New videos! About my life in England.

In these videos. I talk about some experiences I’ve had in England.

I want you to think about what this means for people who aren’t highly educated and from Amsterdam. I know that calling out people the way I have started doing annoys a lot of people, but research has shown that explaining diversity issues in a nice and agreeable manner does not accomplish a thing.

Who Mr Vernon Jackson is, you wonder? He is the local Lib Dem City Council leader. In the summer of 2019, after I came home to another incident of vandalism in my flat, the locks having been picked again while I was away, I asked two professors in the Netherlands to call Portsmouth City Council Leader Gerald Vernon-Jackson. None of these two knew me personally but they were people I was working with at the time and I am a nobody here in Portsmouth.

I needed someone with standing to mediate for me.

I’d been asking for help with my situation for years, after all, as the local police knows and as also for example former local Lib Dem City Councillor Steve Pitt knows. (Steve Pitt used to be a pub landlord. I used to frequent that pub. It no longer exists.)

Professor Karel Keesman (WUR) called Vernon-Jackson, who owes his double-barreled name to his Canadian dad. Not much happened for about a month until yet another attempt was made to evict me and Vernon-Jackson agreed to see me then. He (GVJ) decided to ignore the cause of my problems, the background of my situation. Instead, he kept questioning my sanity; that is what I refer to in this video.

He simply does not know his own town very well, however. (I must say that this also applies to Advice Portsmouth, which is based at Kingston Crescent.)

He lives in a pretty little house in a pretty little street in a pretty little neighbourhood. He has no idea of what goes on in the rest of Portsmouth and a few years ago, he suggested that giving poor people broken, discarded and possibly-made-to-function-somewhat again white goods would help them get out of poverty.

Starting a buyers’ club would be a much better idea. (I worked on that idea briefly, but the locals made fun of it again – because they hack into all my equipment, which my poverty makes too easy, they know what I am up to; they sometimes take ideas and forward them to others so that they can use them, too – and there isn’t a soul that I can talk with in this town, is there?)

Sadly, he probably unwittingly ended up making a public spectacle out of me that signaled to the community that I was a nobody and that it was okay to continue to abuse me. So that is what happened.

Only a few months before I met with Vernon-Jackson, someone had taken a rotary metal cutter to the neck of an animal for no other reason than to signal to me that women must know their place and that this is how men deal with recalcitrant women. (I received a message.) It had happened before. (I received a message that time, too.) That bird died, this one survived. A bird had also been attacked, similarly, inside my flat while I was out. Before that happened, I had received a weird message, someone asking me how my dog was getting along with the bird. I don’t have a dog.

Gerald Vernon-Jackson unwittingly signals that he is okay with this kind of thing because this kind of thing is seen as perfectly normal here as I stated at the beginning, above. He is certainly is no exception. I can’t hold it against him. He’s just like just about everybody else here.

But I do not want to continue to “live” like this. This is no life. At all.

So I have recently started making more and more and more and more noise about my untenable situation. I have currently been without electricity for two weeks for example; this was some kind of punishment for not being a sweet little girl.

There is nothing I can do about it. Nothing!

The electrician who installed the new meter on 28 June said that if I used “the old key”, the meter would go faulty again. That’s how these messages are conveyed; you sound like an idiot when you talk about it but there simply is no such thing as the electricity meter going faulty after you insert the wrong key.

He also sorta fell half on top of me and put warning tape on all the main live wires, signalling “stupid cow freaks out all the time” or “all women are brain-dead” of whatever. Abuse of women is seen as perfectly normal here. I am supposed to beg and cry and fall on my knees and ask please please please pretty please, holy massas with penises, can you please please please let me live my life, please please please?

So, for the past 10+ years, a group of people who literally behave like the bloody mafia have been at me, trying to bully and beat me into acting like a sweet little 5-year-old or 2-year-old like a good woman should. (And/or providing sex to the local hoodlums? Hell no.)

And there is nowhere I can get help with this. I was supposed to have died when I turned 45 and I didn’t and that makes me a bad bad bad woman, or whatever. (This seems to be because I am not married, by the way. The highest achievable goal for any woman in England seems to be to get married.)

I don’t see how I can still make any headway when even the people who are supposed to be my peers treat me like I am a demented old cow, time and time again.

(Poverty has a lot to do with as well – it goes with being seen as brain-dead, to – but initially, people used to be ticked off with me because I was “too” confident, as that too isn’t done here. At least not for women. It becomes a Catch-22.

You cannot not upset English people, I’ve learned. They seem perpetually upset and offended and annoyed so you gotta do your thing no matter what, but you have to go it alone – or with your own kind – because there’s no other way, then, is there.

But then, whoever’s been hacking my equipment interferes with just about anything I do, sigh. So that too is not possible. He used to get angry and still often does when I look at foreign news sites because English sites do not always have a lot of international news.

The locals shut off my water, power etc as they please. They also, for example, used to hang around near the 3-flat building (in 2011), guffawing, and then run into the house and flip the power switches for the entire building. Ha ha. I was usually at my computer and the only one in.

I’ve also talked about my experiences in my book “Is cruelty cool?” You can download the PDF from this site or head to Amazon.

That little hiccup at the start of the first video was likely introduced by my hacker, by the way. It was not done by me.

If you wonder about that HLS course, why my hacker didn’t interfere with that, so have I. It was an introduction to contract law, by the way, by Charles Fried, former Solicitor General of the United States and a professor at HLS.

Curiosity, I think. How I would do.

He did interfere with the second course that I wanted a certificate or at least a score for. That also happened to be at HLS (bioethics, by I. Glenn Cohen). The hacker kept deleting my completed homeworks. (Ha ha. But it does not really matter, does it?) I ended up writing a bioethics-related book after that.

PS
It IS possible that he is now out of my equipment, as of yesterday. But that has happened before and it never lasted long.

I think that people who are autistic and based in England and have good hacking skills are often more or less forced to use those skills as currency. But they can also get abused that way as they are the ones taking the risks, aren’t they?