoulder which my alma mater presented to me.

I—we—were there to protest the “mandate” by the university of bivalent “boosters” into the bodies of the students; this was required of them before they could - and in order that they might—return to campus after Winter break.

Astonishingly, the faculty and staff—meaning, surely, the administrators too—were not thus “mandated.” (Harvard too has a similar “mandate” affecting students but not faculty).

We who were there to protest were outcasts, reprobates. Yet all we were doing there was pleading for the safety of the young men and women in the campus just beyond us.

There were about three dozen people at the rally and then at the march; a small, committed, straggling group. Parents of the university students were absent; students themselves were glaringly absent; administrators, faculty—appeared to be entirely absent. A few dedicated health freedom activists, organized by TeamRealityCT, and the speakers ourselves—stood vulnerably in a corner of the commons, shouting terrifying facts and urgent warnings into a crackly mic, into a heedless wind, expecting to be arrested.

As I awaited my turn at the mic, memories flooded in. They had been such happy ones, to start with. There was the Old Campus, just behind us; where I had been a joyful 17-year-old, racing across green lawns, meeting new friends. I recalled how my heart had soared at the beauty of the crenellated walls and the Romanesque arches. A California girl, I had never seen such buildings before in real life.

I recalled jumping into pickup games of frisbee; or marveling at the turning of deciduous autumn leaves—a spectacle which I, who had grown up among evergreens, had never seen before. I’d been captivated at the sight of my first snowfall; at the delicate flakes drifting magically down, in the light of a street lamp, outside the glowing stained glass windows of Battell Chapel.

I had flashbacks of drinking in the heady atmosphere, as a Freshman, as a Sophomore, of a whole new culture: I had been astonished, as a raw child of the wild West Coast, as the daughter of a beat poet and a hippie anthropologist, at all the age-old rituals and precious mannerisms of the Ivy League East. Learning about Mory’s; about singing groups; about tailgate parties; about Secret Societies; about seersucker jackets and boating shoes; about preppies, and Andover and Exeter, and Locust Valley Lockjaw—a way of speaking that the kids of the ancestral fortunes used at that time—a bored drawl; about Legacies and Jocks; about how to make polite conversation with parents at the Dean’s garden parties. I remember realizing that the allure of an Ivy league education was not just what you learned—you could learn as well in any number of decent state schools—but rather it was that ticket to privilege, that Alice in Wonderland type access, that door to the sunlit garden; how it revealed to you—a metaworld, invisible to the less lucky; the cultivated network that would nurture and soothe you for your entire life; that world of sailboats and dinner jackets (not “tuxedos”, I learned) and of turning to your right for the first course and to your left for the second. Far more than all that, though, I was high on being surrounded by what I saw as smart people; in an entire community that cared about being smart.

I was ecstatic at sitting in classrooms where the greatest minds of my day taught us about our intellectual heritage—Greek and Latin literary classics, Milton’s Paradise Lost, the Romantic poets. I remembered learning about Galen—the father of Western medicine. About the Hippocratic oath. About the Geneva Conventions. About any number of human rights movements. About the Constitution.

The language of Yale University—whose motto was “Lux et Veritas”—was the language of an institution devoted to sustaining and passing on the greatest values of the greatest civilization on earth. Once, I had sat there as a student in Battell Chapel, and listened to then-President Bart Giamatti welcome us; he’d described what a liberal arts education was: its values of open inquiry and of freedom of speech. I’d watched the light pour through the arched windows and had felt, sitting among equally rapt students, the solemn thrill of the task we thus undertook: to protect and cherish civilization.

And I—I had believed it. I was euphoric and proud to have been part of that tradition.

So how stark was the irony, that I was now there to try to stop a barbarous betrayal of the student body, by the very institution that claimed to speak up on behalf of civilization itself. How ironic that I was here to try to stop a crude act of foolishness, and of illogic and of sheer stupidity.

I was at the rally because I’d been informed by activist Joni McGary—not by the university’s communications with its alumni, not by CNN or by The New York Times—that Yale was, incredibly, “mandating” the “bivalent booster”—the one tested on eight mice—on its entire student population.

This demand was in spite of their having been twice mRNA vaccinated. It was in spite of their having been already “boosted.” It was in spite of any prior COVID-19 infection, or despite religious objections, physical problems, fears or resistance.

My soul revolted.

I stood in the bitter cold on a low makeshift wooden dais, speaking without notes, issuing what became a roar from the depth of a mother’s heart, my own heart, about the danger to the young adults in the institution behind me, that was being posed by—by the very institution itself.

My speech is here, along with Vigilant Fox’s summary.

