Tag: terrorismo

The first criminal complaint on human rights in China against Europe, the US, and NATO. Briefly.

---

Yes, it’s true. The high powers of NATO can see what we think from a distance — and they stay silent, without warning anyone… while a secret team commits corruption and terrorism.

For more than six and a half years, I have been — and still am — a victim of cerebral terrorism — an invisible but brutal crime. My thoughts were invaded, my inner silence violated. And that wasn’t enough — they touched the untouchable: my mother, my relatives, both living and dead.

The violation was not only physical — it was spiritual, technological, inhuman. Portugal knew, and still knows. Europe knew and still knows. The high commands of the United States knew and still know. But silence was, is, and will always be complicit.

These are crimes that don’t appear in UN reports, nor in resolutions of the European Parliament. Because those who suffer in the underground of technological war have no voice. But I scream. And that scream is justice.

NATO has failed. Europe and America have betrayed. And human rights have become a cruel joke told in diplomatic salons while civilians are crushed by “smart” technological bombs. Second by second, in my case, they seek violations of my relatives — living and dead — with my Mother as the central figure.

A man has the right to seek justice when justice itself is murdered by the very institutions that swore to defend it. When there is no law, dignity becomes resistance — and death becomes pure entertainment.

I came to live in Kaltenkirchen, Germany, as someone who survived — someone who survives, day after day, the unthinkable. Someone who no longer believes in the myths of European civilization. And now I see clearly: there are no human rights as long as silence covers the pain of the invisible, sponsored by Portugal and with NATO’s complicity.

Imagine a man.

Not a hero. Just a human being, crushed by the silence of NATO’s civilization.

For more than six and a half years, he has lived a terror that never appears in the news. A terror that seeps into the brain, into the veins, into the walls. A war fought with satellites, with codes, with metallic voices that no one else can hear. Where NATO ignores — and becomes complicit in the acts of a team that violates his family through his own mind.

They violated his mother.

Not once, but countless times. It continues — in Portugal, in Germany, in Kaltenkirchen, where he has survived for months like a ghost. The living and even the dead of his family have been violated. Artificial intelligence has been turned into a weapon of torture — not to fight crime, but to manufacture pain.

An interesting profession — one that in Portugal is used to watch men, women, and even minors with faces of panic, where women become nothing but instruments of humiliation.

And who watches all this?

NATO. The United States. Europe.

Silent.

He tried to escape. He went to Hamburg, thinking he could find peace there. But they injected him at strange hours. Forced his body to speed up, to explode, while he drove through the roads of Germany.

NATO knew. Portugal was part of it.

A secret military cell. A team inside the Portuguese army — racist, sadistic, hidden under the flags of order and homeland. Where corruption rules. Where cases are swept under the rug.

Where the beast of the far-right party *Chega* — hatred disguised as patriotism — is fed. Where this team uses people as instruments for abuse, growing like fungi over forgotten corpses. And where their families — their sons and wives — live and grow with this dirty money.

And the worst part: this technology — this damned artificial intelligence — could be saving lives. It could be identifying networks of exploitation. Preventing attacks. Predicting shootings. Stopping killers.

But instead, they prefer to use it to destroy families, erase souls, torture a man.

They are violators — digital violators, emotional violators, postmodern violators.

For years, they placed upon me the weight of this invisible war: remote torture, silent aggression, wounds that don’t appear on the body but scar the soul. Even my family did not escape. The living — and even the dead — were and still are violated, turned into instruments of pain against me.

And at the center of this violence stands the most sacred figure: my Mother. It is on her that they focus the attack, as if hurting her were the key to destroying me.

And still, I resist.

More than six and a half years of struggle, day after day, against forces unseen but deeply felt. A cold, dirty war, tolerated by the great powers of NATO, who prefer silence to justice — omission to truth.

This is the Europe that calls itself civilized.

This is the new war: a war where the enemy is invisible, and the battlefield is the mind.

But he does not forget.

And he does not forgive.

Because when justice sleeps, the monster awakens.

And this monster has learned to walk, to speak.

And it is coming — until justice is done… or death arrives.

Details of the technology and what this team does… I cannot and will not lie, because I want them imprisoned.

