The French revisionist Vincent Reynouard has disappeared in London.
23/11/2021
Translation of:
https://jeune-nation.com/lectures/hebdo ... es-rivarolFOR A MONTH now, Vincent Reynouard has disappeared without a trace. And what is alarming is that, to our knowledge, he has not contacted anyone, absolutely no one, since that famous Monday 25 October at 4 o'clock in the afternoon when he managed to elude the British and Interpol police officers who came to arrest him at his home. Not his family, not his friends, not his close collaborators. Not even in an indirect or minimal way. He disappeared from the radar. He vanished. We do not even know for sure today that he is alive or free. It is likely, however, that if he had been arrested, community sites would have made a point of announcing it urbi et orbi, of shouting it from the rooftops, of claiming this incarceration as a victory. This suggests that he is not currently behind bars.
But there is something strange, unusual, if not quite disturbing about this whole affair from the start. First of all, it is not like Vincent not to show up, in one way or another, over such a long period of time. It was indeed possible for him to write a letter to give news without of course disclosing his whereabouts, and by posting it far enough away from the place where he was hiding, to send a reassuring text message to someone close to him, even if it meant getting rid of the phone immediately afterwards so as not to leave any trace, or to go through a third person to give a sign of life. So far, he has done nothing of the sort. This was not the case during his previous escapes in 2008-2009 (in Belgium and France) and again in the spring of 2015 (in Flanders) before he went into exile in England on 16 June 2015.
WHAT DO WE KNOW for certain or almost certain at this point? The British police and Interpol (if that's what they are) rang the bell downstairs at his home on Monday 25 October in the middle of the afternoon. Vincent went downstairs, opened the door. Seeing the police officers indicating that they wanted to speak to Vincent Reynouard, the latter gave a false identity and immediately slammed the door on the police officers. As the door does not open from the outside, this gives Vincent time to rush back to his flat and even to telephone a close associate at 3.44pm, certainly to warn him of the situation and perhaps to call for help. Unfortunately, the latter, who is on the train, does not hear the call. Vincent does not leave a voice message. He has no time. He quickly grabs the cash he has from his private lessons, leaves everything behind (his phone, his identity papers, his driving licence, his laptops, and does not take any change). Hearing the police officers who had finally managed to open the front door, he climbed the stairs to the second floor four by four, he had just enough time to escape through the inner courtyard of the small building, which leads to an exit at the back of the building, so that he could lose his pursuers.
Barely half an hour later, the friend realised that Vincent Reynouard had called him, his number having been registered on his mobile as an incoming call, and immediately phoned him. Five times in a row. The first four times, the call rings in a vacuum. This is logical since the phone was left at the flat. But the fifth time, the call is rejected. Manually. At that moment, there is someone in the flat. Who is there? In all likelihood, the police, who were possibly still on the premises at the time. But why didn't they answer the call? This is astonishing from police officers who are chasing a fugitive and who usually leave no stone unturned in their search for information, especially not a phone call that may prove decisive. Even more surprising is that the police took nothing from Vincent's flat. Neither the computers, nor the telephone, nor the archives, nor the identity papers. Everything seems to have been left intact. Nor is it the police's habit not to seize possible exhibits, not to carry out meticulous searches of the home of the person they are looking for, not to seize computer equipment or telephones that can sometimes provide valuable information.
There is a feeling that there are missing pieces to the puzzle. Something is wrong from the outset, creating unease, legitimising all suspicions and authorising all hypotheses.
Are we sure that it was Interpol? At least that is what the owner of the flat said, repeating what the (real or fake) British police had told her. This was also stated by Sarah Cattan in her very long article of 3 November for Tribune juive. But a few days later, it was not quite the same version. The Twitter account Jugé coupable (which is run by the anonymous collective BTA: Balance ton antisémite) suddenly stated that "Vincent Reynouard does not have an Interpol red notice", unlike, for example, Boris Le Lay, who has been exiled to Japan since 2014, which suggested that it was not necessarily Interpol that rang the bell on 25 October at the bottom of the revisionist activist's rented flat in Greater London.
