After a few weeks of hiatus, we welcome back Thorsten J Pattberg for the Saker Blog
Wipeout is the man-made annihilation of the weak. It is superior to evolution, which masquerades as natural selection.
Part I. Homo Erectus Pekinensis.
On September 1st, 2003, the Ministry of Science and Technology of the People’s Republic of China promoted a previously unremarkable biologist from Stanford University and member of the Chinese Academy of Science CAS, Professor Dr. Cai Hong, to “Founding Director” of a new International Joint Institute for Computational Genetics and Human Genealogy in Shanghai.
China was to be the host nation, with the United States of America and Germany as equal partners. The official aim of the People’s Republic of China was to establish the hoax of “the Peking Man” or homo erectus pekinensis as proof of a parallel Chinese humanity.
The official aim of the United States of America and Germany was to establish the hoax of the “Out-of-Africa theory” that claims there are no races, because all humans could be traced back to ancestors in Africa.
That said, it was understood by all parties from the beginning that this was a bluff for publicity, akin to medicine saying “we are curing cancer” or the military saying “we are arming for peace.”
Technically, this was about scanning as much genetic material of critters and man as possible, and feeding the data into a large computer library, onto which entitled scientists could then log in and apply their mathematical models.
Therefore, what was really researched, only a selected few knew.
The sheer man-power on paper certainly looked aspiring. Over 40 full-time Chinese professors, group leaders, postdocs and junior researchers, let alone close to 100 interns and members of staff, were selected for social ineptness and stupidity, from families of reliable goofs, so they never talked about anything that happened in Xuhui of the Old French Concession in Shanghai.
As to the 30 or so many visa Americans, mostly veteran geneticists, anthropologists and mathematicians, few showed up in Shanghai except for huge anniversary banquets and photo ops, and most did not have the faintest idea what CAS was doing; all they really cared about were visiting professorships, more international mileages and connections to the Academy.
As to the 20 or so Germans who descended upon Shanghai between 2003 and 2012, they eventually found themselves in some form of hyper-colonial disconnect, where they completely segregated from their lower-paid, Mandarin speaking Chinese colleagues during day time, and chased local pillow girls at night.
Interestingly enough, none of those Westerners advanced in their careers after Shanghai, the reason why to which we come in a minute. One guest researcher, however, was queer and seemed rather out of place, a grumpy old French mathematician of Soviet origin and specialist in Combinatorics, Professor Dr. Mikhail Reza.
Part II. The Frenchman.
Reza was already 70 years of age when he arrived in Pudong airport in Shanghai in September 2006. He had been invited by a much younger German patron and fellow mathematician, the rather libertine and loquacious Professor Dr. Alfred D Mantel, whom he met at various conferences in Europe, and last at the 3rd European conference on Combinatorics and Graph Theory held in Berlin in 2005, where Mantel boasted about his Asia credentials and his brand new China co-directorship.
“Shanghai is called Le Paris de l’Orient, and I saw it with my own eyes, Professeur Reza. C’est vrai! – It is true!” He brushed through his long, curly hair, smiling excessively.
“My Institute is in Old Shanghai, the Old French Concession, which looks exactly like Paris, only bigger – tout incroyable!” he fancied. “Prefesseur Reza, YOU must come too!”
The Frenchman listened attentively. His young German host brimmed with self-confidence and an almost arrogant, rare esprit d’optimisme.
The two of them, as well as numerous bystanders, all sipping on glasses of 1995 Spätburgunder Pinot Noir, were well aware of the lack of circumstantial evidence Mantel was short of having produced yet to demonstrate his new Director powers.
“China has awakened, mon cher ami! You young mathematicians must go to China. The East is the future! I am as old as Confucius himself,” Reza jested. “What good could I do in Shanghai?”
“You are never too old in China,” Professor Mantel replied, in style.
“That is right,” muttered Reza. “But is it not incredibly difficult to run an Institute in a foreign country? Surely, the Chinese will take advantage?”
“You are wrong about that last, Professeur Reza! We are pretty much in charge of the whole thing. In fact, right now I am recruiting for next year’s team.”
“Well, if that is so, I would go in a day!”
