A Nation Betrayed: Secret Cold War Experiments Performed on Our Children and Other Innocent People (17 page)

There was mention of a ‘waiting room’ with this being the ‘doctor’s room.’ It was completely void of furniture, no carpeting nor mats.” (Author’s note: I have intentionally left the sexual/trauma part of the memory out, so as to not traumatize those readers who are survivors.)

She continues, “I came too and the room was darker. The doctor’s penis no longer stuck out. He was playing with a long black electrical cord. It may have been 240V because the two exposed wires were rounder and harder looking than a conventional 120V cord. He made it wiggle along the floor like a snake while I watched it slither around on the floor (wooden, I believe). He told me alternately that it was his “pet” and his “friend.” He said he had “tamed” it and wanted to use it to “tame” me. Several times, he touched the ends to my arm. It was not live yet, so there was no discomfort. I relaxed more when I realized it wasn’t on (dad had tortured me previously with electrified wires). Dr. Black even tickled my right underarm with the end and I giggled.

Then he started talking about someone named “Bobby.” I didn’t understand. He took a woman’s bobby pin and laid it on my extended right forearm. Then he touched the exposed wire to the bobby pin. He must have plugged it in somehow because he burned a bobby pin mark on my arm. He created a Bobby alter-state by simply doing that. The pain and shock made me go under; a part broke off from my mind, and was dubbed that new name/trigger word.

The next thing I could remember, he made me lay on my stomach on the floor. He somehow attached chains to my wrists and ankles by using rather wide, black leather restraints. He then took what may have been a cattle prod and put it on my back. I screamed internally and strained at the restraints, but I already – as previously conditioned by my father – knew not to physically scream or cry. I already knew that if I did, the man might be that much crueler. I believed it was in my best interest to bear the intense pain until it was over.

Then Dr. Black inserted the object into me ‘down there’ from behind. It was so painful that I still do not know if it was rectal or vaginal. It doesn’t seem to matter anyway, because when the electrical charge hits the nervous system, everything hurts and contracts in a hellish fashion. I did start saying aloud over and over again, ‘I’m sorry’ (for what, it didn’t matter) and ‘I’ll be a good girl, I promise, I promise.’

After the electrical shock, I physically fainted. While I was unconscious, someone released the wrist shackles and put them out of sight. As I came to, I saw Dr. Black standing in front of me, his back to the opposite wall with the windows behind him. He told me that only when I am with him, I am free. He told me to come to him. I tried to crawl like a dog towards him, but the shackles on my ankles kept me from being able to. He kept telling me calmly to come to him. I was terribly frustrated that I could not. I wanted to be with him, because he told me that when I am with him I would not be hurt again. But I could not do it.

He may have hypnotized me because his eyes got darker as I looked up at them and I heard his left fingers snap and the shackles were gone. I thought he was a magician. I believed that when he snapped his fingers, he made the shackles disappear. That made him seem all the more powerful to me.

At the time, one part of me had a strong fantasy vision of taking a heavy horseshoe and banging the top of his head over and over until I cracked his skull and killed his brain, since I’d previously learned from my father that the brain controls the rest of the body. I was absolutely frustrated with fury that had no outlet. Dr. Black seemed to understand that this was happening inside me. Before letting me come near him, he told me that from now on my rage was to stay “in the middle.” He named it “Robbie,”
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which was also my baby brother’s name. He said “Robbie” was to obey him, only him. Dr. Black said that he would tell “Robbie” when and how to attack. By giving my rage a name/trigger word, he transformed my rage into an alter-state and successfully compartmentalized it away from other alter-states. This was important many years later, when I was sent overseas on black ops. My “Robbie”/rage alter-state was used numerous times.

Dr. Black reinforced this new alter-state by having dad bring in a baby bird that was so new that its eyes weren’t even open yet. Dr. Black told “Robbie” to kill it. He didn’t really have to say it; I had to anyway, because the rage was so physically unbearable I had to have some form of physical relief. Because rage made me much stronger than I usually am, I pulled the baby bird’s head off by pulling the neck apart. I hated myself for doing it, of course, but I also did feel some relief. (In a projected way, the bird was Dr. Black. I had taken the head off to “kill” Dr. Black’s brain, thereby preventing him from hurting me anymore.)

