The Paleocrat Tribune

NOTE: This is only the first of many to come. I seek to expose the wrongdoings of those police, detectives, public defenders, Child Protective Service agents, and medical aid contractors at the County Jail as well as fully explain how the evidence the prosecutor wishes to use against me is actually my best defense. Maybe I’ll start with the prejudicial nature and possible impact of jury corruption resulting from a statement made by an anonymous representative for the Battle Creek Police to Trace Christenson of the Battle Creek Enquirer where it was said that I am “one of several people who have cashed stolen checks to pay for components to make methamphetamine,” only then to admit in the very next paragraph that I have “not been charged with a drug crime.” We’ll see…

Psalm 7:7 – Rise up, O Lord, in Thy anger: and be Thou exalted in the borders of my enemies.

Proverbs 19:28 – An unjust witness scourneth judgment: and the mouth of the wicked devoureth iniquity.

Ecclesiastes 3:16 – I saw under the sun in the place of judgment wickedness, in the place of justice iniquity.

I have remained silent since March pertaining to a charge leveled against me by the State of Michigan. After having spoken with my priest, family, well-informed friends, various members of the legal community, and having read an eye-opening article, I’ve decided to break my silence. Rather than allowing the State to coerce a plea, and one that would require me to purger myself on account of it being a false admission, I believe it to be in my best interest to discuss this matter in a manner worthy of a Catholic and a faithful citizen.

In the latter portion of March my parents were in the process of a divorce. Part of the divorce proceedings involved the house they lived in, which happened also to be the home I spent my teenage and early college years residing in. Rather than continuing to live in a five-bedroom home, my mother and father decided it best to offer my wife and I the opportunity to move in. Unfortunately, we were given a very short amount of time (under two weeks) to move out of the home we had been living in for almost two years. Regardless of this difficulty, we jumped at the opportunity.

During this time a young man by the name of Justin Parker had been evicted from his home. I had known Justin since he was young, but hadn’t seen him in some time on account of my years spent going to Bible College in Dallas and Vancouver, my having being stationed in Groton (CT) at the New London Submarine Base during my time in the Navy, and the year spent in New Jersey working with a Protestant youth group and later as the chief aide to a highly respected pro-life lobbyist in Trenton, New Jersey. Although I may have lost contact with him over the years, I remained best friends with his older brother Brian and would still (even to this day) refer to their mother as “Ma Parker.” So while I may have been ignorant as to his activities during my absence, I had little reason to believe (or so I thought) that allowing him to stay at our home during the remaining five days of our move would be problematic.

The rules of his stay were simple: No smoking in the house, no parties, help my wife and I pack during the day, no swearing in front of the children, and make sure that none of our valuables were stolen as we would spend every evening unpacking and sleeping at the home we were moving into. It appeared that he was remaining faithful to these rules, and my wife and I were always impressed with how clean the house was upon our arrival during the day.

But as mankind wasn’t endowed with omnipresence or omniscience, many things could (and did) go on without our knowing. Apparently, Justin would invite many of his friends over after my wife and I had left for the evening. What they did I do not know, nor do I wish to speculate. But what doesn’t demand speculation is that he and others had been, according to one witness found to be in cahoots with them, stealing from under our noses. Amongst those things stolen were the checkbooks belonging to my wife and I, as well as those belonging to our friend Mary.

As I would later discover, Justin, his girlfriend, and others had been caught up in a number of illegal activities. One, which should now be obvious, was check fraud. The other, as would be made evident the day police raided the old home, was their involvement with the low-level production of crystallized methamphetamine. I say low-level because it consisted of what the police refer to as “single cookers” rather than the kind of elaborate labs often seen in Hollywood productions portraying drug creation. The “lab” consisted of two-liter bottles, fertilizer, coffee filters, nasal congestion medication, salt, and a host of other common products found in many American homes.