“Pas de problème, Professeur Reza! No problem! I tell you what I’m gonna do: My Institute will help you with accommodation. But no salary, sorry. Visiting professor! Reimbursements… are negotiable. The Chinese call this fapiao. But don’t worry. Ils parlent tous en anglais! All speak English. How’s that, are you coming to Shanghai?”
“D’ACCORD,” Reza shaked hands on the spot. “If you can make it so, I will be impressed!”
Mikhail Reza had always dreamed of visiting China. Besides, he was retired and had not much else to do. He worked on the revision of his magnum opus, the Mathematical Companion on Distances, but that could be done anywhere in the world.
After the two mathematicians parted that day in Berlin, it took about 12 months and a lot of emails, and Reza finally held his CAS invitation letter and F-visa.
Reza had been an unremarkable but likable professor of mathematics in France from 1982 to 2003. He now was retired, but felt rather mentally unwell, a condition that he kept secret even from health specialists. He also smoked, but not much. Officially, Reza had high social credits and walked about alumni society with the honorary title of a Professor emeritus of Paris Sorbonne.
Before his departure, he had carefully studied the press releases and journals about the CAS Academy, the Institute and the mysterious Founding Director Cai Hong. It was immediately obvious to a trained academician’s eyes, that this homo erectus pekinensis story was a monster of the yellow press, and that this out-of-my-ass Africa narrative was just feel good lines fed to salacious media executives.
Beyond the junk news and inanities for the moron press however, Professor found no information.
The industrial fabrication of straw science and misinformation was nothing new to Reza. The Soviet Union spent hundreds of millions of rubles on Marxism, Leninism and Communism, and the French Fifth Republic spent hundreds of millions of francs on Colonialism and Catholicism. In fact, all nations exist solely because of so much people’s effort. Nothing about them came naturally.
There are many disciplines of science that are taboo in the West. Not just eugenics, gene editing, mass-murder, bio weapons or money, but also foreign words, socialism, distances and inequalities.
When America and its European colonies pretend they do not know these disciplines, and even if they knew them, they would ban research on moral grounds, they lie to us.
Instead, the Westerners want to spread a lot of feel-good misinformation, such as the idea that the Icelanders and the Anglo-Saxons were somehow related to Zulus and the Yoruba. And because this sounds rather cynical from the mouths of American slave owners and European mass murderers, it seemed genius, so Reza concluded, to simply outsource the propaganda and have the impoverished Third-World Chinese say it instead.
Yes, this must be it. The Chinese had far less regulations and were bred on a different set of morals. They were callous and godless, and they had no moral reservations on matters such as human cloning, race liabilities, extirpation of treacherous generations or population engineering.
Professor emeritus Dr. Mikhail Reza wanted to give CAS and Director Cai the benefit of the doubt, but the whole thing looked premeditated: The Western powers had set up laboratories and servers in Shanghai to research the highly classified, deadly theory that runs parallel to evolution – that of wipeout.
Part III. The Shadow Institute.
Nine months in Shanghai had passed, and one miserable, rainy monsoon day in June in Xuhui district, not far from Xujiahui St. Ignatius Cathedral, in a large former colonial building now refurbished into office space for the Academy, Dr. Reza had spotted the lights on, hung over his visitor batch, passed the gates and bravely went about to see Director Cai, who was rumored to have returned from a long stay in the United States. And indeed, for the first time in his life, Reza had the opportunity to meet the grand CAS official in person.
Reza had not always been a socialist French citizen. In fact, he had once defected from the communist Soviet Union. He imagined he could appeal to Director Cai’s sentiments who, although of course working for CAS of China, has evidently spent so much time in East and West, and thus had to be very much open to the idea of distances and dissent. O was he mistaken.
But before we go into this conversation, which we are able to recreate by way of Reza’s memoirs, it is necessary to establish the background of this mathematician first, and next his tragic journey into the realms of apostasy and madness.