In my speech, I explained that the 55,000 Pfizer documents, released via a lawsuit by Aaron Siri and his firm, have been reviewed by our volunteer group of 3500 medical and scientific experts; that they have written, under the leadership of DailyClout COO Amy Kelly, 48 reports. These experts have proven that 77% of the adverse events in the Pfizer documents are sustained by women, and that of those, 16% are, in Pfizer’s own words, “reproductive disorders.”

In the Pfizer documents there are, as I cried out in my speech, 20 different names for ruining the menstrual cycles of women. You can bleed all month; or have two periods a month; or hemorrhage viciously; or have agonizing cramps. How could young women compete in scholarly terms, how could they be athletes, I asked, in the face of this certain suffering? And how was this knowing infliction of menstrual damage not discriminatory against women—and not thus a violation of Title 9, which requires an equitable learning environment?

The Pfizer documents also confirm, I shouted to the crowd, as Dr Chris Flowers has abundantly proven, that both Pfizer and the FDA knew four months before there was any public announcement, that the mRNA vaccine had caused myocarditis in 35 teenagers and young adults. I warned the university that to force the students to submit to this injection would for certain cause infertility and/or horrific menstrual suffering in some of the young women, and that it would for sure cause heart damage in some of the young men.

I made the case, based on both Federal and Connecticut state law, that this situation constituted human trafficking.

This is the Federal law that defines human trafficking:

“The Trafficking Victims Protection Act of 2000 (TVPA) The TVPA and its subsequent reauthorizations define “severe forms of trafficking in person” (i.e., human trafficking) as: [...] 2. the recruitment, harboring, transportation, provision, or obtaining of a person for labor or services, through the use of force, fraud, or coercion for the purpose of subjection to involuntary servitude, peonage, debt bondage, or slavery (22 U.S.C. § 7102(11)).

A victim does not need to be physically transported from one location to another for the crime to fall within this definition.”

Connecticut human trafficking law definitions also apply directly to the situation of the beleaguered students at Yale, forced to provide the “service” of being lab rats or medical hostages:

“Under Connecticut law trafficking in persons is a stand-alone crime. A person is guilty of trafficking in persons when he or she: 1. uses fraud, coercion, or force (or threat of force) to compel or induce another person to ([...] (b) provide labor or services that such person has a legal right to refrain from providing [...]”

These are Class A felonies, punishable by twenty years in prison and a $20,000 fine.

I joined our sad little troop of moms and dads and activists, after my speech was done. A young reporter from the Yale Daily News interviewed me; her face looked frozen, her eyes almost glazed, as she tried with pre-set questions to push me to define the activists at the rally as being politically motivated—i.e., right wing.

I told her that I had no idea how they voted. I felt sad that her editor had evidently insisted on her trying to get this nonsensical angle, prior to her even arriving at the demonstration.

I saw on her face the tension of a very young, very smart woman, who had just heard credible statements about damage to young women like her, and yet who was trying hard to do her job; but it was a job corrupted by a corrupted “news” organization.

The article was predictably defamatory (I’m not a “vaccine skeptic”, etc etc) with an “expert,” Dr. Hugh Taylor, trotted out to flat-out lie to students and faculty with the claim that there “has been no research” tying reproductive harm to the mRNA vaccines. This, even as I’d just presented the evidence—and even as the evidence elsewhere is also terrifyingly mounting.

“Dr. Hugh Taylor ’83—Chair of the Department of Obstetrics Gynecology and Reproductive Sciences at Yale School of Medicine, and Chief of Obstetrics and Gynecology at Yale-New Haven Hospital—told the News that there has been no research tying adverse effects in fertility to the Pfizer vaccine.

“There’s no risk to fertility or to a pregnancy,” Taylor said. “But on the other hand, there’s a tremendously increased risk of complications from the virus if you are pregnant when you get COVID. The risk of major complications in pregnancy and even death significantly increase in pregnant women compared to others of the same age.”’

I tried later to contact the Yale Daily News for a retraction of the many falsehoods in their piece—but that incubator of journalism was no longer operating as the press is supposed to do in an open society. You could not call the editor. You could not even leave a message: the phone number connected weirdly to an internal phone message system that could take no messages. I felt so sad that young journalists were now being trained via a publication that was more like Pravda than like the Yale Daily News of the open-society past. What were they learning? To reproduce a party line.

A scary thread throughout the day was the suppression of free thought, free speech, among students. Phoebe Liou, a University of Connecticut student, described how lonely and desolate she felt after she had decided not to get mRNA vaccinated, and how the universities dangled students’ futures in front of them like a lure on a string. She described students being “switched off” of the CCP-style digital grid of their universities, if they are even late for weekly COVID tests. They are marked as “noncompliant”.