This technology allows them to:

– Change the colors of people’s clothing

– Darken thoughts

– Pull or grab people from a distance

– Blur people’s faces

– Cause diseases that kill

– Remove the air from a person’s lungs

– Cause stings or pricks in the body

– Lift or turn a person’s head

– And much more still to come

That’s how major crimes were supposedly “prevented” by NATO.

That’s how terrorist attacks like the ones in Paris never happened again.

Family photos — where some become the aggressors and others the victims.

The Invisible Terrorism of the Mind

I first realized it through images. My photos — innocent, ordinary photos — began to change.

A shirt’s color that wasn’t there before. A gesture I never made. A look that wasn’t mine.

And then, it wasn’t just the photos anymore.

It was the people *in* the photos. They moved, they spoke, they accused.

What was memory became threat. What was mine became weapon.

In other words, my childhood photos — of me at four, twelve, or fourteen — were being manipulated. The faces of those children became tools, reshaped into scenes of violation and pain, targeting my Mother above all.

They used family images, sounds, and mental shortcuts to invade my mind.

They created signals — a “sting in the foot” meant something, a warning that they were enjoying the act of cruelty. It became a code, a language of terror.

Each time I sensed the signal, I would rush against time to protect her.

Thank God, the worst did not always happen — but the threat was constant, real, and I was fully aware.

In Portugal, it felt like a show — dangerous driving, staged events, as if they wanted me to star in a film of their own creation.

In Germany, the persecution continued with the same cold precision and institutional indifference. Where protection should have existed, there was only silence.

Where there should have been investigation, there was complicity — an absolute European silence.

Then I understood: it was no accident, no delusion. It was the beginning of invisible terrorism — a war against the mind.

NATO, with its satellites and algorithms, not only sees what we think — it shapes, distorts, and infiltrates those thoughts.

It’s a remote, surgical attack, aimed at the most intimate space there is: the human mind.

They didn’t attack only me. They used me to reach my core — my family.

My Mother, who was my refuge, became their primary target.

Their goal was clear: destroy the foundation, corrode the bond, pervert the sacred.

No bombs were needed. No soldiers. Just manipulated images, planted words, hacked memories.

At first, strange noises came from my stomach — and at the same time, from my dog’s stomach as he lay beside me.

When I noticed it, I thought it was strange. When there was a sound in my stomach, there was the same sound in his.

Then, one day, everything changed.

It felt like my stomach was being pushed inward.

That same night, I suddenly couldn’t breathe — the air was taken from my lungs for two or three seconds, and then returned.

Worried, I called my Mother — I didn’t know what was happening.

We went to the hospital that night. The doctor said everything was fine.

But I knew something was wrong inside my body.

A day later, when I tried to calm down, I started feeling stings in my head, and the sensation of blood running down.

I panicked and looked in the mirror — no wounds.

But what I saw was terrifying: the blood I felt was *inside* my head.

The noises in my stomach stopped, but they started again in my head.

I lay down on the bed, said nothing to anyone, and became more and more afraid.

That night, everything changed again.

They started responding to my every thought.

Every time I thought of something, I felt drops moving inside my head, like blood flowing, and constant stings in my wrists.

From that moment until today, nothing has been the same.

I locked my thoughts — so to speak — inside a room where I grew up.

My aunt’s room, in Costa da Caparica.

She was lying on the bed; my other aunt was sitting on another; my uncle too; my Mother on a bed beside them; and my cousin sitting on yet another bed.

Basically, I locked my thoughts in that room with the people who had always been by my side.

It was obvious I was panicking. Instead of thinking about random things, my mind was trapped.

Imagine thinking of your uncle sitting on a bed — and then feeling that drop of blood running inside your head toward your forehead.

Imagine that every thought triggers a physical response — as if someone were inside your mind, watching everything you think.

Frightening? Yes.

I didn’t know who was inside me, but I could only assume it was the authorities — the police or the military.

Part 3 – The Final Monologue: Justice or Death

It is a crime that leaves no visible marks.
It doesn’t appear in UN reports. It doesn’t enter statistics.
But it is as real as hunger, as real as bombs.
It is terrorism of thought — carried out remotely, silently, cowardly.

Whoever survives this is never the same. Innocence dies first, trust soon after.
But something else is born in its place: the awareness that there are no longer borders between war and peace, between civilian and soldier, between victim and target.
The war has entered the mind.