The Reza line descended from Persian-Russians in the transcaucasian territory of the Russian Empire some time around 1600, and somehow one of them, in 1920, made it to the Western frontier, the European part of the Empire, and settled in Petersburg, then known as Petrograd. A series of man-made catastrophes – from the Revolution in 1917 to two World Wars, Stalinism and the Cold War – had resulted in existential destitution and Mikhail Reza defected from the Soviet Union in 1970 because he saw no future for himself. A trained mathematician at Saint Petersburg State University, he failed to make an impact in his discipline. His grandfather, also called Mikhail, was an obsessive compulsive Tsarist, plotted against the Bolshevik, and at one point got sacked from his administrative post and sent to Kresty solitary confinement prison. His father, also named Mikhail, had been an unstable mathematician, was institutionalized twice for spasms and tics, kept his mouth shut, but eventually ran afoul over a petition he signed with 49 other academicians during the glasnost reforms in 1987. The stigma of being traitors squeezed this Reza family like a block of concrete.
Mikhail did not have children of his own, which he attributed to childhood malnutrition, overwork and constant stress during his intellectual rat wheel races in the Soviet Union, West Germany, Belgium and later France, where he was finally offered a non-essential associate professorship at Sorbonne University in Paris, which, he suspected, was just a state-subsidized job-creation measure.
He has been married twice, in Russia to a scientist named Ida, whom he left behind and never divorced, and later in France to an older woman, the widowed wife of a math teacher, Françoise, who constantly irritated and abused him. After years of humiliation, Mikhail sought the help of a trusted urologist in Ivry-sur-Seine, who confirmed what had long lingered on his tortured mind – that his sperm count was low and that his sperm mobility for all sense and purposes was non-existent. Mikhail was infertile.
From Reza’s memories we infer that Director Cai must have been in good spirits at first, was generous and did not mind this uninvited guest.
Professor Reza started out with memorized compliments about Shanghai’s astronomical skyline, Huaihai Road and the old Xuhui district with its francophile ambient, its historic architecture – the Wukang style, St. Ignatius Cathedral, Le Quai de France, the Hong Kou hideout, the American Club, the grand European mansions and panoramic parks, the alleyways with their 20m giant tree lines, but also the spicy cuisine, the art galleries, boutiques, the natives‘s thriftiness and hard work, and of course the foreign embassies and their indulgences in the plenty.
The director offered Pu-Erh tea. “So, how do you do, Mr. Reza?”
According to his memoirs, Reza had not left Old Shanghai in 9 months. He lived in the foreign building, just a 10-minutes walk from his desk in a two-person office, and came to the Institute almost every day, even Sundays, and it had troubled him immensely and stroke him as rather odd, that despite his greatest efforts to figure out what those supposedly hundreds or so researchers and their teams were working on, he could not see it. Not only were 3/4 of the buildings at all times empty, but also Reza could not for the life of him see what CAS was actually doing here.
The various wings of the four-storied main complex were neat and tidy. Security, gardeners, coolies, cleaners, grad students who brought in their love interests for a small tour, and in general mostly students from Fudan University, Jiaotong University or China Eastern Normal University, all of whom seemed rather happy to sleep over here at CAS, and not in their deprecated dormitories.
As to the academics who were supposed to toil here in their sweat, the two American co-directors perhaps, or the 6 vice directors, all those hundreds of board members and advisers and experts listed on the website… well… “everybody was probably very busy,” he wrote in his letters, “just not here at the CAS Institute.”
Part IV. Classified Research.
“This is nothing to worry about,” exclaimed Director Cai in a rather patronizing tone. “The professors are busy men. They are tenured professors at universities all over China.”
Cai was a tall and handsome man in his late forties, square-faced and with thick dark eyebrows, thin lips, and full black hair with not even a suggestion of a receding hairline. In accord with Shanghai’s humidity and tropical air, he was dressed in lofty Shanghai attire, cashmere wool trousers, a dragon embroidery polo shirt, Church leather casual sandals and a saddle-brown men’s handbag.
“Our distinguished foreign guests are free to pursue their related research. They use a lot of email. It’s the future.”
“Yes, but don’t they have to be here some time?”
“Our American friends are obliged by working visa to fly in once a year,” he explained.
Reza was shocked.
“To keep a joint Institute in Shanghai running like this must cost a fortune, yet nothing is happening here,” he exulted.