Dr. Black then told “Robbie” that anyone who would find out what I’d done would hate and reject and despise me, therefore I understood that I could never tell anyone. I believed the doctor; how could I not? This further compartmentalized my rage, because my internalized self-loathing kept this part of me separated from other non-rageful, non-abusive parts of my fragmented personality.

After that, he told me that only with him would I be safe. He said he would protect me from pain. I understood that if I stayed loyal to him, I would not be hurt again. As I psychologically aligned with him, the psychic pain in him that he physically inflicted on me somehow became separated from him; now becoming a nearly visible blob of substance sitting in the other side of the room. I had to do this in my own mind to make him a non-abuser, to lose my fear of him, and mentally/emotionally align with him. This is a classic example of “Stockholm Syndrome,” where a victim learns to identify with and please the abuser. What Dr. Black conditioned me to believe in my subconscious mind was that to rebel against him/them equaled imperfection. He would murmur while I was in a trance, “Imperfection leads to more imperfection.” The thought of being so totally out of control was terrifying, since again, imperfection meant failure, which meant losing my right to live. The only way to be physically perfect was to be with them, obey them, stay loyal and psychologically aligned with them. It was an odd form of physical/mental blackmail and it worked.

He told me I was his “puppy.” I didn’t mentally fight that image. He told me to “heel” beside his left leg. I did. He told me to “sit.” I sat and waited, unmoving, for his next order. He hung down a left-hand finger and said, “Suck on it; it will have to do for now.” I did so.

Dad stood across the room, facing us. Dr. Black told dad that he, the doctor, would make me his “attack dog.” He said he would condition me to where I would even attack dad, who I obeyed the most, if Dr. Black ordered me to. Dad laughed in an ugly way and said, “What, is she going to gnaw my leg?” Although dad seemed to idolize the doctor, this interaction seemed to make him very angry because his jaw started clenching.

The doctor seemed to notice this and told dad that he, the doctor, and others had done “experiments” on people. The fact that he did not say this to dad in German meant that he wanted me to hear it too. (Usually, when these men didn’t want me to know what they were saying, they used German.) Dr. Black said they looked for prisoners who were especially afraid or quiet. They singled those prisoners out and took them to a special, more isolated area. They worked on each person in a similar fashion he said, until they were ready to do whatever they were told, total loyalty to their handlers. He said the final test had been for friends and close relatives of the prisoners to be brought there. The prisoners were then ordered to attack their loved ones and kill them. As the doctor told us this, he seemed quite proud.

He also talked about breeding. He and dad talked a lot about this. Dad was considered “closer” to perfection because he had the blond hair and gray-blue eyes and was in excellent physical condition. (He was a track athlete and had nearly participated in the Olympics in Rome in 1960.) People like dad were called “golden” because they were the most pure. Because I had brown hair, I was frightened. I was not “pure.” I determined to be Dr. Black’s favorite as he soon said I was so that they would not kill me out of disgust.

Dr. Black talked about how Hitler had not died, but had ascended to a god-state. He didn’t seem to worship Hitler, but seemed to honor the perfect idea of the man. None of them worshipped him that I could tell, because they were too absorbed with the idea of also becoming gods. Gods don’t worship gods. They talked about getting rid of the “impurities” that had been gotten through intermarriage with mongrels, etc. Mengele said that they needed to “remember who we are.”

Dr. Black used nursery rhymes frequently while programming me. I guess he did this because they were already familiar to me, and hearing them away from him would reinforce the programming subconsciously. I once remembered that Dr. Black had drilled the left upper side of my skull and did something he called “Marionette,” where he made parts of my body move on their own. It seems that I almost died from that event. I was quite small. I remembered that this was done in a tall white building dad said was a “VA hospital.” Dad took me to that building at least several other times, where I witnessed the after-effects of lobotomies done to adults who lay on their backs on hospital beds in rows, looking quite a mess.

