House of Commons

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These are scans of unexpected letters I received after municipal elections, that I call character references.

This involvement with Ottawa wouldn't be so surprising to Welland residents if the Tribune printed real news about Welland. A panel of twelve judges from Ottawa, all wearing full robes with many military and service medals, visited Welland Court House to sit in for one of my court appearances, where I represented myself as legal counsel. I can tell you, not only the truth you cover up, but the lies you publish, can only return in the future as the injustices they are, and the reality that can only correct itself in our lives.

     The first letter from M.P. John Maloney came at a good time for me. I was invited to a residence where I was drugged so heavily I came to in a lower rec room, conscious enough to lie there for fourteen days, feeling my heart pounding in every part of my body. This was done by family members of former Mayor
Cindy Forster, who blamed me for her losing the election. These two women phoned my father to lie about where I was and what I was doing, even if my parents knew I wasn't like that. It took over two months before I felt good enough to walk to the local Avondale, a five minute walk down the street. It took over three years before I could stand up to put on underwear and pants. My father couldn't visit me for fear.

     My father didn't believe these women, but he was angry and frustrated himself for losing me, living together after my mother passed away. When I told him about the letter he came to visit, happy to see some progress in my life. My father could only agree. He was a founding and charter member of Knox Presbyterian Church (being an Elder for M.P.P. Ellis Morningstar) working at the Cotton Mill (where he met my mother) being a soldier at Camp Borden (not being accepted until late in the war because he was 5'6" and 145 pounds) and working for 33 years at the Page Hersey as a labourer (without a lost time accident) he never received a letter from The House of Commons. He deserved it more than I did, because it was the Royal Scottish truth and honour with which they lived their lives, that they instilled in me.

     The great prophet Muhammed of the tribe of Qureysh, said you can judge a society by how it respects their dead. Before one election, my parents' headstone was dug up and old, fake flowers were shoved into the gap around it. A man walking down King Street wanted to know if I wanted to know where Yvette Ward was buried. I went to City Hall to complain and ask to look to see what happened to their cremation urns, because they now own the cemetery, and phoned three times. No-one replied. After that the gravestone of my mother's parents, in the same cemetery, disappeared. So did City Hall staff. I can be told that if I eat downtown, I might be eating the ashes of my parents.

     If you think that was an appropriate use of your taxpayers dollars, don't vote for me.


     And if I get any little personal satisfaction from seeing them, it's seeing that these very professional gentlemen, who began as elected councilors, becoming mayors, and then being elected to represent the city in Ottawa, think I achieved what I did with workers. No, it's always just been me, and my money.

When I first ran for mayor in 1985, it was because I was asked by the publisher of the Evening Tribune, where I worked as a Thorold part-time political reporter covering Thorold City Hall, with a music column on Saturday. The Welland mayor who was arrested, with Johnny Carson "joking" twice about Welland in one week, wasn't replaced with an election, city councilors hiding from reporters, meeting in houses.

      They wanted me, someone well known to the public as a musician and singer, and who they thought was too cute, to help make it look like an election. I was offered $10,000 and was told this could be the start of me being a politician. When they asked me what my campaign issue was, big grins on their faces,

I said members of the Ward family should be arrested. I was fired that week. I put on a suit and walked city streets, talking about being a victim.

     Two different groups of people offered a storefront and campaign help, but I said no. I said if they thought I was going to win an election, they would kill me and make the lives of anyone who helped me suffer, and that could include murder, raping your children, drug-overdosing and raping adults, and stealing everything from your identity to your house.

     I said I don't even want them to see you shaking my hand or talking on the street, so I described oriental respect for your human space, saying let's just nod our heads out of respect for each other.

Even now, walking the streets of Welland, my life suffering, having someone nod their head at me as we pass still makes me feel connected to the good people of Welland, the humbled people of Welland.

     During that first election for me, I was picked up twice by police and taken to the psychiatric wing of the Welland Hospital, 2 South, without a doctor seeing me. The hospital turned away all the outside reporters at their doors. I was drugged to be sleepy, and hypnotized twice a day, an hour in the morning and an hour in the afternoon.

There were four public debates back then, and I never got to attend one of them. What I was hypnotized to say and do made not only my life suffer, but my parents, seeing what happy hospital employees called a "broken man". They would come to the house afterwards, acting like they ordered some knitting from my mother, to make sure I was still a broken man. I was. I knew that. What Dr. Khumaran made me do, what he made my brother do, how the hospital mutilated my mother with wrongful surgery that cost her half of the rest of her life, and my father, can only be called crimes against humanity.

