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April 04, 2025
Forging Survival in 1944's Nazi Shadows, Fleeing Hungary's Red Grip in 1947, and Carving a Path Through England's Grit...
Stumbling across the name George Soros is practically inevitable, isn't it?
Dig into this man even slightly - a billionaire wielding his colossal wealth to splash philanthropy across the globe - and you might find yourself dazzled by his persona, his supposed tireless crusade for humanity.
Here's a self-styled champion of the downtrodden,
who, even in his twilight years, never seems to tire of preaching
his gospel of social justice and "open societies".
Yet, under this saintly narrative the cracks start to show.
Dig deeper into Soros and his sprawling web of influence - those vaunted Open Society Foundations meddling in dozens of countries, especially Eastern Europe - and you'll trip over inconsistencies that sting like a slap to the face.
His words don't always match his deeds; the outcomes of his "noble" interventions often reek of contradiction.
Let's not kid ourselves about how Soros built his empire.
This isn't some rags-to-riches fairy tale - it's a saga of a hedge fund predator who raked in billions, sometimes destabilizing entire economies in the process. Remember the 1992 Black Wednesday fiasco, when he famously "broke the Bank of England"?
The British pound tanked, Soros pocketed a cool
billion, and millions of ordinary people were left scrambling in the
wreckage.
But he didn't shout it. Instead, he slumped into the London Exchange, dumped bonds, and sparked a panic.
Prices tanked as traders sold off, clueless. His
men bought cheap, and when the truth hit - boom - Rothschild cashed
in big, leaving the suckers broke. Soros echoed the exact same move
centuries later.
To Soros, it was just another round of the grand game - spotting imbalances, exploiting them ruthlessly, and cashing out while the world burned. He's bragged about it himself, calling himself a master of disequilibrium, a vulture circling the chaos he helped create.
Insider trading?
He's convicted in France, no less - but the
million-dollar fine was pocket change to a man like him. For the
average Joe, it's a parking ticket; for Soros, it's the cost of
doing business. His track record screams profit over people, every
single time.
We'll obsessively unravel Klaus Schwab's every move, poring over his World Economic Forum (WEF) machinations like it's a crime scene, but Soros?
He slinks by, untouched, while we shrug and let
the rumors fester.
The idea that he's a saintly outlier? Laughable.
The questions stack up like a house of cards ready to topple.
Voice them in this so-called "open society," and
you're instantly slapped with the Nazi label - smeared before you
can blink. Stray an inch from the suffocating leash of political
correctness, and the gatekeepers pounce.
Fading fast, and it's no coincidence. History's littered with this script:
Billionaires like Soros and their cronies wield
the full arsenal - guilt trips, blacklists, financial muscle - to
gag the doubters. It's almost too predictable, the way the wheel
keeps turning, grinding dissent into dust.
To hack through this tangled mess, I've leaned
hard into sources still dangling within reach of the average citizen
- at least for now.
Say what you will about its chaos, but it's a
lifeline for those unwilling to swallow the uniform sludge peddled
by the so-called "respectable" outlets - which, don't worry, get
their fair share of airtime in this dissection too.
That's why this thing's littered with references
- breadcrumbs not just to back up the juicy bits but to nudge anyone
curious enough toward Soros's own words, his allies' spin, and the
raw data itself.
It's a simple racket:
But how "serious" are these self-anointed "quality media" gatekeepers, really?
Plenty of sharp minds have spilled ink exposing how facts and truth take a backseat to agenda-driven sculpting in the elite press.
People aren't as blind as they used to be, though - the herd of "conspiracy theorists" keeps swelling. And when the powers-that-be can't handle the heat, they just sling mud and crank up the chokehold on dissent.
What happens when the crowd flips and joins the
"tinfoil" ranks en masse?
Clinging to stale labels and strangling free speech isn't just petty - it's a Molotov cocktail.
Even the level-headed are starting to drift from
the center, feeding the very spiral the "responsible" claim they're
trying to stop. You'd think the masterminds would spot the feedback
loop, unless they're too smug - or too complicit - to care.
But expecting a smoking gun to pin down some grand plot is rookie naivety.