The same morning the police raided the other home, my wife and I received a visit from Calhoun County Sheriff deputies. They asked whether or not I was running meth out of my home. I was very confused, but also very cooperative. I allowed them to investigate the entirety of my property and home. After doing so, and after having questioned me for a few minutes, they concluded that there was no sign of drug production or activity on the premises.

After having left the home, my wife and our friend Mary decided to visit the other home and see if they had a similar encounter. Upon passing the residence, my wife noticed a large number of police cars and people wearing what she would describe as  outfits like those the scientists wore in the movie ET. So they immediately returned home, picked me up, and went to speak with police as to what had happened at our other residence.

The police were very friendly and extremely informative. My wife and I had tons of questions, most of which pertained to the safety of our children, what to do with our belongings, and what would happen to the home. After speaking with them at great length, I decided it would be best for me to go to the precinct in order to answer any questions they may have had for me. I did this of my own free will.

Upon entering the interrogation room, a detective read me my Miranda rights. Having only heard this on television and believing it to function as a safeguard for anyone, regardless of whether or not they were a suspect, given the fact that many people unwittingly incriminate themselves when voluntarily divulging information to police, I took no offense at having my rights read to me. But the last thing from my mind was the idea that it was indicative of my being a suspect.

The detective immediately began questioning me in a way that caused me a great deal of discomfort. I was unsure as to why she was asking me certain questions, as I couldn’t see the relevance they had to the situation that had taken place at the home. The check ring scandal was something I was still unaware of, but it was the sole topic under discussion.

I was asked if I knew anyone by the name of Harold Crosby. Aside from being bad with names (something I admitted), the name didn’t ring a bell. There was no effort made to describe who Crosby was or what he did for a living. The detective immediately went on to question me as to whether or not I knew anyone who lived on Lincoln Blvd. But streets, as with names, are difficult for me. I remember faces, and I am good with landmarks, but the detective had little interest in assisting me with further information. The entire affair began feeling much more hostile than cooperative.

Finally, the detective showed me a check bearing the name of Harold Crosby, who apparently lived on Lincoln Blvd., written out in the amount of $400. I was then asked why my name was on the front of the check and my signature was on the back. My immediate reaction, as evident on video and transcript, was fear that someone had been accessing funds in my account. I was terrified, and expressed as much. My primary fear being that my wife, who manages our finances, was unaware of money being taken from our account and that, as a disabled veteran on a fixed-income, we would have a difficult time paying our bills. But I was quickly informed that I had everything all wrong. No money was stolen from me. Rather, I was being accused of having uttered and published a stolen check.

Enter impenetrable defense mechanisms. A voluntary visit to the precinct to offer any help I could had quickly turned into a scenario of “us vs. them” with my neck on the felony chopping-block. My immediate reaction was outrage. I was offended at the insinuation. The idea of stealing money, or anything for that matter, was enough to cause my moral gag reflex to go into overdrive. But my becoming defensive, and denying any involvement with that particular check, didn’t help the situation. The context of the situation was now one revolving around the accusation that I uttered and published a stolen check, was aware of a check fraud ring that had been under investigation for some time, and was being accused of covering up for others involved. But being appalled at the accusation didn’t help me, as I spent the rest of the time expressing my outrage at such an accusation rather than attempting to understand how or why my name would be on the check. Suffice it to say the first interrogation went nowhere.

The second interrogation went even worse. This time it was a man by the name of Detective Tom Leper of the Battle Creek Police Department. Much like his partner, he decided to play tough with me, treating me as a hostile suspect rather than one who was genuinely confused over the accusation and outraged over the insinuation that I would intentionally hide the truth. During this interview I was informed that I could be facing a maximum of 14 years in prison. I was called a liar repeatedly. And when I finally snapped back at him with the claim that my religious convictions as a Catholic would prohibit me from lying to him, he quipped back that I was going to hell. Once again, an extraordinarily hostile environment saturated with threats of maximum post-trial penalties. Suffice it to say that I should have shut up and told them I would no longer speak until I had talked to an attorney.