     That's when I was first drugged unconscious and raped, being stolen from every time I was painting on store windows in Welland, with city hall people saying if you want a sign from John Watt ask us, we'll give you one for free. I used that to help customers save a lot of money, sometimes.

     I'm not including the letter Cindy Forster sent from Parliament, because it's about her, stoner style.

If you notice, all these letters are from Ottawa, not one from City Hall politicians or employees, and they represent all three major political parties. I'm still just John Watt. The best mayors don't join a political party, because they are a mayor of a city, working for the people, and should be able to call on any elected official. That's how my mother's one uncle, Mayor Bill Anderson of Oakville, ran things.

     I remember when he came to Welland to visit my grandmother and mother on McAlpine, wanting to ask them questions, saying he didn't know what to do with who he called "the new women". These were the women who took the places of men in factories during the war, and a big Ford factory was there, when they went away to fight as soldiers. He said they were used to working for themselves and were independent, and it would only be fair if they could keep being that way.

     That's like my father being the Elder to M.P.P. Ellis Morningstar, deciding to build a canal bypass as a way to hire all the men who were being laid off in the steel mills after the war. After Europe bombed itself to the ground, it was the steel mills of Welland and Hamilton that made the casings for bullets and shells.

When that was over, the jobs were gone. What happened later at the Atlas Steel, that I call Atlas Steal, did not respect, not the soldiers from Welland, but the lives of Welland people who died working around the clock, a dangerous place to be. Even in the peaceful seventies, one or two were killed every year.

     So much money is owed to the City of Welland through unpaid municipal debt, because they let outsiders off so they can be outside for their own criminal benefit. And Welland politicians are so easy to blackmail, they no longer control our destiny, they have to hide to cover up their pedophile history.

     If you look at a photo of Welland politicians in the sixties, ask how many had sons and daughters who died or committed '"suicide". That includes Allan Pietz and his son, found hanging in a garage. It was the steel of guns, knives and hypodermic needles that took over Welland, when politicians fleeing Quebec and their own Duplessis era, the worst crimes of murder and pedophilia, moved to Welland and found a home.

    When Crowland became Welland, Welland people moved in everywhere, taking over everything. One of the most outgoing pedophiles, a Welland City Alderman, became the principal of Memorial School, named after the highest medal of honour in Scotland. Now his grandson is a city councillor.

     When families moved onto each street to be the dominant, and always Catholic, resident, my father had to walk down the street to see what they were saying and trying to do to me, walking home from school. When the pedophile principal started calling me and a blonde boy in my class, if I didn't talk back to him like my father said, he would have done more than just slap my face and hit my hands with rulers.

I'd be sitting out in the office with his door closed, while he was in there with another boy. I know where those men are, working with them afterwards, and they all have sexual problems.

     No-one is born wanting to be a pedophile. You become one after being sexaully victimized, usually as a child yourself. Welland might have the highest percentage of pedophiles in Ontario, making them here, even if they set them up to live in Port Colborne. That's what it took to bring down the Pharoahs of Egypt, the Holy Roman Empire, The Vatican, any group of people who start thinking they might be gods unto themselves, having sex with each other to keep the godly blood. That's the reason Americans, at the start of their country, thought that no Catholic or family politics would ever be presidents. That changed.

     If you read the entire Holy Bible, there isn't one reference to drugs, when there were all kinds around the Mediterranean. You should wonder why. There were no violins to fiddle, despite what they say,

and believe me, Nero did fiddle while Rome burned, but now it's spelled diddle, as in diddling a child.

     This might make it look that I'm down on Italians, but I'm not. I just think it's crazy to see the Vatican as a religious center. The Catholic Church in Canada and the United States only loses money, defending pedophile lawsuits. How anyone can want to be a Catholic, when they're giving their money to pedophiles,

is understandable by me, being born to be a Catholic as much as an Italian. But all you need to do to break that evil circle, and leave that Vatican history behind, is to be baptized under water as a humbled adult,

to join with the holy spirit, as long as you can, as Jesus of Nazareth ordained and lived to show us.

     No church of stone or wood ever fell from heaven to earth, but there is a place that we can't see,

that's the home of all our soulfull destiny, and the best way to see that pure white light, is pure love.

     May All Peace Be Upon You.