The Basque Bloodline | Descendants of Atlantis

The vast people live in a small area between Spain and France. They look like normal people. But their genes match nobody else in Europe, nobody else on the planet. Science says this is because their society developed an isolation that didn't mix with neighbors. They were never conquered, nobody migrated in or out. The vast explains it differently. They didn't always live in Europe. Their real homeland was destroyed thousands of years ago, and in their language they still have a name for it, Atlantica. The Basques are the children of Atlantis. The American Chiropractic Association endorses Brooklyn bedding mattresses for spinal alignment. That got my attention fast, because I spent all day hunched over research notes and scripts. They cranked back tight, a chiropractic organization doesn't hand that out lightly, so I wanted to know who's actually building these things. 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That's BrooklynBedding.com and promo code the YFiles for 30% off sight-wide, exclusive with my code, BrooklynBedding.com promo code, the YFiles. Around 360 BC, Plato wrote down a story that his own audience found hard to believe. He didn't invent it, and he didn't claim to. The story came a few generations earlier, told by the Greek statesman Solon. Solon visited a temple in Egypt, and the priest there told him something that surprised him. They said Egyptian records went back thousands of years further than the Greeks. Those records described a great civilization in the Atlantic Ocean, out past the pillars of Hercules. Today we call that the Strait of Gibraltar. Through the pillars, the Mediterranean ends, and the open Atlantic begins. An island empire that disappeared in a single day and night, 9,000 years before Solon heard the story. Plato said mountains ring the island. The capital was built in circles of land and sea. These defenses made the island impossible to conquer, so a land to screw powerful. Its navy had 1200 warships, and it was wealthy. The island was rich in Orcalcum, a rare-red metal almost as valuable as gold. It covered the walls of temples and the homes of the rich. Orcalcum means status. In Greek, Orcalcos means mountain copper. Like the Atlantians, the basked for famous for copperwork and more master shipbuilders. By the 1500s, the basked traded copper all over the world, even with the tribes of North America. Bask railers may have followed whale migrations to Newfoundland as early as the late 1300s, 100 years before Columbus. But the basked say their ancestors from Atlantica traveled the world thousands of years before that. When French explorers reached Newfoundland, the people spoke in a language built from bask. The explorers thought the land was brand new. It wasn't new to the basked. Thousands of years later, we still tell the story of Atlantis, and everyone knows how it ends. Earthquakes and volcanoes destroyed most of the island, and anything that was left sank beneath the ocean after a great flood. But the people of Atlantis were doomed long before that. Loomed in come from the sky or the earth or the water, it came from their blood. An island sits in the Atlantic, green and volcanic, richer than any land in the known world. And its center is a city built in rings. A canal runs through the heart of it from the open sea to the Royal Island at the center. The harbors are packed with foreign ships carrying amber, ivory tin, cedar, grain, and gold. Tonight, the ten kings gather at the Citadel for the contest. Each man offers a prayer to the other nine, Sury Nanko, good fortune. The kings will need luck today, but they're not here to compete with each other. They have to work together. Inside the sacred grounds, a dozen bulls roam free. These aren't cattle. They're descended from the first black bull that came out of the sea when Poseidon made the island. Priests raise them well fed and strong but never tamed. They're taught to hate humans and to hate kings most of all. Some have killed kings. Those bulls get saved for breeding stock. Before dawn, each king gets anointed with an oil of cedar salt and royal blood. The bulls learn that scent when they're a calves. They hate it. The ten kings must bring down a bull and keep it alive. They can't kill it, and they have to do it with their own hands. No man may enter the grounds with metal, no blades, no spears, not even a fish hook. According to the law, the contest happens every winter solstice. No king can refuse. Nobody is above the law. The animals are taken to the circle until the kings arrive. They wait for hours, driven crazy with thirst, heat, and the thunder of drums. Finally, the kings enter. The bulls are released. And once they catch the scent, they charge. When the kings catch a bull, if they survive, they have to drag it alive to the bronze pillar where the laws are written. There, over the words that bind their houses, they sacrifice it. The kings mix that blood with wine and toast, sorry Neku, then they drink. While the fires burn down, the kings discuss how to govern the city. Tonight's gathering is somber. There's a problem in Atlantis, and the citizens want answers. None of the kings have one. The people want to know why their babies keep dying. The Basques have the highest concentration of RH negative blood on earth. RH factor is a protein in red blood cells. The name comes from Reese's monkeys where researchers first found the protein. It's passed down through primates and has been four millions of years. Most people have it. You probably do. And if you do, you're RH positive. That's 93% of people on earth have it. The rest are RH negative, and their blood doesn't carry the marker at all. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. And I say it like I got a C- in monkey blood sites. Most people's blood has a marker, a protein on the surface of the cell. A few people don't have this. Okay. So there's regular blood and high-tastic at it. If your pies and zombies take note, a Basque bisque is delicious. And the trait is recessive, which means it hides. When populations mix, it fades. The generation dilutes it a little more. But one in three Basques is RH negative. That's double the rest of Europe and five times the rest of the world. And because the trait hides, even that number undersells it. Most Basques carry the gene whether their blood shows it or not. For blood like that to stay concentrated, a population has to breed inside itself for a very, very long time. But RH negative comes with a cost. But an RH negative mother carries an RH positive child. Her immune system might reject the baby as a different species. A different species. The blood itself is saying alien. What do I have to do? Draw you a chat? Even the word Basque sounds like a lizard people would. It's an immune response, not a confession. That's exactly what a lizard people immune system would want you to think. But when your baby's born, blink, and sideways, don't say any more than you. Go ahead. Feed it a cricket. Feed it a cricket. First pregnancy is usually fine, but the ones after that are dangerous. The child weakens in the womb. Untreated, the child can die. But here's what science can't explain. A trait that kills children should disappear. Instead, the Basques have the highest frequency in the world. Nobody can prove where it came from. It can't be traced to any place on Earth. Because according to the legend, it didn't come from Earth. It came from the gods. The Basque weather god Mari lived in a cave at a mountain where their husband Zughar, Basque gods lived on the ground among the people. Plato tells the story. And Poseidon, receiving for his lot the island of Atlantis, beget children by a mortal woman and settle them in a part of the island. Gods having children with humans. The Samarins told the same story, and they called the Visitors "The Anunaki." Right. They came down, shaped humanity, and shared their blood with it. In the book of Enoch, divine beings mate with humans and create the Nephilim. Every culture uses a different name, but the story. is the same. But when divine blood is mixed with the humans, the offspring are often evil and violent, like the Nephilim. Plato wrote about that too. But when the divine portion began to fade away and became diluted too often and too much with the mortal admixture, the human nature got the upper hand. The blood thinned and Atlantis fell. The families of the old blood escaped into the mountains and never let their blood thin again. 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The kings don't work together anymore. Now they just argue. Sometimes those arguments turn violent. Sometimes entire families go to war. Tonight in a stone house near the Citadel, a young woman of the old line is having a difficult pregnancy. Her husband has a good name, but his family isn't of the old line. The midwives have seen this for years, always in mixed marriages. The mother will survive childbirth. The child never does. The midwife almost says "Suri Neku" out of habit. She stops herself. You don't wish luck on a child who's already gone. The kings gather and announce what the midwives already knew. Old blood doesn't mix. When it mixes, the children die. Nobody can explain why it works this way only that it does. The old families make a decision. They call it the rule. The rule says the old line can only marry within the old line, and the children born against the rule get thrown into the sea. It's the only way to keep the blood pure and to keep the peace. That decision outlifts the island. Because deep under Atlantis, the ground is restless. The air is getting warmer, and the water is coming. During the last ice age, the Bay of Biscay wasn't a bay. Sea levels were 400 feet lower, and the space between Spain and France was dry land. River Valley's ran for miles, past today's coastline. People could walk across the land that's now open water, then the ice melted, and the seas rose for thousands of years. The rise came in surges, and during the