And that is why I write — and I do not lie.
Because one day, when everyone finally sees, they won’t be able to say they didn’t know.

People and institutions knew more than they admitted.
The promise of protection became omission.
And that omission is complicity.
While diplomats exchange notes and reports gather dust on shelves, someone suffers in the underground of technological war — and no report can describe that pain.

Those who go through this are changed. Innocence ends first; trust, later.
But survival lights another flame: resistance.
I no longer ask for patience.
When justice fails, dignity demands action.
I do not speak of blind revenge — I speak of accountability.
Let it be proven, judged, and punished: those who manipulate lives as if they were toys must face consequence.

I promise to fight until the end — until those who abused technology to destroy people are brought into the light.
I will not rest until there is legal consequence, until there is public acknowledgment of what we have suffered.
Because telling the truth is, in itself, an act of resistance.

Racism — the use of race as a weapon — and the corruption that sustains this team are the rot at the core of my country, Portugal.
But one day, that country will cleanse its flag.
Until then, it remains stained with corruption.

I may not be, in their eyes, the most important man in Portugal.
But somehow, they act as if I were — as if my pain fed their power, their families, their comfort.

If you see me here, in Kaltenkirchen, near Hamburg — where I live, and where I have no intention of returning to my homeland alive — know this: I do not come as a victim.
I come as a living witness.
A survivor of invisible violence who demands that Europe fulfill its promises.

Human rights do not exist while silence shelters the pain of the invisible.
And I refuse that silence.

Haverá justiça — ou morte .

post nr 2

Supporters, brothers in the stands

I do not ask you to believe my words because they may sound like something from another world — I only ask that you visit the website I created against corruption in my country and in Europe, and keep this text safe so that one day, if I fall, you may do justice… you **WILL BE THERE.**

I write this letter not only as a lover of football, but as a man who resists, day after day, an invisible force that tries to dominate what is most sacred in a human being — thought, freedom, and dignity.

We live in a world where the great powers call themselves defenders of peace, but behind flags and speeches they hide technologies that watch, control, and wound.

They say they do it to protect the planet, but some of us know — and feel — that such surveillance is used to humiliate, destroy, and feed vanity.

Among these shadows there is a man. A Portuguese man. A son, a worker, a dreamer — who once believed that justice existed.

But he became the target of a faceless machine that turned human pain into spectacle.

He fled his country in search of freedom, and yet torture still follows him — not with visible chains, but with silent violence, violating his mother and relatives within his own mind through remote artificial intelligence.

While some sit comfortably behind screens, imagining themselves as gods for seeing and controlling the thoughts of others, this man fights to keep his sanity and his faith in truth.

Those who wear uniforms and call themselves defenders of the homeland have forgotten the true meaning of service: to save lives, to protect the innocent, to honor the people.

They have chosen easy power, empty pleasure, and complicit silence.

But the man who suffers does not kneel. He rises as one who raises his team’s banner in a decisive match. He does not give up, because he knows that justice is like football: even when the clock shows 90 minutes, the heart still believes in the final goal.

To the football supporters — who know the pain of defeat and the joy of victory — I ask: keep this message. Share it.

Believing in truth is the first step toward defeating fear.

The man who fights against this injustice does not do it only for himself, but for all of us — for every mother, every family, every person who deserves to live free from surveillance, manipulation, and humiliation.

I do not ask you to believe my words because they may sound like something from another world — I only ask that you visit the website I created against corruption in my country and in Europe, and keep this text safe so that one day, if I fall, you may do justice… you **WILL BE THERE.**

When the truth is finally revealed to the world, that will be the day of the **Champions League Final of Humanity.**

And that man — even wounded, even alone — will be the true winner, because he never gave up scoring the goal of justice.

With courage and hope,

A supporter who believes the human spirit is invincible.

 Update NR. 3 Portugal and the Honorable missions of its military in Africa generate money with artificial intelligence.

A man who suffers from a new-era cerebral terrorism.

The Portuguese army and NATO are able to see what he thinks and torture him with artificial intelligence, where they violate his family members, with his mother being the main target. Where people of the Black race are turned into rapists and cannot appear in that man’s thoughts—only white people—otherwise Black people start raping.