They broke my will and made me compliant in a way I never could have otherwise been. They broke me down completely, to a zero. They deliberately split me into two new main parts, like a tree that has a base (Kathy, age 5) and then two big thick branches forking upwards from there, that all the other parts split off from later. One part of the fork became a totally sociopath, self-hating, humanity despising, isolating “Bad Kathy” whom they would later use to do crimes for them. The other part of the fork would eventually become ‘Good little Nazi boy’ (since, after all, that part of me was based on their male personalities). Bad Kathy stayed brown-haired, which reinforced the sense of imperfection and not being good enough to be loved and accepted. Good little Nazi boy became internally, blond-haired and blue-eyed, the perfect Nazi, the loved and accepted one.”

There was much more that this survivor told me. Perhaps one day she will decide to share the rest with the world. I will close her story with her own words.

“Two years ago I hospitalized myself. I woke up on a Saturday morning, extremely suicidal. One of my plans was to shoot myself in the head. If that failed (it did), I was going to take a thread cutter and cut my veins and pour out all the Nazi blood in my body. The need to do this was more important than staying alive. I didn’t want to die; I just wanted to get the Nazi blood out of me. They had done something to my mind to make me believe their blood was in me, and that I therefore was theirs forever. I don’t believe what they told me anymore, but I still do need to accept that a part of me aligned with them and their beliefs. Maybe I need to forgive myself for having done whatever it took to survive, mentally and physically. I wasn’t a bad child. There’s no such thing as a bad child. Children are precious and will often become the way we treat them. Reality is, I was simply surrounded by some of the worst criminals on the face of this earth. Mengele certainly could have been listed among the top 20 while he was still alive. (I choose to believe he’s dead now.) Maybe, just maybe, I will find that they weren’t all evil. I think that is the final thing I need to face about them, and about that Nazi-indoctrinated part of myself. They were human beings. Maybe as I learn to forgive myself for aligning with them in part, I will also then find a way to forgive them and finally find peace inside.

Yesterday on public radio, I heard the sirens in Israel and the description of automobile drivers stopping on the sides of the roads for two minutes, honoring those who died in the Holocaust. I just about lost it emotionally. It tore me up so bad to finally feel the connection to those victims. I cannot deny it anymore. I am a second-generation Holocaust victim. I too am a Mengele victim. I can finally accept it and I can finally feel love for those dear people. But I must take it even further. To truly heal, my next step is to also feel love for these human monsters. To understand there is no good side and no evil side, that we are all capable of great cruelty (if brain-damaged or born into intensely traumatic childhood’s). We are all capable of important acts of goodness, I think, is the final phase of intensive healing. We are neither good nor bad. We are simply human.” Kathy
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Josef Mengele’s reported home remained in South America for the rest of his life. In April 1961, he was seen in Egypt preparing to go to Crete or one of the neighboring islands.
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A group of Nazi supporters who had settled in Egypt were taking care of his journey. He managed to escape Israeli agents sent to pursue him. It was in 1961 that a Survivor reports him present in Canada with Dr. Penfield for programming, and he programmed another survivor aboard a ship in Vietnam/Laos in 1961-62.

In January 1962 a prominent Kitchener, Ontario Rabbi, Philip Rosenzweig, advised the Ontario Provincial Police (OPP) of his suspicion that the infamous Josef Mengele, the Auschwitz “Angel of Death,” might be hiding on an estate located between Kitchener and neighboring Woodstock. The man, who used the name Joseph Menke was said to be a doctor.
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The OPP officer didn’t know what to do, as Canada had no laws dealing with war crimes nor did Canadian law permit prosecution for crimes committed beyond her borders. Unless there was a specific extradition request from a foreign country with which Canada had an extradition treaty, the provincial police had no jurisdiction. The RCMP were brought in and decided the best course of action was to seek instruction from the departments of Justice and External Affairs. The investigation ended before it began. By the time a Mountie obtained a search warrant, the farm’s legal owner had sold the property and returned to Germany. Since there was no one left to interview, no further investigation was undertaken.
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