This isn't about staging a gotcha moment or
dragging Soros to the gallows. I'm not here to "prove" he's
puppeteering the planet. What you've got is a take. Me sifting
through the mess without pretending to be some ivory-tower thesis.
No airtight case, no grand theory, just a pile of clues that's hard
to ignore.
You don't need a decoder ring to see how his
"independent" NGOs often march in lockstep with the U.S.
government's leash. String these threads together, and the pattern's
undeniable - conclusions practically draw themselves.
But let's be real:
Some will scoff it's obvious, crowning Soros the grand puppet master of a global plot without a second thought.
Others will clutch their pearls, indignant that a
"philanthropist" of his caliber could even be whispered in the same
breath as conspiracy. Good - let the clash happen. In a so-called
open society, every voice should get its shot.
Still, the traits he's flaunted himself, the ones
that crack open the case, can't be swept under the rug - nor can the
slick maneuvers that stacked his fortune. His market games aren't
the main event here, though; it's the sprawling web he's woven and
its tentacles gripping the world that steal the show.
It's a grimy trick to sideline inconvenient noise, nothing more. Truth doesn't pick teams - left, right, whatever. Petty tribal squabbles are a distraction when the world's this warped.
Personally, I wouldn't trust a single political outfit out there to see past its own nose - none of them have a platform worth a damn.
But facts?
The upcoming articles hone in on Europe's mess and Soros's fingerprints all over its recent convulsions - teasing out what this mega-speculator might be scheming.
With damn near every source laid bare - open for
anyone with a pulse to chase down - the curious can dig deeper and
maybe, just maybe, walk away with a sharper take. If that's all this
thing pulls off, it's already done its job. You'd hope some folks
out there still lift a finger for others without turning them into
pawns for some lofty - or selfish - game. Soros's saga reads like a pulp novel, brimming with dazzling triumphs and shadowy twists. He's billed as the lone Holocaust survivor with a rap sheet - whispers still swirl that he, a Jew, cozied up to the Nazis.
A sphinx in a suit, Soros is a riddle wrapped in
contradictions, preaching his "open society" gospel while his past
festers with unanswered questions.
A cunning predator of the trading floor, he's one of those dreaded locusts of global finance - armed with a razor-sharp mind, a dash of ruthlessness, and a gambler's nerve to claw his way to the top of a cutthroat game.
He's the stuff of legend, the
dishwasher-to-billionaire myth on steroids, living proof of the
American Dream dialed up to obscene excess.
So what does an aging man, already creaking toward the grave, do with a war chest that vast?
Especially one like Soros, who couldn't care less
for the usual high-society fluff - yachts, galas, and other rich-man
toys bore him to tears.
Born György Schwartz on August 12, 1930, in Budapest, his arrival was cosmic fanfare - or so the story goes.
The Perseid meteor shower lit up the sky that night, tears of the heavens raining down, while a near-full moon toyed with the stars.
Astrologers might salivate over 1930's other debut:
Back in the day, that'd be a bad omen scrawled in
the stars, but for Schwartz, the heavens would soon align in his
favor.
His father, Tivadar Schwartz, was a sharp
lawyer and Esperanto enthusiast, a forward-thinker with a flair for
reinvention.
Little György was six, on the cusp of
school, when Tivadar ditched religion entirely - though, truth be
told, the family was never devout to begin with. It was a pragmatic
pivot, and for Soros, the ascent had just begun.
Soros claims the old man was hauled off to a
Siberian POW camp in World War I, where he masterminded a prison
break and bolted, catching a front-row seat to the Russian
Revolution's bloody debut.
Tivadar, a lawyer with a supposed reverence for
rules, learned fast that in times of upheaval, laws are just paper
waiting to burn. Survival trumped everything - principles be damned.
The whole "nightmare" wouldn't last, he figured -
the Nazis were already crumbling across Europe, the war's end in
sight. Yet the occupation dragged on for a brutal year.
Soros recalls strolling through Budapest, passing a lamppost where two Jews dangled, a sign swinging below:
Spiegel's Gregor Peter Schmitz, in a book-length chat with Soros, prodded him - didn't that rattle you, a kid seeing that?
