Foundation began for me, at least environmentally, during a walk to school. I was walking up Studebaker road in Long Beach, California, one morning when suddenly a site I wasn’t prepared for completely overwhelmed me. I had walked up that road for two years, and had never seen the beautiful snow-capped mountain ahead of me, a mountain that I now know to be Mount Baldy.

Los Angeles smog had obscured the sight of Mt Baldy all that time. It was the first time that I became aware, and wary of my physical environment. That was around 1962, now I am almost bald, and Mt. Baldy still lives in obscurity, only occasionally revealed by the Santa Anna Winds.

That environmental education and awareness continued throughout a life at sea as a supply boat Captain in the oil business, only it became more political. I discovered Mt Baldys in one form or another all over the world, both seen and unseen, mostly products of political carelessness and corruption.

I was in Montreal, home from overseas in 1978, attending my son’s birthday party. I was in a room with about six or seven women, whom I suppose had brought their children to the party.

Tea time, pinky’s up, at least that was the idea until another wind blew in. This time the wind was called David, a ten year old boy with the force of a hurricane. Having never experienced a hurricane on a deck that wasn’t moving I really didn’t know what to do. This boy was angry, yelling, and driven by the conviction that we adults had physically destroyed his world and his future.

I had no idea that children of that age could be that angry or knowledgeable, or that I could be left feeling so helpless. I agreed with this young man but could think of nothing to do but look him in the eyes and tell him that I thought he was right, and then I promised him that if I could ever do anything about it, I would. That promise, for better or worse, has occupied the last 30 years of my life.

Wherever you are David, whoever you are, I hope you find something of value in Foundation.


I was home again a couple of years after meeting David. That’s when I first heard of World Federalism. My world experience told me that human problems were ultimately global in nature, so I got involved, and quickly became just as disillusioned as the boy was. I discovered that the world wasn’t meant to be fixed, that it was in fact already fixed.

I started thinking about Foundation at that time, but had no clear idea of what it was, or how to bring about a change of that magnitude, to an organization that clearly didn’t want to deal with it. That frustration led to my next ship in Angola.

There came a very rare day off the mouth of the Congo River when I was able to go on stand by anchor watch off the rig, so I took a book at random from the chief engineers cabin and began reading. That book was Alvin Toffler’s “The Third Wave”. For the first time I understood what Foundation could be, and how it could be achieved. Foundation was thus born off the coast of Africa, and it almost died there a couple of years later.

I returned to Canada to work on Foundation and once again became accustomed to sailing into brick walls. Efforts to suppress foundation were swift, thorough, often personal and sometimes threatening. Being isolated and unsure of a way forward, I returned to Angola feeling somewhat apprehensive about being even more isolated, in a very dangerous place. There was a war going on after all. I went anyway.

Angola was Russian controlled. Its military presence was everywhere from surface ships to Submarines from fighter aircraft to heavy bombers, and its coast hosted a massive fishing fleet. Soyo base, just inside the mouth of the Congo River was an American encampment which existed to supply drill pipe and other materials for drilling at an offshore rig about 15nm into the South Atlantic. One pitch black night, I was headed from Soyo to the rig when I got a call from Texas 2, the radio station for our operation at Soyo base.

An American voice I had not heard before issued a rather sharp order. “Captain, be at the mouth of the Congo River at 0130 hrs”.

The Congo River is a big river with a big mouth. Something like the guy at Soyo Base. No point in going into the conversation here, but after confirmation and release from the rig I headed for an unsure destination which turned out to be a single large Russian fishing trawler, with a man standing by the Hammer and Sickle on the stack, motioning me to tie up.

I was to take on 150 tons of frozen fish and deliver it to Soyo Base because the Russian trawler, the Boziltovy, was supposedly drawing too much water to get into the dock at Soyo, in fact the ship was drawing about 3 ft. less that I was. Soyo was an undeveloped dirt road village that sported a small airstrip a few miles inland, with not a refrigerator or freezer in site, or the electricity to run them. Just jungle and mangrove.

The man by the stack was an impeccably dressed and manicured fellow who identified himself in perfect English as Captain Ivonovich, and who for some reason didn’t know where anything was in his own Cabin.

This was probably the case because he was as much the Captain of the Boziltovy as I was Tom Sawyer. It is also very likely that he was put onto the Boziltovy by the Russian Submarine which followed me out of the Congo River on the way to the rig that evening. He was very likely KGB and the guy at Texas 2 was without question, in my mind, CIA. The oil business was the only way for the CIA to get into Angola at the time. It became clear over the next several hours that the reason for this entire exercise, by both of these agencies, was me, and my work on foundation. For the next 6 hours or so the only topics of interest to Captain Ivonovich were my political beliefs.

Two weeks later, I got shot from out of the mangroves somewhere. Right ear, drew blood so I guess it counts. Maybe it had something to do with my political belief that American and Russian Governments cooperate beautifully, when they are stealing from people. In the case of Angola the Americans got the oil, and the Russians got the fish and interior minerals. That Russian fishing fleet by the way, destroyed the Angolan fishery. What the Angolan people got in return, was screwed, out of everything they had. That was the first time I truly understood how destructive Imperialism is, and what it does to people.

Several days later I discovered quite by accident that Captain Ivonovich wasn’t the Captain of the Boziltovy. It turns out that I was trying to get out of Angola the same day as the crew of the Boziltovy was heading home to Russia on leave, from Luanda to Paris to Moscow, on the same Luanda, Paris flight as myself. A very nervous steward from the Boziltovy tried to tell me that Captain Ivonovich was somewhere in line to board the plane. He wasn’t.

Since then I have been threatened many times, and run off the road once. Members of my family have been threatened. There have been instances of surveillance of all kinds and interference with my communications at every level. These problems persist today in that efforts to secure media and public interest in Foundation have been targeted and intentionally misdirected for most of the last 30 years. One example is that between 2005 and 2010, with another ISP, this website logged a total of 14762, 500 series errors. That’s 14762 people who tried to reach this site, but were for whatever reason denied the right to see it.

And yes, I had a parrot. An African Grey called Congo Willy, He knows a lot, but he’s not talking.

Carl Joudrie March 13, 2012