It was at this point that everything was coming together. Were the detectives to have told me that Harold Crosby was a Southern Baptist pastor, this would have helped. Were they to have told me that Lincoln Blvd. was near Battle Creek Country Club in Lakeview, this would have helped me. But the most important bit of information would have been to inform me that a certain Brandon Burge lived with this pastor. Brandon was friends with Justin, and I had once picked Justin up outside that residence to go and visit his girlfriend. This would also have laid to rest what the check was and why my name was on it.

The day was like most others. It was a Saturday and my wife and I were packing our belongings from the old house. Justin had asked to borrow my car (it was the only means of transportation available), and promised he would be back shortly to continue helping us pack. About an hour after having left the home, his friend (also named Justin, but will be referred to as JG to spare any possible confusion) arrived without any warning. He was supposedly looking for Justin. Within a matter or moments, we received a call from Justin asking for me. Apparently, his friend Brandon, who I knew had been taken into a home belonging to a Baptist pastor (later identified as Crosby), had received a check for work he had supposedly done at the church and in the home. Unfortunately, he had no means of transportation and his bank was closed, but he needed the money in order to pay bills. Justin asked if my bank was open and if I would be able to cash it for him. Not-so-coincidentally, JG’s arrival provided me with the transportation necessary to go to my bank. So I agreed.

I have been asked many times since as to my reasoning for agreeing to cash the check. What most people do not know about me is that at the age of 17 I had run away from home and spent almost six months, spanning from late winter to early spring, homeless. I lived under a bush on Goguac St., and have occasionally visited that site over the years in order to assure myself that I would never forget the depths from which God saved me. It wasn’t until a local Baptist pastor took me into his home that I would begin putting my life back together. Were it not for him, the work he and his family had me do around the house, and the loving kindness (and longsuffering!) of that household and the church members that were able to see good and potential in me, I am not at all sure I would be the man I am today. It is for this reason, more than any other, that I have opened my doors to so many who were left with nothing but a wish of good luck and a door slammed in their face.

So I sympathized, even identified, with Brandon’s predicament. Add to this my belief that no one would ever consider using such a story to convince one they knew had been through an identical situation, and who they knew to be very religious, and who they knew to have been one to open up their home to people going through difficult situations to unwittingly take part in an illegal scheme. The very idea that someone would do this, given all of those factors mentioned, was beyond anything I would have imagined. But this trust turned out to be gullibility and naivety, and I was their perfect fall guy.

Over the next few weeks my home would be visited by Child Protective Services. This was my first encounter with this organization, and I pray I never see them for the remainder of my life. They insisted upon entering my home, taking a look at my children, and then informed me that my entire family had been required to undergo a drug test. Mind you that my children are of the ages five, two, and (at the time) a few months. We subjected ourselves to testing, which was one of the most humiliating experiences of my adult life, having taken place on my birthday, and were promptly permitted to leave on account of my children having no sign of toxicity levels. Unfortunately, CPS would continue stopping by for surprise visits, each time wishing to enter the home, analyze my children, and force me to undergo drug testing. When I refused to consent, as they lacked any warrant and their asking me to do as much was premised on the treacherous notion that “my name needed to be cleared” rather than presuming my name to be clear until proven otherwise by a jury of my peers in a court of law. They would threaten to speak to the prosecutor regarding my “non-compliance,” and insisted that discussion of Constitutional rights were of no interest to them. It wasn’t until I placed a “No Tresspassing” sign at the entrance to my driveway that they ceased bothering me.

As time went on it appeared that everything had been resolved. There were no visits from police, no calls from detectives, and no visits from CPS. That was until the Calhoun County Sheriff’s deputies arrived at my home early one morning. They entered my home and told me that I had a warrant for my arrest on the charges of uttering and publishing. I was handcuffed in front of my children.

