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Euro Fem-Fascism: The Ultimate False Rape Horror Story

Monday, April 11, 2016 7:10
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Miguel Fraticelli, 36, had his life 
destroyed by false charges
by two vengeful women. His story,
worthy of Franz Kafka, is a warning
to all men that the State is using a
warped feminism to persecute dissenters. 

by Miguel Fraticelli

It all started a November morning of 2013 while I was proofreading my girlfriend’s MA thesis over a cup of tea. I had an interview with Norwegian EMI that same afternoon. The band I played in at the time had been nominated for Norway’s Best Song. 

Apart from the weather, everything was going great, until three policemen in plain clothes showed up with an arrest warrant and informed me I was being arrested on charges of having raped a married Swedish woman I had dated in the past. We went to my room where I showed them a sex tape. 

“This woman?” I asked. They smiled and blushed. The agent in charge made a phone-call and after a short deliberation they grabbed my Mac, hard-drives, and other electronic devices. Thereafter we drove off to police headquarters where I was interrogated for several hours to then be locked up in a small underground cell furnished with a toilette and a sink. 

There I spent four and a half days, sleeping on a plastic matt, till they transferred me to a normal prison unit. I was held in 23-hour lockdown for a period of two months, time during which I was subject to repeated interrogations and driven to court in a small prisoner van a few times. I will never forget the prosecutor loudly announcing I would spend “a very, very long time in jail”, while the main investigator grinned provokingly from ear to ear.

They knew I was a hyphenated Argentine-Italian and later Norwegian citizen, the offspring of a shrink with over ten published novels and a loving natural therapist devoted to flowers and classical music. I was an upper-secondary teacher, a straight A master student of Linguistics and Literature with a degree in Art History and Fine Arts, a non-smoker who had never touched drugs and very seldom lifted a glass of wine. 

They also knew I was a womanizer and a daylight agitator whose anti-PC tirades at university seminars had gone too far. What I read and thought was transparent to them, for now they had full access to my computer and social media. In short, I was a white canvass stretched on a wooden frame.

The day I was arrested I told them to call my ex girlfriend, for I sensed collusion from the very start. And I was right. It must be pointed out that in a country like Norway, the ultimate state-feminist hotbed, a double accusation of rape amounts to a death sentence, yet they didn’t even make it to trial.

 At that point, however, the case was no longer about any of that, for I was branded a terrorist. The two women claimed I was a right-winger who looked up to Hitler and also a staunch supporter of Anders Behring Breivik, the man who allegedly blew up the government building before going on a shooting spree at a teenager left-wing rally on the island of Utøya, the 22th of July of 2011. 

Police knew that university officials had interrogated me after a bag full of guns had been planted in an open locker at the Faculty of Humanities, a couple of months after the terror strike. I had apparently invited this persecution by having suggested to some of my fellow-students that Utøya was a false flag. 

They asked me whether I was interested in “occult Catholicism,” which I thought was a rather strange thing to ask, and from that point on questions went from bad to worse. Two years after, I was arrested on false allegations of rape.

Aftenposten, the country’s biggest conservative newspaper, published an article about my case in May 2015. It revolved around the 400-pages novel I published in response to the phoney and ludicrous allegations coming from a scorned girlfriend and a mistress and the ordeal a man accused of rape is likely to endure.

The investigation lasted a year plus another six months till the prosecutor finally dropped all charges against me. The length of the procedure was but one of the countless irregularities. The fact that the false accusers weren’t indicted and that the investigation ended with the main investigator being kicked out of Sex Crimes are but a few examples of this.


Today I’m suing the Norwegian state. My lawyers work pro bono and this should be another indicator of the sort of hoax we are dealing with. Despite all my losses, Norway refuses to acknowledge any wrongdoing, denying me due damages. They just gave me the 10.000 kroner (about 1.000 US dollars) a man falsely accused of rape has claim to, whereas the false accusers cashed in 150.000 kroner each, which is the set amount any woman reporting rape is entitled to. They paid them for the job.

This Kafkaesque process of mine cost me my academic and artistic career, my girlfriend, my income, and the worst of all, my infant son. Police even went to Germany to interrogate his mother, making sure she had access to the particulars of the case before she could even open her mouth. Using the false allegations of rape to break up visitation, her testimony concluded that I was a rightwing extremist who looked up to Hitler and hated non-Western foreigners. She made several corrections during read-through, however, for Norwegian police had embellished her story with things she had never said, such as me collecting newspaper clippings of non-Christian immigration in the West. I felt like America’s next top model. They were fixing me for the catwalk. They added a little makeup to make me look like a Breivik-type lone wolf, whitened me as much as they could, had me undergo a psychological examination, and 48 hours after I was a free man. They had me in the spot. I was labelled a suicidal anti-Semite who also hated Muslims, women and homosexuals. I was a ticking bomb.

That overcast July afternoon of 2011 in which I heard “Breivik’s” fertilizer van go off, only four blocks down the street, I literally woke up from my political slumber. It sounded like a Boeing crashing right in the midst of town. And I could feel in my heart things had changed forever. The reason I’m writing this article is because I believe I’m being set up as a potential patsy for a future false flag attack. They have profiled me and managed to stylize a paper-and-ink Fraticelli that is not me. They know I spend a fair amount of time in Hamburg and Paris, precisely where new attacks will soon take place. As the husband of the first complainant, a freemason and self-declared communist, said in a phone exchange my mother had the good sense to tape, I was never held for rape. I’m just “some sort of fascist.” Radical Islam is démodé. Euro-patsies are le dernier cri.


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