Boys for sale

Boys for Sale (Baibai bôizu)

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Источник

Boy for Sale

Boy for Sale

Song Name

Origin

Performer(s)

Composer

Lyricist

Type of Song

«Boy for Sale» is a song from the stage musical Oliver! and its 1968 film adaptation of the same name. It features Mr. Bumble attempting to sell Oliver Twist to the highest bidder for slave labor. After failing to sell Oliver off to a blacksmith and later a chef, Mr. Bumble eventually sells him to Mr. Sowerberry, an undertaker.

Contents

Performers

Lyrics

Small boy.
Rather pale.
From lack of sleep.
Feed him gruel dinners.
Stop him getting stout.

If I should say he wasn’t very greedy.
I could not, I’d be telling you a tale.

One boy,
Boy for sale.
Come take a peep.
Have you ever seen as nice
A boy
For sale?

Fine boy,
Boy for sale.
He’s yours to keep
For one thousand pennies
You can work it out
That’s four pounds, three and four, slightly under four guineas,
Knocked down from seven guineas.

(Three pounds, ten shillings)
Three pounds, what sir?
Certainly not sir

Any advance on three pounds ten then
Going
Going
Gone

I could not say
He isn’t very greedy
I dare not
I’d be telling you a tale

One boy,
Boy for sale.
Come take a peep.
Have you ever seen as nice
A boy
For sale?

Источник

Alternative Views #126,127: BOYS FOR SALE (PARTS I&II)

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Alternative Views #126,127: BOYS FOR SALE (PARTS I&II)

126. (N) BOYS FOR SALE (PART I)

The tragic and shocking abuse of boy prostitutes is discussed by Dr. Tom
Philpott and former Editor of _The Daily Texan_, Mark McKinnon, who has
written articles on the subject. Philpott has found that these children are
frequently physically abused, even tortured and killed. Many of the men who
participate in this «practice» are among some of the most respected people
at the top levels of the U.S. corporate and governmental structures. We
discuss prominent cases of sexual abuse of boys and possible connections
between child prostitution and the murder of black children in Atlanta. The
program is enhanced by the use of segments of two 1979 documentaries _Boys
for Sale_, produced for Channel 11 in Houston and Channel 13 in Atlanta.

127. BOYS FOR SALE (PART II)

Because this tragic, national scandal has largely been ignored by the mass
media, our concluding segment focuses on the press coverage and on the
handling of the situation by the law enforcement and judicial systems. The
program looks closely at the boys themselves: their backrounds, how they got
into «the life,» why they stay in it and how they feel about themselves. We
also reveal the extent of the threats and violence toward the people who
have been active in exposing the situation and bringing it to the attention
of the public.

Run time: 58:18
Recorded October, 1981
Copyright October, 1981

Credits

Co-hosts: Frank Morrow and Doug Kellner
Researcher: Mike Jankowski
Technical adviser: Brian Koenigsdorf

Symbols: Serpent, «1», and phallus are all synonyms.

Simple maths are part of this system and some of these creatures are like computers with calculations. The Mayan temples are an example.

To understand this demonic Talmudic/Lilith cult, it’s various businesses in selling children, organs, drugs via our military and police, and the torture rituals behind many of these murders, see a full description on the bottom far right where the brand was recently identified in the Jewish Tree of Life, 9th Sephiroth.

While some of the related materials on this page involved their discipline of symbology, including numbers and takes more time to study than most are willing to do most will be able to see what’s going on and who’s behind it.

They have a literal army of sayanim at their beck and call, usually with pedophilia on their resume, like the massive «Satanic Panic» McMartin COINTELPRO operation in all media.
Who controls the media?

Part of the job of certain layers of this army has nothing but time to pan interviews and books by those breaking from of their family cults.

The power to prevent employment is just one of the many powers of this cult.

My god these guys went off and basically amde a «Blair Which Project». They did zero fact checking and have no credibility. Taking the value of the problem away from where it should focus.

Please do your own fact checking. The Centers for Missing and Exploited youth list the number of Kidnapped / Endangered Runaway / and other missing at around 30 per year accross teh country and Houston youth Homicesd / unexplained deaths is well below that for the period they are referring.