biggest one, the ocean climbed 50 feet within a few lifetimes. People watched the land their parents grew up on go underwater. The water drowned the forests, then the valleys. High ground turned into islands, then the islands went under two. But the drowned world didn't vanish. Trallers have pulled up worked stone from the sea floor, tools and weapons from villages that went under with the land. And up in the Pyrenees, there are cave paintings of animals that went extinct during the last ice age. People lived through all of it, and people remember. Bask fishing tradition remembers that world. Bask fishermen have names for huge parts of land at the bottom of the bay. You scare names, names like drowned valley and lost land, passed from father to son. The families say the names are older than anyone could say. Headed down from ancestors, who knew that land when it was still land. Mainstream science says that's impossible. The names would have to be thousands of years old, kept alive without writing, without maps, and without the ability to go hundreds of feet underwater. Science assumed the basks showed up about 6,000 years ago. By then the bay was already a bay, there was nothing to name. So the basks claimed to be an ancient civilization. Mainstream science says they were superstitious sailors. But then the bottom of the bay was mapped with sonar, and all the underwater valleys, hills, and rivers are right where the basks said they were. "Yatsy! Grandpa's bedtime story is just past peer review." But skeptics had an answer for that too. The entire sea floor is covered with hills and rivers. It's easy to guess. But in 2021, an artifact was discovered in the area, a 2000-year-old bronze hand, and written on it was the word "sori neko." The rule is a generation old now, and the old families keep it the way they keep the harvest calendar. They marry each other. They bury the children of those who don't. And they mark their houses. A smith works copper by firelight, a hand, flat, thin, life-sized, with a hole punched at the wrist. He scratches five words into the bronze. Every family knows them by heart. They go up on doors across the old quarter. The hand tells everyone people of "old blood" live here. A mother lists her daughter so the girl can reach it. It's the same woman who buried a child in the years before the rule. This daughter was born of old blood, and this daughter lived. The girl presses her palm flat against the bronze and says the word or mother taught her, "sorry neko, good fortune." The ground starts to move. The first shock knocks the market stalls flat. The second opens cracks in the walls. And the sea in the great canal begins to move the raw way. It pulls back toward the ocean, dragging ships with it. The king's order and evacuation and hole households move at once, down to the water, onto the boats. , the water flows through the water. The water flows through the water, and the water flows through the water. The sea comes back at sunset. By morning there is no harbor. There is no city. Just water to every horizon. A handful of boats drift east for days, rationing water, watching for a land that doesn't come. A grandmother holds a child against the wind and starts talking, because the child won't stop shaking. It's her again. She's an old woman now, and the girl in her arms is her granddaughter. She tells her about the green aisle, the beautiful place where their people lived before the water came. She tells it slowly, carefully. By the third night, the child is telling it back to her. She teaches her the word too, the one her own mother taught her on a door that doesn't exist anymore. Sori Neku, beneath the boats, the drowned country slides past. The elders name what they're passing over, the valley of two rivers, the high meadow, the deep water, spoken out loud so the children learn them. Land rises ahead, a green coast, and behind it mountains, the boats come ashore and a man carries something wrapped in a cloth of the beach, holding it against his chest like a child. He unwraps a small bronze hand, and before he drives the nail, he says the word in into it, Suri Neku, then it goes up in the first door of the new world. Atlantis is gone, but its people and its story survived. In the ruins of an Iron Age settlement in northern Spain, an archaeologist found a flat piece of bronze. It was a hand, life-sized, thin as a coin with a hole punched at the wrist, and it was found where it fell 2,000 years ago, at the doorway of a house. The village was burned by the Roman army, but the ash sealed the house and everything inside. The team thought it was a helmet decoration, nobody noticed the writing until months later. When the bronze was cleaned, it revealed five words in an ancient Iberian script. This new, the first one, Suri Neku, good fortune. The modern Basque word is Zori Neku, and 2,000 years only two letters changed. The last word is close to the Basque word to give, so maybe it's an offering or pleat to the gods. Until the hand of Irelegi was