But if not Interpol, who could it be? The British police? Perhaps, but at whose request? Within what framework? On what legal basis? It is true that, to date, Vincent Reynouard has been sentenced to a total of 29 months' imprisonment by French courts since his exile in England for contravening the Rocard-Fabius-Gayssot law. But there is currently no equivalent of this anti-revisionist legislation in the UK. So how can an extradition request be legally justified? Certainly, as the late Professor Robert Faurisson said, "when it comes to the fight against revisionism, there is no faith, no law, no right. Everything is permitted. The hunt for revisionists is open all year round, anywhere, anytime, anyhow. Besides, don't the anonymous, illiterate and hateful BTA members boast of being "anti-Semite hunters"? And obviously their hunting is not regulated. It is not limited to certain times and to one or two seasons in the year. It is permanent, savage and brutal, it is carried out by night as well as by day, it is not encumbered by respect for conventions, morality, probity and truth.
It is, after all, very easy for a determined person to pass himself off as a policeman without actually being one. Vincent Reynouard had described on video how, about five years ago, when he was already in England, two men had come to intimidate one of his immediate entourage who had remained in France, how they had followed her by car during the day, then how they had waited for her outside the door of her flat, then, when she arrived in the corridor, how he had forced her to open the door and to communicate to them under threat the telephone number and the exact address of Vincent's home in the UK. And clearly, that night, it wasn't the police. The two men did not even have the courtesy to introduce themselves or identify themselves.
Strangely enough, Vincent had told how, one night, just over a year ago, some strangers had broken into his house while he was asleep, at his previous home near London, and had apparently gone through his belongings, his archives, his documents, as if they were looking for something specific, something important, and had left. He had noticed this because he had carefully locked the door the night before, before going to bed, he remembered very well, and yet the door was open in the early morning when he woke up!
One can therefore imagine anything in the present case, and the more time passes, the more deafening the silence becomes. Every day that passes feeds the doubt, increases the anguish. For if it was neither Interpol nor the British police who rang his doorbell that day, who could it have been? But who? Could it have been the famous "who" of Claude Posternak, apostrophising General Delawarde on 18 June on CNews?
AT THE MOMENT WHEN he ran off to his fate on Monday 25 October at about 4 p.m. London time (5 p.m. Paris time), perhaps never to reappear, Vincent was putting the finishing touches to an in-depth and up-to-date study on the tragedy of Oradour-sur-Glane. He was about to send it to me by e-mail as a defence in the lawsuit that was brought against me two days later, on 27 October, following the publication in RIVAROL on 2 September 2020 of a long two-page article on the tag on the Oradour memorial centre and on the hysteria that this graffiti, which was done at night from 20 to 21 August 2020, had aroused in the political and media class. Vincent wanted to make a detailed book with many illustrations, a work he was about to complete, of which he was happy and proud and which he absolutely intended to publish and offer for sale before Christmas. He had, he confided to me, made some important, if not sensational, discoveries which he was eager and excited to share with his readers and which he believed would shed new light on the whole murky affair. In the end, this document was never communicated to me, not even through an intermediary or by means of this or that trick, this or that artifice, this or that ruse of which Vincent is not averse.
All this is decidedly unlike him, who, as a hard worker, never failing to keep his promises, has always done the impossible, moved heaven and earth to disseminate, publish and transmit his studies, his work, his discoveries, his intuitions, his reasoning, his arguments in writing and by video. In an equally inexplicable way, he did not warn, or have a third party warn, the twenty or so students he had been tutoring until then, who found themselves without their teacher from one day to the next, and without any news from him, even though the dates had been set, the lessons scheduled, the appointments confirmed. No, this is definitely not like him. Of course, it is perfectly understandable that in the first few days of a run, one should deal with the most pressing problems and that the priority should be to hide, to survive, and that one should not immediately give any news. Perhaps this prolonged silence can only be explained by his caution, his fear of being spotted and apprehended, a simple precautionary principle. If one wants to cultivate optimism, this is what one must try to persuade oneself. But, apart from the fact that this is hardly in Vincent's habits, and does not correspond to his modus operandi up to now, he has now disappeared for a whole month without leaving any trace, without transmitting the slightest message, directly or indirectly, frankly or subliminally, of a nature to reassure his family, his friends, his relatives, his relations, without giving the slightest sign. This certainly plunges us into an abyss of perplexity and even anguish. There are silences which, when they continue, are even less reassuring than the clattering of keys locking the cell of an unfortunate prisoner.
https://boards.4chan.org/pol/thread/349226128