I knew how fearful students were in the face of these “mandates” and in the face of this CCP-type surveillance and control of them on campus, because so many parents with kids in the Ivies, had told me that their children had begged them not to speak out, not to call the Dean, not to advocate for them to protect them from these injections, in any way.

They feared reprisals, and they were right to do so.

The vibe on this once-vibrant campus was: keep your head down.

As I pointed out in my speech, worse even than damage to the students’ bodies, is the damage to their minds, as they bend their instincts for self-preservation to distort themselves to be “compliant” to the pimping of themselves, and to tyranny.

We finally marched across the campus, now truly trespassing. I hoped I would not be arrested, but I was resigned to that possibility. My mother’s heart did not let me decline that risk.

That was the saddest part of the day of all. Cross Campus—the green heart of the university—once littered, in my day at least, with students lounging on the grass, reading poetry, debating, laughing, tussling, napping—was entirely empty.

The whole university center was eerily silent. Students and graduate students and even faculty crossed our paths as we marched, but they stole glances at us as if it was Poland in 1972. Furtive, interested, ashamed, hidden.

Ms Liou had described students living in fear, surrounded by bad information, so scared to be “out” on a university with their fears or their questions, so scared to be switched off, ejected, or penalized; and the campus felt indeed like a matrix of fear.

As we ended our march, at a local pizzeria, and the organizers posted flyers on a bulletin board, an athlete came up to us. He reminded me of the athletes of my time there—a healthy, happy, robust young man, in that eternal striped polo shirt; smiling and eager and friendly. He had the clear eyes and ruddy skin of vigorous health; and the broad shoulders of a rower.

He sought us out—we moms, we dads, we straggling, loving renegades—and asked what he could do to protect himself. He said that Yale’s policies were forcing students not only to submit to the bivalent booster, but also to the flu vaccine. He asked about this with the sincerity of a truly very young man who really needed well-intentioned older adults to inform him and to help him, and we had—we had so little real help to give him.

In his earnest, youthful questions there was the embodiment of this crazy paradox of this situation: this young man who may have been there on an athletic scholarship; a young athlete who cared for, cultivated and took pride in his strength and in his body’s capacities—was being forced to take something into his body that could harm him forever. For no reason.

And he probably knew it.

####

In trafficking cases, you follow the money. As I said in my speech, I had not yet looked at the money trail that would surely be behind such an egregious policy—but I was sure that I would find one. In every case of institutions coercing workers or students or congregants, the institution had taken vast sums of what were in effect bribes—money from the CARES act or from the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation, with strings attached to push “COVID measures.”

When I came home, later, my husband, intelligence analyst Brian O’Shea, quickly found the money trail—from a site called TAGGS that tracks government grants, and from Yale’s own documents. The crime scene he found is indeed stunning.

Yale receive more from HHS than it does from tuition.

Yale has received $9 billion from HHS since 1998—$1.7 billion since COVID began in 2020. Yale received $607 million from HHS for this year alone—versus the $475 million that the university received from tuition.

In other words, Yale needs HHS more than it needs its own students.

So Yale is trafficking the bodies of its students, to please HHS and to keep that spigot open.

A breakdown of Brian O’Shea’s numbers are here, in Harvey Oxenhorn’s excellent essay about this protest.

Basically, Yale is a massive sponge for vaccine money. Department after department.

Yale received $3.4 million for “emergency measures” for COVID in regards to students. You can’t tell for what that was used. Yale also got a $1,099,535 grant from the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation for someone to study COVID mortality by looking at burial sites in Karachi, Pakistan. Follow the science!

And! Yale was the site of a Yale Institute for Global Health study that showed that richer countries have less vaccine hesitancy. Ka-ching!

But! That’s not all! Yale’s School of Management received money for a study to overcome “vaccine hesitancy”:

There’s more! Yale received funding for one of the original psychological studies that identified the main forms of emotional manipulation that were then adopted to drive the whole hellish neurosis-scape, the entire destruction of all of our social bonds, over the past almost three years. Here is the truly miserable precis:

“INTERVENTION / TREATMENT

Other: Control message

Other: Baseline message

Other: Personal freedom message

Other: Economic freedom message

Other: Self-interest message

Other: Community interest message

Other: Economic benefit message

Other: Guilt message

Other: Embarrassment message

Other: Anger message

Other: Trust in science message

Other: Not bravery message

Show fewer interventions/treatments”

The study summary elaborates on these, as if there is nothing weird or wrong about an unethical experiment in manipulating people’s reactions and perverting their alliances and their free will:

“Personal freedom message: 1/15 of the sample will be assigned to this intervention, which is a message about how COVID-19 is limiting people’s personal freedom and by working together to get enough people vaccinated society can preserve its personal freedom.