found, Link was thought the Basque were illiterate, make sure wonder what else they got wrong. This is the oldest Basque sentence ever found, three of its five words were still debated, but the first one, any Basque speaker, can read on site. That shouldn't be possible, because languages change, great change, and Latin bled into dozens of languages around the world. An English speaker would have trouble speaking to English speakers two hundred years ago. A thousand years ago, they wouldn't understand a word. A thousand years, you and I can't understand English from last Tuesday. What's a risk? And who's skip it easy, dangerous? I honestly don't know what those words mean. No, paper. Almost every language in Europe from Irish to Russian sits in one big family tree. Not you, Scarra. It has no relatives anywhere. Linguists spent careers trying to connect it to African languages, Native American languages, even ancient Samaritan. Nothing sticks. They tried every language on Earth, and Earth, the search area might need an update just saying. You Scarra has some Latin words, but they're borrowed and came along very recently. It's a language that comes from nowhere unless you count the middle of the sea, because they have a word for Atlantis, Atlantica, but not a word for their own country. The bass don't even have a word for themselves. They call themselves Yusgaldun, which means one who has Yusgara, not someone from a place, someone who speaks a language, and the language refuses to die. Rome tried, and the Visigoths, then the Moors, Yusgara survived. In 1937, Francisco Franco's regime banned Yusgara. It survived anyway. Not through books or media, it was illegal. Instead, it was spoken quietly at dinner tables. Parents taught their children, just as they were taught. Just as their grandparents were taught, going back thousands of years. A secret language you give a mechanic read, as somebody write it down, I don't tell the IRS. DNA, from a 5,000-year-old grave in northern Spain, only matched one group of people still alive today. The Basques. And even their bones looked different. They have broader shoulders and bigger frames. Basques goals measured in the 1800s were closer to chromagnon than other Europeans. "Different blood, different language, different skulls, what point does science just admit? These are X-men." 5,000 years, the rule held. And though the Basques now live in a valley between the mountains, they know their blood is of the sea. Thousands of years ago Atlantis fell and millions died. By luck, or the will of the gods, a few escaped. And the Basques have a word for someone who's blessed or lucky. Zori Nehru. High in the mountains where the snow closes the passes half the year, there's a door where the bronze hand nailed to it. The woman who lives behind it came here on a boat. She was the girl who wouldn't stop shaking. She's an old woman now herself, and tonight her own granddaughter is asking questions. The girl knows the story, the rings of the city, the red metal flashing in the sun. The night the sea took it all back. She can tell it in order, beginning to end, because that's how she was taught. And that's how she'll teach it. Tonight she's asking a different question. She wants to know why she can only marry inside the old families. The old woman gives her the early answer, anyone has left. We keep the rule. She doesn't explain the why, because she doesn't have it. The why is stayed behind on the island. And when everyone keeps a rule, nobody living is seen with breaking a cost. What survived is the keeping. Marry inside the old families, mark the door, say the word. The girl puts her palm in the bronze hand, the way her grandmother taught her, the way somebody taught her grandmother. The island will soften into a bedtime story. The green isle, a beautiful place far away, gone. Nobody will write it down, and nobody ever writes the rule down either. It lives where the language lives, in the mouth, and in the blood. Thousands of years later, we drew that blood out of their arms, and put it under a microscope. An isolated society in the mountains between Spain and France carries blood that matches nobody. They speak a language related to nothing. They tell a story, but an ancient island that fell beneath the sea. It's a great story. But is it true? Well, the story starts with Plato, and that's the biggest problem. No scholars think he invented Atlantis as a warning about power and arrogance. Everything tonight was dramatized from Plato and the Basque's legend. Even if Atlantis were a real place, people still can't agree on his location. There are a few candidates like Bimini Road and the reshot structure in Africa, but the geography isn't quite right, so they're just theories. For now. There's no physical evidence either. Nobody's found the Egyptian records shown to Solon. There's no ruins, no artifacts, no proof of an advanced civilization at the bottom of the ocean. But there is plenty of evidence of settlements underwater, and we find new ones