His reply's a gut punch:
That's it - a curt "sure," softened by a shrug about precautions.
It's a peek behind the mask:
His own people strung up, a public spectacle of
horror, yet it's no big deal if his own hide's safe. Tivadar had
forged papers to shield the family and others - a common move, fair
enough.
During German police checks, young George was a trembling wreck - "nearly pissing myself," he admits - clutching fake papers, knowing it was life or death.
His life, his death.
Still, he paints that year as a grand lark.
Across interviews decades apart, he doubles down with eerie consistency:
Twenty years earlier, chatting with Budapest-born journalist Krisztina Koenen - a Soros fan, no less - he echoed the same vibe.
She marvels, stunned:
Soros claims he carried a primal faith in his own survival back then, a cocky instinct that he'd come out on top. He waxes nostalgic about his childhood too - his German nanny, a soft spot for Germany and its tongue.
His father, Tivadar, was adamant about
splitting hairs between "Germans" and "Nazis" - not every German was
a monster, not all bore the swastika's stain.
This officer, a Breslau pharmacist, once vented to him about the grim chore of lining up Jews for deportation. And who was there to pat his back?
Tivadar, the Jew, soothing him:
Soros recounts this warped scene with a smirk:
It gets weirder when you peek at Soros's own antics.
After Tivadar bribed a Hungarian agriculture ministry flunky named Baumbach to take in young György and pass him off as a Christian, the kid flipped a strange switch.
Soon, he was tagging along as Baumbach confiscated Jewish property.
At first glance, it's cut-and-dry:
But decades later, when Soros opens up about it,
his spin doesn't slide off so easy.
Grainy deportation footage flickered behind them as Kroft laid it out:
Soros didn't flinch:
Kroft pressed:
Soros leaned in:
He copped to aiding the property grabs, as Kroft put it, who then prodded:
Soros brushed it off:
Kroft couldn't wrap his head around it, circling back to the guilt angle:
Soros flattened it into cold logic:
And with that, he tied it up neat and tidy - problem solved.
Not everyone could twist that knot so smugly.
That's not a universal salve to cleanse your hands and dodge guilt - it's a bespoke philosophy Soros clings to like a lifeline.
This notion that he's just a stand-in, never the
real villain, pops up again and again, a trusty shield for every
questionable move. His interviewers, more often than not, just nod
along, letting it slide without a peep.
He writes:
Sure, he tosses in that his father aided others,
but the words drip with self-obsession - me, my survival, my path.
He's not the world's richest, but he's up there, and with his sprawling, slippery influence he might just be the most powerful.
That self-focus could be chalked up to the
world's fascination with him, but dig into his early years, and
you'll find an egomania already blooming, paired with a chilling
indifference to others' fates.
Most folks hit moments that test their limits - Soros isn't immune. Hedge fund guru Byron Wien, ex-Morgan Stanley bigwig, once asked if he'd faced any gut-wrenching moments before fleeing Hungary, and how they'd marked him.
Soros, true to form, brushed it off:
Then he adds:
That drags those 1944 paradoxes back into the light - especially his chat with Steve Kroft.
Help? Not quite.
He's got a different spin:
Ponder that one...
But then he drops a rare bombshell:
One time, then, he felt the weight.
The question lingers like smoke.
It's telling that the real obsession with Soros usually flares among those drooling over his financial playbook, itching to crack his golden formula for their own gain.
The philanthropist Soros?
Not that Soros shies from sculpting his public mask - he's no wallflower.
But it's the money wizard, the modern Midas minus
the cursed touch, who reels in the speculators, the market vultures
circling for scraps of his genius. Still, the climb to those first
big wins was no overnight jaunt.
A quip that hints he was already outpacing his
peers' wits. .
England, because the family gorged on BBC broadcasts, and teenage Soros swooned over "objective news" and the "British knack for fair play" - a delicious irony when you clock his later pound-crushing stunts.
Fairness, it seems, bends to the beholder.
His father, who'd survived its chaos firsthand,
reminded him he could spill every gritty detail. Decision made -
England it was, land of impartial headlines and gentlemanly honor.
