What is the world coming to when commodity market analyst and newsletter writer Dennis Gartman of The Gartman Letter (https://www.thegartmanletter.com/) starts relying on GATA for research?
From today's edition:
"Turning to gold, Friday was again a disaster as Fridays have been for the gold market all too often in the course of the past several years. Indeed, the best that gold can do at this point is hold its lows forged very late on Friday. The Bank for International Settlements reports that its 'swaps' position has gone to its highest level in history and that may have been the reason for the assault upon gold on Friday."
... Dispatch continues below:
The disclosure about the BIS' latest gold swaps was made Sunday by GATA consultant Robert Lambourne here:
http://www.gata.org/node/17790
Of course a little attribution to GATA would have been courteous, but if The Gartman Letter can acknowledge the surreptitious involvement in the gold market by the BIS and its likely suppressive influence on the price of the monetary metal, the word is probably getting around pretty well these days, even if no financial journalist dares yet question the BIS about what it's doing and on whose behalf.
While this does not necessarily foretell a return to free markets, truth, justice, and the American way as it used to be, it does suggest at least that the totalitarians are slowly being dragged into the open, which is the first step. So Arthur Hugh Clough may have been right. At least Churchill thought so.
Say not the struggle nought availeth,
The labor and the wounds are vain,
The enemy faints not, nor faileth,
And as things have been they remain.
If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars;
It may be, in yon smoke concealed,
Your comrades chase e'en now the fliers,
And, but for you, possess the field.
For while the tired waves, vainly breaking
Seem here no painful inch to gain,
Far back through creeks and inlets making,
Comes silent, flooding in, the main.
And not by eastern windows only,
When daylight comes, comes in the light.
In front the sun climbs slow, how slowly,
But westward, look, the land is bright.