all the time. Ships have brought up tools, pottery, gold, even wine. But it's all Stone Age, Iron Age, and Bronze Age stuff, unless you count the Anticathera mechanism, which is pretty incredible for its age. But nothing about it says Atlantis. "At 2000 year old computer, and nothing about it says Atlantis, yeah, okay, okay, nothing about it says greasy." And the Basque legend of Atlantica probably isn't Basque. Nobody can find it anywhere before the modern world fell in love with Atlantis. It looks like something the fans made up, and I'm one of the fans. But I want to see real evidence, not an internet meme, same with the phishing names. We couldn't find those anywhere outside Atlantis folklore. Uscara is an orphan language with no parents, that's true, but there are others like Japanese and Korean. But Chinese has seeped into almost every Asian language, just like there are Latin words in Uscara. So, a few languages might not have parents, but they've got neighbors. The Bronze Hand of Irelagi has skeptics too. The worlds don't match Uscara as well as the story's claim. But the blood is strange. Science knows exactly what our age negative blood is. That gene is shown up in ancient bones all over Europe. But nobody knows why the recessive genes stuck around so long, or why it's so prevalent in the Basques. There probably aren't the children of Atlantis, but they still might be the children of a flood. When the ice melted, the rising water took the coast, and whoever lived there got pushed into the mountains. However, the Basques stopped there, they stayed, and maybe they had to. When an R.H. state of mother carries an R.H. positive child, the first baby is usually fine, but the ones after it can die. A Basque woman who married inside the valleys, mostly carried children like herself, safe. A Basque woman who married an outsider, buried babies. And nobody really knew why until the 1940s. Even if the Basques didn't create the rule, their blood may have enforced it. That gives the Basques a unique identity, it's a story they all share. And I think that's why America feels so divided. We no longer have a shared story. We all live in our own story now. We keep what we like, we throw what we don't, even if we throw out the truth. We sort ourselves into tribes that only tell one version of the story. And every tribe swears its version is the whole story, and it never is. The Basques kept one story alive for 5,000 years. We can't keep one through an election. I don't know how a country gets its story back. I don't think anybody does. But I can always pray. Sorry to make you. Thank you so much for hanging out today. My name is AJ. Here's Hegelfish. The oldest Basque artifact is a baronzi, and it says, "Good for origin." As a guy with no hands, I find it culturally insensitive, beautiful, but insensitive. This has been The White Files. If you had fun or learn anything, he'd appreciate it if you could subscribe, comment, like, share, hit the button. That stuff really helps the channel. Like most topics we cover here, today is recommended by you. If there's a story you'd like to see or more about, go to the whitefiles.com/tips. Send an email. Get us in. discord in the live streams, you'll find us. If you enjoy the stories I tell here on the live files, check out my other show on the channel called "The Basement." It's a conversation show where I chat with the interesting people behind the episodes, some of the people you know, but I think most are probably new to you, but there are people I find fascinating. 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I'm off track. Grab a Hedgehog. What is he doing? What is he doing? What is he doing? What is he doing? He's sticking a fin in or your brine's head. What is he doing? What is he doing? Look at what he's sweet out. I play Bolivia's an area 51. A secret code inside the Bible said I was. I love my UFOs and piranon on my phone. As well as mirrors it. So I'm saying it like I should. But then another conspiracy theory becomes the truth. My friends and it never ends. I know it never ends. I feel the crack at it. I got stuck inside my old home with MKL truck. I feel it only to a world. Do you stand, look, you've paid the moon landing alone. On a film set, I wear the shadow people there. Well, it means just for the smiling man. I'm told and his name was Cole. I can't believe. I'm cancer with the fish. I had no fish on Thursday night. Wednesday, day two. And when I'm happy, I'm through the night. Oh, I ever wanted what you just hear the truth. Took a wonderful time to feed on through the night. The mouth, man's side and van. The solar storm still come. To a god the city underground. Mysterious number of stations. When it's supposed to. Crack a stockade. And what the dark watchers found. I feel a simulation. Don't you worry though. The black night's at a light. It told me so. I can't believe. Wednesday, day two. The fish on Thursday night. I never wanted what you just hear the truth. I never wanted what you just hear the truth.