But The Franklin Coverup seems to be real. Problem is it is very hard to track down as there are only bits and pieces of media coverage saved or archived. This does lead into other stories though. For instance the Goesh kidnapping makes several references to similar incidents and The boys mother has interesting claims. There was a young man who came forward and said he too was kidnapped and forced to help in the Goesh kidnapping. He made references to a ranch in the Colorado Springs area that was investigated though abandoned it had accomodations like a bunk house that could have held several children at one time. There were several pictures of the Goesh boy in different Clothing and pj’s tied up and one with several other boys. A depuity in FL claimes it was taken before th Goesh kidnapping though he could not recollect who the boys were. I found this odd that he would not have kept records or tried to ID the boys. One boy had come forward but there is little on that boy as the family chose not to follow up the third boy is unknown. Jacob Wetterling was also implicated as a victim to this same group. Though there was little to follow on that either. In searching there were so many dead ends it made it impossible to verify but the references do lead you to speculate.

There was also periodic mention of a tatoo or brand on several of the boys involved, of an «X» with a cresent, quarter circle or a «Rocker» under it. though in reserching the Brand I can not find any information on it’s particular meaning, or where it would represent.

I wanted to contact the Professor who talked about the hundreds of thousands of boys he encountered but I found that he was dead. I would love to talk to some of the other gentlemen on the pannel, to try to piece more of this together. I do find it sad that the reporting was so outragious that it ruined any credability these guys had and this story had but it needs to be retold. Accurately and really investigated to it’s full extent.

Источник

Boys for sale

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Источник

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Источник

For sale: Boy, Slave, £25

Last updated at 17:49 16 March 2007

The murky waters of Lake Volta appear limitless.

This is one of the largest reservoirs in the world; it stretches through the heart of Ghana in West Africa for nearly 3,500 square miles; it is plainly visible from space. It is also an eerie place.

From its depths protrude the broken and jagged stumps of what used to be one of the largest and most magnificent mahogany forests in Africa.

The small and now lifeless tips of these giant trees stick out of the lake, lending the place the feel of apocalypse.

But I can see a sign of life, and it breaks my heart.

Read more.

A group of narrow wooden canoes is carefully navigating through the ghostly remains of the trees.

These small boats are the foundation of a primitive fishing industry. The problem for the owners of the fishing boats is that their nets very often get stuck and torn on the branches of the submerged mahogany trees.

There is only one way around this threat to their business. They must use divers who can swim between the drowned trees and disentangle the precious nets. Only children are small enough to do this.

I watch as these children try to keep their balance as they stand up in the long, narrow wooden canoes that carry them across the waters of the lake.

There are four boys to each boat and often four or so boats go out together across the watery wilderness.

They are scantily clad – threadbare shorts, torn T-shirts. But what is most notable about these boys is their physique. They are still young, just 11 or 12 years old, but they look

like aspiring body-builders in their early twenties rather than young adolescents.

They have developed these muscles rowing across the murky waters of the lake every day and diving into its depths.

The work is hard and exhausting. The water is cold. And many of the boys fear what lies in its depths. But every day they have to dive into the deep, dark waters. When they re-emerge they give out a huge gasp as they try to swallow air, having had to hold their breath for so long.

Their vulnerability and loneliness is clearly written on their slight and gentle faces as they catch their breath clinging to the sides of the small canoes.

They may have been forced into growing up early, but many of the young boys resort to their childhood imaginations and stories to express their trauma.

‘They say that there is a kind of animal or monster in the river which sometimes kills humans,’ said one boy, ‘so I am anxious about getting into the water. And sometimes, when you come up for air, you find that the canoe is far away.’

The work is extremely dangerous and the boys are covered in scars and scratches. They frequently get trapped in the nets and have to fight for their lives underwater, alone.

They regularly cut themselves on the thick and jagged branches of the mahogany trees. Sores and rashes cover their feet, which they put down to the dead fish in the water.

Then there are the boys who have failed to surface, or been snagged beyond redemption. No record is kept of the exact number of drownings that have taken place in the lake; nobody really cares.