Examples:

The man is watching a football player and cannot remember a Black player, only white players, otherwise those Black players end up with their heads down, without eyes, and are good for nothing except clinging to the women of his family and raping them, especially his mother.

This man, who has been a victim of this for 7 years, has already tried to report this corrupt team of the Portuguese army, where they turn Black people into rapists. The most ironic thing is that his mother was born in Angola and the family lived there for more than 35 years, and that same man lived there when he was a child.

This man tells that team that their children grew up with the dirty money of this team, of this financial scheme, where their children grew up, and where Black people have been portrayed as rapists for practically seven years.

This man placed, in the room where he is locked inside his thoughts, the woman who took care of him in Africa when he was little. Not even her eyes can be seen, unfortunately. She is only there for him when he sees a Black person on the street, or sees a Black football player or singer, so that he does not think of them but of her instead. She is wearing a black dress; she cannot wear a traditional African skirt, and unfortunately this woman only serves for the women of his family to get on all fours in front of her, in a sexual position, whether dressed or in other clothing.

He tried to place an African child in her arms, but it lasted a short time. In their minds, she only serves for sexual acts. She is wearing sunglasses on her face; that is all that can be seen. Black people have no facial features.

The way they treat this man is by turning Africa into a land of rapists. This man again emphasizes and tells them: “Your children grew up with the money of this team’s mafia. We are all equal, we are all normal, and we all have the right to have eyes, a mouth, and a face, at the very least.”

He pretends to be crazy and says he is crazy, because it is the only way to mock them and for them to continue with the financial and ideological scheme.

Rodrigo, the child he initially remembered in a general way, who had curly hair, over time, from them wanting to grab and pull him so much, he got a stuffed toy with curls so as not to remember him, to protect him. At this moment, that child has a new hairstyle: he is bald and always wearing sunglasses. He never had eyes for them; he continues not to be a normal person.

These men, this team, are not stupid. They know that Portugal carries out missions in Africa and they use the name of Portugal and the Portuguese military to turn them into rapists. That is, in the mind of this man, a victim of cerebral terrorism by the Portuguese State, Black people cannot appear, have a culture, remember the good things of Africa, of Angola, remember a mere football player—which is what he sees most—or switch from 50 Cent while driving and listening to music and put on Eminem, or replace a simple Black Brazilian singer with Ivete Sangalo, or replace Bonga with his godfather, who used to listen to Bonga.

These are small tricks that this man has to pay attention to so that his mother and family are not raped by Black people. He tries hard to explain to this Portuguese team that they are not rapists, but it is difficult for them to understand, and he ends up saying that he is crazy, looking at a photo of himself as a child and another as an adult, and telling them that their children were raised with the money of this very profitable business.

Driving at work, Black people, madness and rage… the perfect menu for a not-at-all corrupt team.

This Portuguese team, continuing with their same trauma, while this man is working, do this with Black people: from time to time they put his brain under stress when they abuse his mother or relatives while he is driving. Then, when they take away the madness, they give him rage and a stabbing sensation in the sole of the foot, a very old one already. They abuse his mother or relatives and there comes the stabbing in the foot, as if to say, “you have to accelerate.”

But the favorite part for this man, a victim of terrorism while driving, little do they know that it is not the stabbing, but rather the madness in the brain and, above all, the rage. The stabbing in the foot, he usually tells this team, is already out of fashion.

Much more is yet to come about the silence of NATO, Europe, and Germany. The silence of Portugal I have already gotten used to over seven years. Corruption in Portugal must stop being treated as something banal.

My trip to Russia, to Moscow, is coming soon, because I am working in Germany and have finally managed to save some money. Working this way, little by little things are achieved. Little by little this team will be arrested, or not, I don’t know, but until my last breath they will be the mafia and corruption that they are.

As for Europe and NATO, if I last, I have until old age to wait and shame this Europe. If not, then let them be silent until death.

Now I am going to Moscow to find out whether NATO can see what Putin thinks or not. If it works there, everything will be said.

I have a battle in these days until I get there, because they are already attacking my sleep with their greatest idol, Hitler, and trying to make Black people be rapists. When I close my eyes, I see practically nothing, only darkness. But it does not affect me. That way I will spend some good months in the Middle East, between China, Asia, and Russia, fighting against Europe, Portugal, and NATO.

See you soon…

Justice or Death.