Friday, March 01, 2013

The Destruction of Bill White




Hello, Harold:

Well, by the time you get this, you’ll probably have heard that I got fucked. [Federal judge] Adelman decided to give up on the law and just hit me with 42 months, partially concurrent. If I avoid incidents I’ll do about two years more than I’d been expecting. It’s not good—I should have been out by April 15th, but all hope is not gone. If my §2255 hits this April or May, I could be released or see a substantial time cut. My case is now at the Supreme Court, and maybe the feds will feel less pressure to “get” me again in Roanoke. So we’ll see, but for now I’m fucked as I was before, with just as bleak a forecast.

In my last letter I promised your readers, like the mouse in Alice in Wonderland, that I would share the long, sad story of my Mexican vacation. AFP is currently sitting on my Prison Diaries, but this is an exclusive for you.

In July 2008, a federal court in Virginia ruled that I could post addresses on the internet so long as I didn’t make threatening comments. I mistook this for the law. So when Matt Hale’s latest §2241 or §2255 came up, I profiled his jury foreman, a gay Jewish anti-racist with a black boyfriend who had picketed Hale in the past. [If that is the case, then this juror should have been disqualified from serving at the Hale trial, which may be one reason why the dictatorship is so sensitive about him and does not wish attention drawn to him. Comments on Matt Hale legal case redacted on the wild off-chance the dictatorship may use this blog to try and screw around with that case as well. - HAC]

When I did this, I neither wanted nor expected violence. Adelman noted that if a juror had been assaulted with a weapon, my offensive level would have been lower than it was for merely criticizing him. So actually I would have been better off under federal law stabbing the guy, rather than publishing a critique. But that is what I did. I criticized one of the Chosen, and I was convicted of “threatening” him.

Well, my first 30 months in prison were hell. I spent 21 in solitary confinement. I was subjected to sleep deprivation, placed in freezing cold cells, and kept overnight in rooms that were flooded with human feces. I was drugged and “interrogated” in relays while not being allowed to sleep or go to the bathroom, or alternatively denied liquid until I was tortured with thirst. I was repeatedly threatened by my federal interrogators with beating and homosexual rape by black inmates although this was not actually done. My mind broke under this several times.

I never wanted this to happen. I didn’t want to be the guy standing in front of the tank on Tienamen Square. All I wanted from day one was to make a deal to save my marriage, my family, and my business. I would have agreed to give up publishing and activism. But they wanted me to plead to 35 years. They wouldn’t budge. Unable to surrender, I fought them legally, and I was punished for it.

By the time of my sudden acquittal and release, I had gone completely insane. I wrote about this in my book, Tradition of the Mother. In October of 2010 I began speaking to a demonic being who had joined me in my cell, probably as the result of the drugs I was being given. Over the next year, my mind shattered.

In this condition, after eight months of solitary confinement, I was released to the street. I couldn’t cope, and had little support. One of the first seriously strange things I did was to tear my arm open bloody with the point of a pen, because I couldn’t take people shouting at me. I couldn’t handle stress. Even a little drove me into an insane rage—not anger, not normal emotion, but this blank space cadet effect. I couldn’t sleep. Sometimes the nightmares didn’t stop when I woke up. Once, before I fled the country, I drove to Knoxville from 3 a.m. until noon because I thought people in my dream were after me. I can’t even say all the strange things I experienced.

Around October 2011 things started coming back together. I received joint custody of my daughter. I had a cat move in. I started normalizing. But I knew my death impended; I had foreseen it in a vision in May of 2011, and yes, I know how loony that sounds. I can only repeat that when I was released I wasn’t even within shouting distance of my right mind. I know that now, but to me, all this was real.

In A Distant Thunder you write about “long periods of paranoia and nervous breakdown broken by brief bursts of madness and horror.” This was my life before April 20, 2011 through October, maybe November of 2012. All I wanted, like Lurch in A Distant Thunder, was to be left alone. I did little, but tried to pay off investors in my business, which had failed during my 30 months inside. I drank coffee and wrote, living on a horse farm on a mountain where the nearest town was 7000 people. But as you have written, “the one wish tyranny cannot grant is simply to be left alone.”

Around January of 2012 the Roanoke Times, angry that I wasn’t doing anything, began making up stories claiming that I had been involved in political events. In February 2012, the newspaper reported on an alleged fight between me and a protestor at Lee-Jackson day that never happened. Living near Lexington, I attended the parade with my four-year-old along with 2000 other people. But I did nothing but debate whether the Confederate flag would be prettier if it was pink and purple with a penguin on it.

Later that same month, knowing my date with destiny was coming, I quit my job. In March 2012 I received word that my Fourth Circuit appellate lawyer had taken my money and run—she told me someone had advised her it was not in her best interest to continue to represent me. In April 2012, after I was packed, I received word that the FBI was planning to attack my home. It may seem crazy, but I had to leave.

You wonder, Harold, why White men don’t fight. They don’t fight because they are too invested in the system and have too much to lose. I would have given up early on, but after my release, with my business in ruins and my wife and I divorcing. I had nothing to lose. Even then, I would have settled for peace and quiet.