But what is perhaps most shocking about these boys’ existence is that they are miles from their homes and families and are owned, literally, by their fishing masters.

They are slaves in the true, medieval sense of the word: all have been sold by their families into this existence for the equivalent of about £25; as I will soon observe, the transactions are shamefully routine and concluded in minutes.

Here is a deep irony: as you travel up the coast of Ghana, you are constantly reminded of the country’s heritage.

As a former British colony, Ghana, then called the Gold Coast, was used as one of the main points from which slaves were shipped to America, Britain and elsewhere.

There are still the remains of forts from where these slaves were forcibly loaded on to ships. Some of these forts are barely a day’s travel from here. Undoubtedly, some of the ancestors of the children working here would have been taken to these holdings.

The big new movie of the moment revolves around this trade: the British film Amazing Grace celebrates William Wilberforce and the end of slavery in Britain.

That was precisely two centuries ago. Here in this old colony, by the waters of Lake Volta, I am watching children who have been sold into a life that Wilberforce would undoubtedly recognise as slavery.

This is poignant enough. What makes me feel it even more acutely is that the fate of these children could so nearly have been my own.

Baghdad, Africa, the Middle East, South Asia, Europe and beyond – I have spent more than a decade reporting from many different parts of the world. In many cases I have travelled to countries in the midst of conflict and political upheaval.

One constant aspect of my work as a reporter has been the plight of children.

where children as young as my six-year-old daughter have been kept and forced to work.

I even remember my first flat as a young

foreign correspondent in the Middle East, adorned with trinkets, carpets and mementoes that were made by children in the kinds of sweatshops that I’d reported on.

Yet if I look back and actually think about how much of my reporting has been about children themselves, I’m struck by how absent they are as voices with stories to tell.

And, as a result, it is easy to ignore their experiences, to dismiss them as the circumstances of the developing world.

Then, when you listen to the children themselves describing their lives, you are left reeling, appalled that in the 21st century we allow this to exist.

I was determined to educate myself. Over the past year I have done so by interviewing children sold into slavery, and heard for the first time their stories in their own words.

And I began with a fact: the United Nations believes that there are 8.5 million children in the world today who are enslaved. About 1.2 million children are trafficked around the world each year.

It’s a modern-day trade that provides children as enforced labour in industries such as prostitution, begging, textiles, mining, fishing and many more.

The children suffer horrific degradation – from young boys who are forcibly mutilated so that they might be pitied more while begging on the streets of Jeddah, in Saudi Arabia, to young boys sold into sari factories in Delhi and forced to work 18 hours a day, to young girls in Cambodia sold into brothels.

At Lake Volta, I learn that some boys have been here for seven years, since they were just five or six. They all live in basic shelters and even when ashore must fix nets or scale fish.

They wake before dawn and walk in a line down to the water as the sun rises, to begin their daily toil. Some are beaten for making mistakes or not working hard enough. All have forgotten the innocent happiness of youth. No one feels the need to disguise what is a fact of life.

One of the fishing masters, Aaron, agrees to let me accompany him as he visits the small village of Ada, two hours’ drive away. He is looking for young boys to buy from families so they can come and work for him.

Ada is a bustling and densely packed town, east of the capital Accra and on another corner of the lake. Aaron has come to meet a woman who has agreed to sell her 12-year-old son, Malaway.

We find her sitting by the water’s edge on a makeshift stool, frying fish on an open coal fire. She is dressed in pieces of the colourful, traditional printed clothes of Africa and old

plastic flip-flops, and is obviously poor.

She sells bits of fried fish to make money to raise her eight children. She explains what drove her to put her son up for sale.

‘I said I would give him [Aaron] the child to take away if he would give me some payment. My son is young, but if he goes and it works out for him and we also get something out of it, then it will be good for all of us.’

What’s surprising and shocking is that she says this in an almost matter-of-fact way. Malaway has had some schooling, but with so many

other children to bring up, his mother doesn’t have the money to keep him in education.

Ghanaian law forbids anyone under the age of 16 from working, but it is very hard to police a country like Ghana, where so many people live

One expects a transaction like this, the selling of a child into labour, to be dark, grim and full of menace, even violence. In many cases it is.

