Dr. John Littell, a former Army doctor and solo practitioner in northern Florida, has organized the Florida Summit on Covid to be held at the World Equestrian Center in Ocala on Saturday, November 6. The public is invited.

Clearly, the media disdains Florida’s new Surgeon General, Joseph Ladapo. He has been called “completely unfit,” a “crackpot doctor” who is “on a rampage,” and a “self-absorbed crank.”

No wonder. He disagrees with how covid policy is practiced in America.

Ladapo sees too much emphasis on vaccines. He says parents should decide if healthy covid-exposed children attend school. He declined, perhaps unwisely, to mask up when meeting a legislator who has cancer, asking instead to go outside.

The scorn heaped upon the Harvard-trained Ladapo—even in a rather red state—is a small sample of the enormous powers allied against those who challenge government-dictated, media-policed covid dogma. Not to worry.

That’s where a former Army doctor and solo practitioner in northern Florida comes in. Having seen hydroxycholoroquine and ivermectin work in perhaps 1,000 covid patients, Dr. John Littell wants to share, build, and grow a movement. One doctor/scientist/citizen at a time. Starting with a rally outside of City Hall and moving to webinars for doctors at the local police department, this has been his life mission since the beginning of the pandemic.

Now, Littell, sixty-three, has pulled together a summit of the best and brightest in the alt-covid movement right in his backyard. On Saturday, November 6, the Florida Summit on Covid will assemble in Ocala to critique, debate, and strategize U.S. covid policy.

Ocala may not be Yalta, which after all brought two willing, warring sides together. But it may be the most important meeting yet in the United States on another way to think about covid-19. It builds on smaller meetings in Puerto Rico and Rome, from which a physicians’ declaration emerged.

The public is invited to the summit at the World Equestrian Center, and so far 550 have signed on, including 100 medical professionals, who will get continuing education credits.

On Saturday, November 6, the Florida Summit on Covid will assemble in the World Equestrian Center in Ocala to critique, debate, and strategize U.S. covid policy. The public is invited.

The lineup includes A-list Covid agitators: Early treatment pioneers Peter McCullough and Pierre Kory, both of whom have testified before Congress; Robert Malone, architect of mRNA vaccine technology and vaccine critic, and leading frontline voices like George Fareed, Brian Tyson, Ryan Cole, Heather Gessling, Paul Alexander, Molly James, and Richard Urso.

The agenda is focused on three urgent topics:

The suppression of early treatment.

The risks of vaccinating children.

The unheeded value of natural, post-covid immunity.

“Ocala is an attempt by expert covid physicians and scientists,” Kory told me, “to protect people from the harm resulting from these three dangerous and non-scientific policies.”

McCullough’s goal for Ocala is this: “For the public to understand that doctors are compassionate and reasonable and can lead the country out of this disaster.”

But as Ladapo’s experience makes clear, only heretics challenge the covid narrative framed by the mainstream media, and they face swift and sure reckoning. Witness the horse-dewormer fiasco just after ivermectin prescriptions soared. In short order, one of humanity’s safest and most valuable drugs was tarred as dangerous. Hydroxychloroquine was similarly vilified early on and cast to the generic trash heap—that is, except by doctors like Tyson, Fareed, and, the Ocala organizer, Littell.

Littell’s first patient was an ICU nurse who became infected early in the pandemic after she cared for a covid patient in his fifties. She described the man’s death as quick, ugly, and startling; he was talking animatedly on his phone one day, then wracked with fever, chills, and labored breathing the next.

When the nurse and her husband got sick, Littell treated them swiftly with hydroxychloroquine, later adding ivermectin to his practice. They recovered. But after hundred of thousands of covid deaths, patients are still not offered such safe, off-label treatments.

“We have a covid protocol; it’s a standard. You cannot go outside of it,” said the long-time nurse who did not want to be named for fear of being fired. “It breaks your heart that these people have been receiving this and don’t survive, and there are alternatives that are actually available that are not being used.”

To her, the tragedy is what she sees now in the ICU: People who believe they are getting the best medicine has to offer but, some of them anyway, perish for lack of it.

In today’s censored, controlled environment, Littell’s idea for Ocala—to question major covid tenets—seems almost subversive.

“I just want to see physicians and other healthcare professionals putting aside all their current biases and exchanging ideas in an open forum which will welcome criticism,” he told me. The outcome will be a consensus and a call to action, he hopes.

So do others. “We are voices lost in the wilderness,” said Dr. Bruce Boros, an early treatment pioneer in the Florida Keys. “That’s why Ocala is critical. To be calling out all of these points.”

As hundreds descend on Ocala, the stakes are high. Ivermectin prescriptions are being refused and delayed by pharmacies nationwide. A New England Journal of Medicine letter warned of alleged ivermectin toxicity, conflating self-administered animal forms with the safe-prescribed drug. The FDA has also concluded that the benefits of vaccinating five- to eleven-year-olds “outweigh the known and potential risks.” That will be debated in Ocala.

Nonetheless, progress has also been made. Dr. McCullough’s talks around the nation, to doctors, lawyers and others, have drawn up to 5,000 people. Just after one in Nebraska, the state’s Attorney General sanctioned the right of doctors to prescribe ivermectin and hydroxychloroquine, concluding, “Allowing physicians to consider these early treatments will free them to evaluate additional tools that could save lives.”

That’s all they ask.

Operating room nurse Brigitte Smith said of Dr. John Littell, organizer of the Florida Summit on Covid, ““His compassion surpasses most physicians that I know—and I know a lot.”

Last June, a visiting minister from Texas brought Covid to a church in Ocala, infecting the pastor. The infection then spread to about fifteen congregants including an operating room nurse, Brigitte Smith, who had visited the pastor and told me the story. What did John Littell do?

He made a house call to the pastor, Smith told me. Treated each and every patient. Made sure none were hospitalized—or worse. “His compassion surpasses most physicians that I know—and I know a lot,” Smith said. Such is power, said the other nurse treated by Littell, of one “passionate doctor who really cares.” The Ocala summit hopes to build on the power of another and another and another.

Said Richard Urso, a Texas ophthalmologist and Ocala panelist: “The goal is to spread like a wildfire. We rise up together. We’re bigger and smarter than the FDA, CDC, and WHO.”

“We’re going to come and show people how to end this pandemic.”

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Mary Beth Pfeiffer’s reporting and most recent book, LYME: The First Epidemic of Climate Change, led her to covid-19. Both diseases have been denied and mismanaged in a corrupt health care system. LYME was just released in paperback.

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