The relative ghosted the initial letter from
Hungary. Tivadar, ever the sage, drilled persistence into his boy -
send a postcard every week, he urged, and the Brit would cave. It
worked...
The head honcho snapped he'd issue a pass to anyone but,
Yet the "obnoxious kid" won out, passport in hand.
England beckoned.
In plainer terms, he fled Hungary, dodging the communist tide swelling there. The 1945 elections saw the Communists scrape 17 percent while the Smallholders' Party romped with 57 percent, but Soviet muscle kept the reds in the coalition.
The February 10, 1947, peace treaty changed
nothing - Soviet boots stayed planted, ushering in nationalization
and a slide toward Stalinist iron rule.
His father managed to funnel some cash early on,
but Hungary's political and social fabric was unraveling under
Soviet chokehold - conditions so dire that only the 1956 uprising
reunited the Soros clan in England.
His real hunger, though, was for philosophy.
Before classes even started, he devoured texts, including Sir
Karl Popper's The Open Society and Its Enemies, first
published in 1945.
To prop up their warped visions, they twist reality into a pretzel, enforceable only through brute force - there's no other way to ram such dogma down a society's throat.
These regimes dance to their own warped tune,
blind to the world as it is.
It leans on institutions to keep the peace amid the mess of pluralism. Soros, having tasted both Nazi and communist boots on his neck, latched onto Popper's framework like a lifeline.
He became, in his words,
That philosophical spark - later the backbone of his globe-spanning Open Society Foundations - didn't soften the grim reality of Britain's "open" arms.
Soros recalls those early London days:
He'd paid for a measly meal - then 'nada'...
That rock-bottom instant, the only time Soros ever stood penniless, lit a fire.
Half a century later, he bragged:
Fate threw him a bone - a literal break.
A work accident snapped his leg, but the railways
coughed up compensation. From then on, Soros was cushioned, his
financial footing secure.
The snag wasn't homesickness or family ties fraying; it was the brutal reality of being a foreigner with no useful connections, a nobody in a land that didn't care.
Job prospects were a desert, and he'd soon feel that sting even sharper.
His lifeline?
So began Soros's stint as a trainee at a company peddling a motley mix of costume jewelry, souvenirs, and trinkets.
No formal training program existed - he was thrown in as a traveling salesman, hawking baubles up and down the Welsh coast in a creaky Ford Anglia, the cheapest heap the firm could muster.
This wasn't the dream. He hadn't slogged through university to peddle cheap glitter, and even after amassing billions, he'd grimace at that era as a humiliating skid mark on his story.
The gig was a bust - tabacconists wouldn't bite,
tied up with wholesalers, leaving Soros stuck in a dead-end rut.
Lazard Frčres' chief took pity, inviting him in for a blunt reality check.
London ran on a sacred code, he explained:
The brightest nephew - or someone with the right college tie - got the nod. No ties, no dice...
Kindly meant, maybe, but it didn't bend the
rules.
In 1953, he cracked it at Singer & Friedlander, a City of London merchant bank founded in 1907.
The hook?
The work, though, was a snore.
Pay was worse than before, and Soros floundered. His bookkeeping was a mess - each night's tally was supposed to zero out, but he botched it every time.
The guy who'd later be their star alum couldn't add straight.
Even at LSE, studying economics, he'd bristled at the pristine models - too neat, too detached.
Yet this "math dunce" vaulted to the financial stratosphere - coincidence or a sly humblebrag?
Hedge funds live or die by numbers, but Soros,
per analyst Tom Woods, sneered at Friedrich Hayek's "formalized,
mathematical" theories - ironic, since Hayek himself trashed the
math-heavy approach.
He cornered the boss, laying it out:
That same day, over lunch with Robert Mayer
- another trainee - he didn't know it, but his life was about to
flip upside down in minutes.
***
Stay sharp for what's ahead, as we'll peel back more layers of this enigmatic figure, tracing the threads of his life and influence. Meanwhile, pieces on World War I are also in the works, promising to unearth their own buried truths.
But don't sleep on Soros here - his story isn't
just a sideshow; it's a critical piece of the jagged puzzle,
steering us toward the grand, tangled picture it all feeds into.
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