The next day and a half would be spent in a county holding cell, donned in an orange suit and sandals given to me by the jail. I found it interesting, though, that I had not been read my Miranda. In the state of Michigan, at least to the best of my knowledge, a Miranda is not required if one is only asked for a name and address. But I was asked (upon my first entering the building) about my medical record, and was later fingerprinted and underwent a questionnaire. It wasn’t until my arraignment that I was read my Miranda, which hardly permitted me time to consult with an attorney.

When first asked about my medical record, I notified them of the importance of receiving medicine at proper times. This is especially on account of my being diagnosed by psychiatrists at the VA as having Bi-polar disorder as well as an extreme case of anxiety/panic disorder, both of which requires a hefty regiment of medication. My daily intake of Lithium was the greatest of concerns, as missing dosages could prove quite harmful.

But while facility nurses passed by on numerous occasions, two of which I inquired about my medicine, I never once received any of my medications. I had been assured on two occasions that the facility had faxed the VA in an effort to get a release of my medical information, and that as soon as they heard back from the VA they would give me my medication. It was only after having left the facility that the VA informed me, as well as provided me with a signed paper declaring as much, that they had never received a fax from the facility and that there was no record of the police or nurses ever attempting to make contact regarding my prescriptions. I would later speak with the head of the agency overseeing the distribution of meds within the facility, asking him for a copy of any information they had regarding my having received medication while in holding. Once realizing they had no such records, having made no attempt to retain them from the VA, and that the VA had signed an official document contradicting the claims of the nurses working for the agency, I was quickly listening to the sound of the dial tone.

My bond was set at $5,000, but I was released on personal recognizance. I presume this has to do with the fact that I have no criminal history and that my contributions to society, my being an honorably discharged disabled veteran, and my being a full-time student who had been on the Dean’s List four of last five semesters in college didn’t necessarily qualify me as a threat to society.

I was promptly given a defense attorney by the name of Virginia Cairns. Our first meeting went horrible, as the first thing out of her mouth was that I was “guilty.” The two of us argued over the statute as it is written, with her insisting that my being seen on tape signing the check was evidence enough of my guilt. But the statute reads:

(MCL 750.249): “Any person who utters and publishes as true any false, forged, altered or counterfeit record, deed, instrument or other writing specified, knowing it to be false, altered, forged, or counterfeit, with intent to injure or defraud is guilty of uttering and publishing.”

My contention, as it continues to be, is that I did not know this instrument to be false, altered, forged or counterfeited. Furthermore, I had no intent to injure or defraud anyone, as I believed what I had done to be an act of charity for one who claimed the check was legitimate payment for legitimate services rendered at a church and a pastor’s home. They may have a video, but I had no guilty or prior knowledge and certainly no intent. So, according to the wording of the statute, I was not guilty of uttering and publishing. The only thing I was guilty of was being conned by very wicked people.

The attorney, who doesn’t deserve to bear the title, told me it was in my best interest to wave my preliminary examination. Trusting her to be looking out for my best interest, and not fully being aware of what waiving it entailed, I agreed. The prosecutor offered a plea bargain, which I found to be rather strange given my initial plea of “not guilty.” The bargain was that I would have to confess to being guilty of “attempted uttering and publishing,” a felony, but would be spared jail time. Instead, I would be given probation and my felony would be expunged upon completion of probation and my willingness to testify against Justin.

None of this sat right with me. After having been threatened by Virginia Cairns (“I could make your life a living hell, Mr. Bannister!” and “I could sign a piece of paper and that judge would rip your life to pieces!”), I sought another attorney. After settling on one, we were set to go to another preliminary, but this time in Circuit Court.

