Thom Calandra warns that it''s ''red-alert time''

4p ET Thursday, December 12, 2002

Dear Friend of GATA and Gold:

Gold climbed a big stair to $331 or so at noon in New
York today and then flatlined for the afternoon, as if
the price-setting powers had dug a new trench in
their retreat. Those who disbelieve manipulation of
the gold price should take a look at today's chart
and explain the calm equilibrium that developed as
suddenly as if someone had thrown a switch.

Well, GATA is not going away. We'll keep pounding on
this stuff. But let's enjoy, as the first of many,
this little rout of the bad guys, which came about
exactly as our friend Jim Sinclair, CEO of Tan Range
Exploration, said it would, at exactly the price he
specified. Maybe the great Kipling poem below is the
one to celebrate with.

CHRIS POWELL, Secretary/Treasurer
Gold Anti-Trust Action Committee Inc.

------------------------------------------------------

The Gods of the Copybook Headings
By Rudyard Kipling

As I pass through my incarnations in every age
and race,
I make my proper prostrations to the Gods of the
Market-Place.
Peering through reverent fingers I watch them
flourish and fall,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings, I notice,
outlast them all.

We were living in trees when they met us. They
showed us each in turn
That Water would certainly wet us, as Fire would
certainly burn:
But we found them lacking in Uplift, Vision and
Breath of Mind,
So we left them to teach the Gorillas while we
followed the March of Mankind.

We moved as the Spirit listed. They never altered
their pace,
Being neither cloud nor wind-borne like the Gods
of the Market-Place;
But they always caught up with our progress, and
presently word would come
That a tribe had been wiped off its icefield, or
the lights had gone out in Rome.

With the Hopes that our World is built on they
were utterly out of touch.
They denied that the Moon was Stilton; they denied
she was even Dutch.
They denied that Wishes were Horses; they denied
that a Pig had Wings.
So we worshipped the Gods of the Market Who
promised these beautiful things.

When the Cambrian measures were forming, They
promised perpetual peace.
They swore, if we gave them our weapons, that
the wars of the tribes would cease.
But when we disarmed They sold us and delivered
us bound to our foe,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said:
quot;Stick to the Devil you know.quot;

On the first Feminian Sandstones we were promised
the Fuller Life
(Which started by loving our neighbour and ended
by loving his wife)
Till our women had no more children and the men
lost reason and faith,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said:
quot;The Wages of Sin is Death.quot;

In the Carboniferous Epoch we were promised abundance
for all,
By robbing selected Peter to pay for collective Paul;
But, though we had plenty of money, there was
nothing our money could buy,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: quot;If you
don't work you die.quot;

Then the Gods of the Market tumbled, and their
smooth-tongued wizards withdrew,
And the hearts of the meanest were humbled and began
to believe it was true
That All is not Gold that Glitters, and Two and Two
make Four --
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings limped up to
explain it once more.

* * *

As it will be in the future, it was at the birth
of Man --
There are only four things certain since
Social Progress began: --
That the Dog returns to his Vomit and the Sow
returns to her Mire,
And the burnt Fool's bandaged finger goes wobbling
back to the Fire;
And that after this is accomplished, and the brave
new world begins
When all men are paid for existing and no man must
pay for his sins,
As surely as Water will wet us, as surely as Fire
will burn,
The Gods of the Copybook Headings with terror
and slaughter return!