It was true that Reza acquainted some foreigners expats here, but they gave him the impression of swaggers and snobs, and they behaved more like diplomatic envoys and colonial viceroys than trusting men of science. Maybe, they got distracted. Shanghai was, after all, booming. Puxi on the western side of the Pudong River, and Pudong on the eastern side of it, had a combined population of 26.2 million. Paris, barely 2.3 million. Unsurprisingly, he never met German co-Director Mantel in Shanghai once.
To Reza, it was plain obvious. The Americans expected Chinese researchers to operate at probably 1/30 of the costs. Then the directors wrote 1/10 in their grant application and pocketed the difference. And just because they could, they still would not pay their servants wages. After all, this was communism.
Director Cai picked up his elegant Seagull chronograph watch from his desk, put it around his wrist, and asked a simple question: “What is your pay?”
“I am a self-payer! I am a self-paying fool!” Reza cried.
“Doctor Mantel offered me a small subsidy of 4,000 Yuan, but my dormitory in the foreigners’ building is charging me 6,000 Yuan. Meanwhile I hear that the Chinese pay only 400 for their rooms. What to believe? From CAS, I get… nothing,” he exclaimed.
Director Cai smiled. He was a member of the Academy, a director in Shanghai, a director in Stanford, a visiting professor at every institute he signed contracts with. Salaries are irrelevant for cadres, and this fact was proof that this Professor emeritus Reza had never held a leading post, in any country. In other words, he was a fluke.
“So, maybe we could see what your responsibilities here at CAS are, and see if there was an opening in the future,” the Director suggested, folding his hands. “However, you might find it disappointing to hear that our payment is low, very low. Certainly below your standards, in France.”
Cai leaned backward in his chair and, because Reza seemed to wait for a question, he gave him one:
“Is there anything else?”
Part V. The Sneak.
“I wish to tell you,” Reza came off on a mumbling start, “…I wish to tell you that salary is not the reason I came to you. I am also not here to cry wolf on the segregation system and office politics.”
Reza made a pause to collect himself.
“You certainly are not. So what is it? Do you lack the means of a return ticket to France? We might look into this.”
The old man rejected this ridiculous proposal, vehemently: “Non, absolument non! I wish to tell you, Director Cai, that I am a mathematician who did mathematical modelling for half a century, and that I appreciate the access to your databases on mitochondrial genomes,… incroyable! Coli bacteria, sea cucumbers, Peking Man… whatever! I appreciate computer models on gene distributions.”
“However,” he continued, “what are all these papers?” He gesticulated in front of him as if he had them, and read the headlines: “‘Just 2.5% of DNA turns mice into men’? Or this one: ‘Humans and chimps are 99 percent identical’? Or this one ‘Humans originated in Africa’?“
Director Cai brushed off this nonsense. “You know the journals are like the papers now. They just print sensation.”
“The data does not support any of these headlines. What I am saying is, mathematical modelling does not support evolution. Il n’y a pas d’évolution! Evolution it is not.“
Director Cai was amused by this. Reza had lost his mind.
“Yes yes, nothing that happens on this planet is natural,” the Chinaman played the part. “And how could it be natural, after all man did, right?” Cai found it amusing to play a crime suspect in an imaginary detective story. He continued to play along: “Not a single plant, crop, animal, ecology or phenomenon that is not actively manipulated by us. But we mustn’t tell the public. Evolution is like religion… like Christianity. You just have to believe and be happy.”
“Exactement!”, yelled Reza! “We know one thing, but we tell the public another!” The old man pointed his two index fingers away from each other. He had solved the case, he thought.
“This Institute collects data for the modification of man’s biology, the biochemistry of living organisms, the engineering of slave populations!”
“So, if it is not evolution, what do you think we are investigating?” the director asked, testily.
“I think the mathematics are clear: Your data here does not support evolution, it supports wipeout! Man is not 99% a survivor, he is 99% a destroyer. Or… a creator, if we phrase it for the idiot press!”
“Wipeout? That sounds so American.” Cai looked disappointed. “Well, we certainly do not research wipeout. That would be unethical. It is neither in our joint mission statement nor in the international agreements nor in any contract, grant application or programme. Sorry to disappoint your suspicions, Professor Reza. Anything else?”