It was here that life got hectic again. I was told that the offer required me to admit guilty/prior knowledge as well as to admit to motive. Both would force me to purger myself, but I was assured that at least I wouldn’t gamble with the possibility of being torn from my family. To be honest, as embarrassing as this is to admit, I gave the idea serious consideration. The idea of enduring public shame, possible loss of employment, the embarrassment and inconvenience of probation, and having to lie before a judge in a court of law paled in comparison to the idea of possibly, regardless of the innocence I knew in my heart to be true, being separated from my wife and children. I could explain to my children why I did what I did, but I didn’t want to do so on the other side of a glass divider. And the fact that my wife had been abandoned by her father when she was young haunted me. I feared that my children, regardless of hearing me insist that I stood for what was true and just, would consider me a failure for having “not been there” as a part of their life. This was truly the most painful consideration I have ever had to endure, and I wouldn’t wish it on even my worst of enemies.

What made this entire set of affairs so scandalous was that the prosecutor had presented me with what seemed to be a lose-lose situation. If I told the truth, I would gamble with a jury trial that could potentially result in my not only being found guilty of a crime I never committed, but also possibly losing my job, forced to drop out of college resulting in my having to reimburse the VA for expenses, being put on probation after time served, and (most dreadfully) being estranged from my wife, three children, and the one currently growing in my wife’s womb. On the other hand, I could do as they wished, lying in a court of law, being found guilty of a lesser felony that would (they say) be expunged from my record upon completion of probation and my willingness to testify against Justin regarding information I did not have concerning a check fraud ring I was not aware of. But I was assured I could stay in school, possibly maintain my employment, and (most importantly) remain at home with my wife and children. In short, I was more valuable to the State as a liar than as one who tells the truth regarding his innocence. This was terribly demoralizing, and caused me to harbor anger towards our police, detectives, prosecutors, and the system of American law and order they are sworn to uphold and defend.

It wasn’t until speaking with my father, recalling the words of my priest (“Jeremiah, never, ever, under any circumstance, admit guilt where there is innocence.”), and stumbling upon an article entitled “The Problem With Plea Barganing” by Steven Silberblatt that I regained my confidence. It was here where I finally began to see the big picture, and realized that I had wrongfully been coerced by the system into an either/or that was as unethical as it was illegal. There was also a sudden realization that my case, were it to presented correctly, could (or at least should) convince a jury (or even a single member) that the case against me is unjust, that the system had abused me over and over again, and that (in a manner much like that involving Justin) I was their fall guy.

Let me explain. In the article by Silberblatt, he is asked a question pertaining to the nature of “voluntary pleas” within the meaning of the Fifth Amendment and the Criminal Justice Systems use of coercion through promises of leniency or threats of maximum time after a trial conviction. As I read the question, I recognized that it was rooted in the very same concern I had been struggling with since March! For how is a plea voluntary if it is the result of psychological coercion? In short, it couldn’t be voluntary, thereby being in violation of the Fifth Amendment.

Too add to the articles relevance to my situation was the description of the impact waived preliminaries and lengthy pre-trial incarceration have on defendants. Let me quote him here:

“To the extent that the attorney loses bail arguments or pre-trial motions to suppress, a defendant’s faith in the powers of his lawyer and/or the integrity of the system is eroded to the point where resistance seems futile.”

There I was! I had been demoralized. I had lost faith not only in the power of attorneys to defend the innocent, but also the entire Criminal Justice System, which I had come to see as more of a mob, or a group of people willing to gamble with the lives of others in hope of gaining “dust” to throw in the face of criminal sand men, knowing full well that the longer they stretch out a case, the easier it is for them to find a number of disconnected events that at the time of the occurrences could be innocently overlooked, and to force them to connect in ways they never did in order to construct a story that paints a bad enough picture (albeit a false one) that the defendant and the attorney feel like a guilty verdict is inevitable. This gives leniency to a gambling Criminal Justice System in the event that they lost on their bet.

The key, though, is for them to have enough time to create a mountain out of otherwise unrelated molehills. All the while, they must make it appear as if what took them months to assemble and force together was something the defendant knew in a comprehensive manner all along. Lawyers are story-tellers, and their stories often require a lot of time and fanciful writing. This tactic is certainly not new, and in my opinion may have been at the root of the American founding founders insistence that the legal system provide defendants a fair and speedy trial. The speedier it is, the less time the State has to accumulate the kind of circumstantial evidence necessary to paint a picture that, regardless of its lack of accuracy to the events or motives as they were, is dire enough to convince a defendant that the unethical CYA plea bargain they have to offer is “one the defendant can’t refuse.”

