Nazis in Sacramento: The Brown Squirts Will Kill You Before the Drought Can Do It
by LPAC Policy Member and former candidate for U.S. Congress in California, Michael Steger
The dust bowls of the thirties will be no comparison. Farmers in the Central Valley are targeted as criminals, threatened with terrorism against their farms. The forgotten urban and suburban populations, as well as the poor farm communities throughout the state, face food shortages and skyrocketing food prices. There are now public showers to save water, itself eerily reminiscent of fascism—and what will happen when those showers no longer have water? What will happen when those poor towns can no longer afford the water rates? When Wall Street firms, represented by the Bush family, or T. Boone Pickens, or Jerry Brown make water a private commodity— who will die first?
There are Nazis in Sacramento, and it's not only Arnie or Jerry— it could be you.
The swastikas were not hanging on the door, nor in the room. He was seated at his desk surrounded by past legislation, diligently working, we assumed, on the water crisis. Yet there was something unusual about his expression. We said we had a solution to the water crisis, that we had an immediate political approach, as well as a scientific program that could solve the water crisis in California. He was intrigued, and so we sat down, still uncertain of what it was that was so unusual about his expression, framed as it was by his shaggy hair which fell in bunches over his collar.
We had stopped by the office of the State Senate Committee for Natural Resources and Water earlier in the day, and were told to return later, when Mr. O'Connor, the Principal Consultant, was available. The rest of the day was filled with typical discussions with staff and legislators in Sacramento. Most were clueless. The few offices from the Central Valley with whom we spoke were either overconfident of their meek proposals, such as a new dam in 2025, or were unwilling to address what they all knew to be true, that there were Nazis in Sacramento! Not merely Nazis, but the most vile Nazis.
So, we returned, and found Mr. O'Connor at his desk.
We proceeded with our two-part solution. "First, Governor Brown's proposal is a failure and he personally is a fraud. He played the dominant role in destroying his own father's development of water resources of California, beginning in 1975 with his first term as Governor, and is now only finishing the job. He has no commitment to the people of California, nor has he ever, and until this is made clear, no solution to the water crisis will be possible." Mr. O'Connor twinged, said he disagreed, but grunted something indicating we should proceed for now with our second point.
"Second," we said, "the water crisis will not be solved by reducing carbon emissions. Shutting down coal plants will not make it rain. There have been droughts in California for millions of years, so this drought cannot be blamed on man-made global warming."
Hoping to proceed with a proposal for what are man-made solutions, such as nuclear desalination and atmospheric ionization, we were suddenly taken aback. What had seemed to be the calm, yet peevish Dennis O'Connor, now transformed itself under our eyes, into a wild, ape-like creature. He sprang up from a cowering posture as if attacked from behind by a female gorilla, and motioned with wild gestures that we must be removed from his office. We were stunned, but we remained seated, hoping that our conversation could resume after this outburst somehow ended.
"Mr. O'Connor! Mr. O'Connor!" It was clear that he was barely able to hear what we said. His mind had been taken over by some demonic force, as it were. "Are you suggesting there were no droughts ten million years ago? Mr. O'Connor, please, calm down. Were there no droughts before mankind existed? We must solve the drought, Mr. O'Connor."
His first understandable words after that sudden spasm, then burst forth with a strange, growling undertone: "This is harassment!" At the same time, his hands and arms were still flailing in wild gestures as if he were being swarmed by flies. "This is harassment, and you must leave or I will call the police." Just what police he was referring to we were unsure, but clearly Mr. O'Connor was not well, and his expression, something about his eyes, was strangely disconcerting.
Frightened that Mr. O'Connor might not survive this episode, whatever it was, we quickly gathered up our papers and left the committee's office. As we walked down the narrow hallway from his office to the exit door, the secretary's face seemed frozen as if in fear. Had she ever seen this before? Yet on the wall, in the glass plane of a picture-frame, there was a reflection of Mr. O'Connor as he trailed behind us, breathing heavily, his face red with anger, and his back now so slumped over that his knuckles dragged along the floor. And still there was some uncanny expression in his eyes, but whatever it was, was too hard to make out in the reflection.
"Mr. O'Connor," we tried once more, "You cannot possibly deny that there have been droughts over the last ten million years? This drought is not man-made, and we must create a solution."
"Call the police!" he ordered the secretary, but which police we were still unsure.
"Mr. O'Connor, you are responsible for the effects of your policies! Millions will die. We must create more water, and we know how. You are responsible Mr. O'Connor," and as I turned around, wanting to make this point directly to Mr. O'Connor's face, I now saw for the first time, what I only now realized had been there from the very beginning.
His eyes, which had always had a peculiar spin to them, had, in the peak of this fit of rage, finally settled down,— and as I looked him in the eye, hoping to find whatever remained of Dennis O'Connor the bookish consultant, I could tell that he was now utterly lost.
I now saw, without a shred of doubt, that his eyes no longer consisted of black pupils and brown irises, but had become,— in his fit of ape-like terror, in this uncontrollable demonic-like episode,— the perfect images of two slowly-revolving swastikas. Suddenly pure evil was glaring back at me in total horror and fear.
For poor Mr. O'Connor had exposed to us, in what had seemed an honest scientific discussion, what may have been his best-kept secret, one kept secret even over forty years. And now, in just this one small encounter, he had exposed, as many others may in the halls of Sacramento, that he is a member of an elite Nazi brigade. You can call them the Brown Squirts.
It is fair to say that until they are removed, California and the nation will not be safe. However, this drought may be their last, as we, who have sat in fear of these ape-like Nazis for far too long, may now recall the nation to its proper place of scientific and technological development. The likes of Franklin Roosevelt, John Kennedy, and Pat Brown would have done no less.
Perhaps there is no future for Mr. O'Connor, and even less for poor Mr. Brown. But, for California, free of these Nazis, we have a remarkable future, as does our nation, as a member of a community of nations dedicated to mankind's long future upwards path of development.