He wanted Reza out and about.
“Mon Dieu! It is simply wrong to tell the public that 120,000 years ago there was an African Eve. Or that 60,000 years ago some brave Christopher Columbuses or Marco Polos left their trees with a wish to explore colder climates. It is far more likely today’s Europeans were the weakest members of a very abusive species that conceived their extermination.
“Only the strong survive,” Director Cai commented.
“THE STRONG ARE WIPED OUT!” the old man stood up from his chair, triumphantly. “According to wipeout, which our mathematical modelling shows, the weakest members must leave and look for other places. That is why the populations at the Far East and the Far West are the weakest organisms in the history of our species. The core is strongest. The core is pushing outward. Now THAT is mathematics!
DISTANCES! You understand? I study… distances! Your Chinese ancestors were running, running, RUNNING FOR THEIR LIVES from those bullies!”
Last Part. Wipeout.
After that meeting, Professor Reza’s contract with CAS was not extended, and the German co-Director who had misjudged Reza’s qualifications, Professor Dr. Alfred D Mantel, was sacked by his superiors at the Max-Planck Society of Germany for his unashamed lifestyle of adultery and bribery. Mantel never worked or published in academia ever again.
Reza returned to Noisy Le Grand in the eastern part of Paris and handed in his revised edition of the Mathematical Companion on Distances to Dunod Editeur, his publisher, who suddenly rejected it. Desperate, Reza sent abridged versions of his text to various journals such as the Mathematiques de l’Institut des Hautes Etudes Scientifiques. And 6 months later, he received the mortifying rejection letter: Ne répond pas à nos critères standard – substandard. The death sentence for any scientist.
Reza had no friends, no relatives, and died at the age of 75 in an apartment fire. His savings had dissipated. Only among mathematicians circled the rumor that Reza was a raving madman, starved himself to a skeleton and sat up on a sofa chair straight, with a grin of last laugh and a Gauloises cigarette in his hand ablaze.
There are quite a few valuable lessons for all intellectuals to be learned from this man Reza. See, Professor Reza was right. The West did outsource research on wipeout to a Third World Country, China. And the persons in charge, the directors and bureaucrats, were put into CAS precisely for their incompetence and cowardliness.
The work on the human genome project was done by armies of low-wage Orientals and Chinese slaves in their rat wheels, running all the time for CAS, but personally never went ahead in life.
Evolution is mumpitz. It does not exist. It is self-defeating, absurd tautology to enslave huge swaths of the population, even run their bloody elementals through a computer program, and then turn around and say – O but it’s just “natural selection.” Nothing is.
The few scientists who knew exactly what they were doing never said a word. They would be destroyed the moment they leaked information to the public, because there is no public. Scientists are an old boys school, and anybody who betrays that school is eliminated.
Shortly before he died, Reza finalized his 196-page memoirs in English that he pitched in email to over 700 Western editors, newspapers, journals and publishers. None bothered.
None of perhaps a thousand very intelligent professionals that knew about his existence helped Professor Reza. And do you know why they didn’t? Because there is… wipeout.
The author is a German writer and cultural critic.
“Eat Peace, Motherf***ers!“ –Peacemaker
- The Menticide Manual – Foreword + Start Early
- The Menticide Manual – Quibbling
- The Menticide Manual – Gaslighting
- The Menticide Manual – Ghosting
- The Menticide Manual – Framing
- The Menticide Manual – Inverse Reality
- The Menticide Manual – Stupidiocracy
- The Menticide Manual – Perseveration
- The Menticide Manual – ‘The Second Subjunctive’
- The Menticide Manual – Wokeness [or: Euphoria]
- The Menticide Manual – Red-Pilled
- The Menticide Manual – Astroturfing
- The Menticide Manual – Deceit
- The Menticide Manual – Blackpill
- The Menticide Manual – Promiscuity
- The Menticide Manual – In Medias Res
- The Menticide Manual – Terms of Breeding
- The Menticide Manual – Pay-2-Play
- The Menticide Manual – They Follow
- The Menticide Manual – This is a Cult Leader
[…] and – hopefully not too many – more horrifying tales of madness and insanity to come.
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