But the truth is that for a huge number of people around the world living in dire poverty, selling their children has become a relatively straightforward transaction – giving one of the few things you have in return for money or possessions.

Aaron visits Malaway’s mother at her home to seal the deal. She lives in a small compound of mud and breeze-block huts, built around a dusty open courtyard.

Chickens scavenge around its edges. A group of old crates and a couple of tattered wooden chairs form an area where Malaway’s mother and his siblings cook their meals and carry out the washing and cleaning.

Despite her poverty, Malaway’s mother is houseproud, and the neat and well-kept yard reflects her obvious sense of dignity.

It is perhaps this sense of dignity that made her do everything possible to make the selling of her child as formal and orderly a process as possible.

When Aaron arrives, she has some of her older children and other male relatives with her for support – to let Aaron know that he’s dealing with a family, not just a poor village woman.

Malaway sits near his mother, watching and listening passively as he is negotiated over.

There is a ritual drink of alcohol and a prayer, as though to make everyone feel a bit more comfortable and at ease with the situation.

The bargaining is absurdly brief. Aaron asks the mother to suggest a figure. When she does, he says it’s too much.

‘The land is very dry. Times are tough. I plead with you to reduce the amount,’ he says.

Aaron says he thinks a figure less than half the original one is fair.

She immediately agrees and he, conveniently, has the correct amount on him. Thus Malaway is sold for £25.

I am left reeling from the transaction. How can a price, any price, be put on a child’s head? And how can any mother sell her child? Of course, the answer is that £25 in Malaway’s village is the equivalent of two months’ salary for a local teacher, or enough water to meet the needs of a family of six for more than three months.

But no one has told Malaway and his family about the dangers, hard work and fatalities of the life that he is about to embark on.

As Malaway goes off, I am incapable of turning my mind away from what I have seen: a child sold into bondage.

For a child, the line between a life of poverty and one of enforced servitude is a fine one.

I was born in Somaliland, the self-declared republic in the north of Somalia, where my relatives still live.

Going back to visit my parents in the capital, Hargeisa, I find a young boy, Farhan, working at a café in one of the petrol stations. Completely unexpectedly, I discover that the petrol station was once owned by my father.

The boy takes me to the shack he shares with his mother and younger sister and brother. He explains to me that he would prefer to go to school rather than work. However, he is helping to pay for his younger brother’s education.

‘It used to hurt,’ he tells me, ‘when I saw the buses carrying schoolchildren pass. I cannot have that, as my family need me. But I want my brother to have it.’

A couple of miles outside Hargeisa is a vast and flat savannah landscape that still belongs to nomads who herd camels and goats. Here, I meet a shepherd boy called Abdi, tending his family’s 35 goats. I reflect on the fact that only one generation separates me from Abdi.

I live in a comfortable house in west London, my children have scooters and summer holidays, yet my life could easily have been exactly like Abdi’s. My mother was a nomadic shepherd, and as a girl tended the family’s animals.

Abdi and Farhan may well have to work instead of going to school, but they are not enslaved.

Slavery means you don’t have the freedom to say no – which is evident just over the border in Ethiopia, where I discover child slavery has become a very public issue.

In Ethiopia’s capital, Addis Ababa, posters highlight the problem of child trafficking, which is recognised by the government as a serious issue.

At the main bus station, a non-governmental organisation (NGO) monitors travellers looking for trafficked children.

In its headquarters I meet a group of five children who have been picked up by the agency.

They tell me their stories, explaining how they had been sold to work in people’s homes, cleaning floors and toilets. The children are scared and cling to each other for support.

It is hard to comprehend how so many ordeals are being endured by so many children; my investigations could have gone on and on – the examples of horrendous slavery stories I heard are testimony to that.

The world has come a long way since the days of William Wilberforce. But slavery has not been abolished, and many of us hide from this fact.

How can it be right that a child in the 21st century is still a commodity? The answer is that it cannot be; and yet, standing on the bank of the great Ghanaian lake, I have a terrible feeling that for many children, there will be no other way.

Rageh Omaar’s film investigation, Slave Children, will be screened on BBC2 on March 26 at 9pm

Источник