Economic freedom message: 1/15 of the sample will be assigned to this intervention, which is a message about how COVID-19 is limiting peoples’s economic freedom and by working together to get enough people vaccinated society can preserve its economic freedom.

Self-interest message: 1/15 of the sample will be assigned to this intervention, which is a message that COVID-19 presents a real danger to one’s health, even if one is young and healthy. Getting vaccinated against COVID-19 is the best way to prevent oneself from getting sick.

Community interest message: 1/15 of the sample will be assigned to this intervention, which is a message about the dangers of COVID-19 to the health of loved ones. The more people who get vaccinated against COVID-19, the lower the risk that one’s loved ones will get sick. Society must work together and all get vaccinated. [...]

Guilt message: 1/15 of the sample will be assigned to this message. The message is about the danger that COVID-19 presents to the health of one’s family and community. The best way to protect them is by getting vaccinated and society must work together to get enough people vaccinated. Then it asks the participant to imagine the guilt they will feel if they don’t get vaccinated and spread the disease.

Embarrassment message: 1/15 of the sample will be assigned to this message. The message is about the danger that COVID-19 presents to the health of one’s family and community. The best way to protect them is by getting vaccinated and by working together to make sure that enough people get vaccinated. Then it asks the participant to imagine the embarrassment they will feel if they don’t get vaccinated and spread the disease.

Anger message: 1/15 of the sample will be assigned to this message. The message is about the danger that COVID-19 presents to the health of one’s family and community. The best way to protect them is by getting vaccinated and by working together to make sure that enough people get vaccinated. Then it asks the participant to imagine the anger they will feel if they don’t get vaccinated and spread the disease.

Trust in science message: 1/15 of the sample will be assigned to this message about how getting vaccinated against COVID-19 is the most effective way of protecting one’s community. Vaccination is backed by science. If one doesn’t get vaccinated that means that one doesn’t understand how infections are spread or who ignores science.

Not bravery message: 1/15 of the sample will be assigned to this message which describes how firefighters, doctors, and front line medical workers are brave. Those who choose not to get vaccinated against COVID-19 are not brave.”

But! There’s even more! Yale also received a $35 million dollar facility—from Pfizer, for Pfizer’s benefit. To do what? It is a 52 bed facility—creepy as that sounds—for drug trials.

“At the CRU, one of only four such Pfizer facilities in the world (the others are in Ann Arbor, Mich.; Brussels, Belgium; and Singapore), volunteers will take part in studies in which they will receive potential medicines that have cleared several years of safety studies in the laboratory. Although the CRU is wholly owned and operated by Pfizer, [talics mine] some studies there will be collaborations between Pfizer and bioimaging experts at the School of Medicine, who will use positron emission tomography (PET) and other technologies to track where and how drugs under study are acting in the body.”

Does this mean that humans in New Haven are receiving non-FDA approved experimental drugs, in beds, in a facility owned and operated by Pfizer? And Yale is the facilitator for this? Who are these people? What led them to “volunteer”? What are these substances? What happens if something goes wrong?

It is just one more example of massive price tags accompanying reckless human experimentation; just one more example of Yale now being aligned more fully with pharma and by the COVID boondoggle, than with its alumni’s values, or its core mission, or its stated traditions.

#####

In New Haven, the activists’ plans for the day had ended.

All done with our tasks, we had a lovely lunch at Mory’s, the storied eating place for the university crowd, courtesy of an activist.

For a moment, in the comfortable interior, with the linens on the tables, the pictures on the wall of decades of young Yale athletes in their rows, proud of their young manhood—boys and young men in the 1880s, 1890s, 1900s, 1910s—with the jokey insider references to bulldogs and to the Whiffenpoofs and to campus rites—with the excellent salmon, the welsh rarebit left on the menu from an earlier time—with the two glasses of Sancerre—I felt that warm embracing hug that is Yale’s seduction; I remembered its promise of a lush, rich, cozy, tradition-bolstered, special world.

One that had meaning.

But then, as I got my coat and stepped out into the grey, grey day, and saw the blameless young people who were simply there to get the educations for which they had worked so hard, for which their parents had slaved—young people who were standing under a hideous shadow not of their making—the mirage, for that was what it was, vanished.

Yale was a raddled old madame, after all.

Addicted to the money.

And simply buying and selling, with an icy heart, the bodies of her young.