Then when the time came to act, I fled, because I had a daughter whom I loved and I stood no chance alone against the United States. I understood, though, as you say in Distant Thunder: “Our battle against the United States is a battle against Satan, against the principle of evil that is hateful and destructive of all human life, at a time when it sits enthroned and triumphant all over the world.” And I thought discretion was the better part of valor.

I left a week ahead of the FBI, who raided my now-empty house on May 11th. I still don’t know why; no one has bothered to explain it to me since my re-arrest. I believe they were plotting to kill me. I fled through Mexico. [Lengthy section redacted which describes White’s arrest and torture in a Mexican jail and his subsequent handover to the dictator’s secret police. I’m snipping this because there is simply no way to tell what these people may try to use against this man they take such malicious delight in tormenting, and it’s probably not a good idea to publish anything on his current legal cases. - HAC]

I wanted to live quietly. Many men would have quietly respected the law and let the FBI murder them, or let the Policia take them in. My trouble is that I’m too smart not to know when I’m beaten and to recognize the law for what it is.

Law is will backed by force. There is a natural right and wrong, and that, not law, is the standard by which all things, including law, is judged. Insofar as the law represents will divorced from what is right, it is invalid, and deserves no more respect than the armed force behind it commands.

Before 2008 I respected the law. I never intended to break it. Maybe I did, in a minor way, with the [black] banking girl I “threatened,” but I didn’t in the other three cases. I did nothing to justify the destruction of my business and my family. I did nothing to justify being tortured and drugged. I should never have served 30 straight months in prison. When the law did these things to me, and did them knowingly, using perjury and manufactured evidence for purely political motives, the law made itself no longer worthy of respect, except insofar as it backs its claim with force.

The law ultimately cannot maintain itself by simple force. When people are willing to die to fight it, the law fails. The United States has tried to impose “law” in Iraq, Afghanistan, Syria, Libya, Yemen—and the resistance of those peoples has shown the “law’s” limits. Law requires respect, and when the law and the men who enforce it are no longer worthy of respect, the system collapses. It will collapse in the United States, my guess is sooner rather than later.

In the United States the law is, in practice, based on the idea of a permanent revolution. The law maintains respect by constantly fighting and defeating its “enemies”. Legal process is used to create a narrative, told in the media, of greater importance than justice and equity. In my case it was the narrative of the "Destroyed Nazi." To sustain this narrative the United States outlawed me, not my behavior or even my thoughts, but a false, constructed “me” that exists only in the mind of the law.

With this, the idea of middot is important. Middot is the method of reasoning begun by Rabbi Hillel in the first century B.C. and developed through [illegible] that underlies the Talmud and Kabbalah. [Digression on Kabbalah redacted.] This appears to be how Jewish judges read the law (the angel of death killed Egyptian children, Egyptians were anti-Semites, the law can order your children killed.) The words just don’t mean the same things. But the Jews demand that this irrationality command respect.

Adelman even claimed my divorce meant I didn’t love my family. I didn’t want to divorce, I had to. My wife was part of it, but I was more part of it. I lived for my family before my arrest and literally signed everything I owned over to my wife. When the FBI attacked my home on October 17, 2008 my only thought was for my wife and daughter. I couldn’t keep them in the bubble of danger that surrounded them. [Remainder of paragraph redacted due to potential for abuse by the dictatorship. - HAC]

So now I fight with my wife to get funds for my daughter’s well-being established, but some Jew says I don’t have ties to my family. And the judge implied that because I am not mentally ill, not an addict, and not the product of a broken home that my “crimes” were less excusable. LOL. Jewish justice, indeed.

I hope this is worth publishing, Harold.

I have asked AFP to comp you two copies of my books. If you haven’t received them, contact [name and e-mail address redacted] and tell her I said to send them to you and she can e-mail me to confirm. By the time you publish this I should be at:

William A. White #20040199844
Roanoke City Jail
324 Campbell Avenue SW
Roanoke, VA 24016

That address should be good after March 14th or so. I appreciated your reader’s letters last time—many may still be waiting for me at Loretto. I also have several people here who enjoy your books and want to write to you. I hope they do.

Sincerely,
Bill

[Note: Since his re-arrest Bill has been getting a lot of what prison inmates call “diesel therapy,” frequent and pointless moves from prison to prison in order to keep an inmate away from his friends, his attorney, get him out of or into certain court jurisdictions, and generally cause him to disappear within the system. Bill is supposed to be headed back to Roanoke from Chicago, and the above address might be accurate after the middle of March, but then again, it might not be. His present address is

William A. White #13888-084
Metropolitan Correctional Center
71 West Van Buren Street
Chicago, IL 60605

I figure I better give that one as well. He may be gone from Chicago back to Roanoke on schedule in mid-March, or he may not. They may send him someplace else, or he may still be in Chicago six months from now. There is simply no way to predict what these people may do, except that when they get a human being to play with into their gooey paws, they like to bat him around like a mangy cat with a rubber mouse. – HAC]



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