So my confidence, not only in my ability to win in a jury trial but in our Criminal Justice System, began to increase. I knew I was innocent, and I became assured of the idea that a jury, or at least some of them, would agree.

Then I decided to go back to the beginning and look at the case with the benefit of 20/20 hindsight. As I pondered these things, speaking of them at length with others, I realized that the battle before the prosecutor is much more difficult than I had been made to believe.

Allow me to count the ways:

I have no criminal history. In fact, the only thing on my record is a speeding ticket I received when coming home from my girlfriends house after having been told I wasn’t permitted to be over there. I was then only 17-years-old. I am now 31.

I am a former Bible College Student. I was also an RA during this time.

I was one of the few in Lansing the day of September 11th who decided to stick with my commitment to join the armed forces. I was meritoriously advanced in the Navy for being within the top 10% of those 900 others who went through pass-and-review with my division. I was a favorite of the base chaplain, who was looking into options for me to be sent to Liberty University in order to finish school so that I could be commissioned as an officer, and ultimately a chaplain. I was eventually granted an honorable discharge on account of my being diagnosed Bi-polar.

I worked as the top-aide for one of the most well-respected and successful lobbyist in New Jersey. Many believed I had potential to be involved in public policy, or even appellate court. But during the 2004 election, I was assigned the task of researching into pro-choice policies held by the Democrats running for election. As I delved deeper into my research, I stumbled upon evidence that, were it made public, could seriously damage the hopes of many Republicans claiming to be pro-life who were running for office. I immediately told my superiors of my findings. They threatened me with a promise that were I to go public with this information, I would never have a career in NJ politics. But truth meant more to me than partisanship or political ambitions. So I decided that very evening to go public with this information, sending a letter to the editor of Trenton’s most popular newspaper. It was published the very next morning.

I worked as a youth pastor and an associate pastor in Battle Creek.

I co-hosted a local access program dealing with local and state politics. During this time I befriended commissioners, one of which was honored on our program.

I have a long history or working with local handicapped children, as I grew up having a brother who suffered from a closed-head injury and lived for over 20 years breathing through a trache tube.

I had worked for a man running for State Senate, another running for U.S. House of Representatives, and had even been chosen as a state delegate to the 2004 Constitution Party National Convention. And let me not forget to mention my friendship with the son of Calhoun County’s Under-Sheriff or my very close friendship with the young lady the prosecutor in my case has hired as a babysitter for many years.

I returned to school, choosing Olivet College as I wished to stay near to my family in Battle Creek. During my time as a student, I have been on the Dean’s List four out of my five semesters, was a nominee for the highest political science award for students, and was recently awarded the “Lillian Oliff Speech Scholarship.” It is “Presented to a student who shows promise of excellence in the field of speech.” This was presented by Professor Arthur Williams of the Performing Arts Department.

I hosted the first talk-radio program to be aired live on the Internet at Olivet College, receiving calls from Washington D.C., New York, California, Lansing, Ohio, Georgia, Pennsylvania, and elsewhere. I even interviewed the president of Democrats for Life of America in Washington D.C., the editor of Gilbert Magazine, the president of The American Chesterton Society, the presient of The Society for Distributism, the founder/author of The Distributist Review, a writer who was involved in a debate (that I was flown out to write about) involving journalist Michael Novac, the writer of the book entitled “Culturism,” and the founder of Mainstream Michigan. My radio clips, many of which have been put on YouTube, are currently being used by a professor at Michigan State University.

I am a member of the Knights of Columbus, once holding two officer positions simultaneously.

I was a volunteer teacher at Vineyard Academy, a Catholic classical education school, in Richaland.

I was asked by a student organization at Michigan State to take part in a panel discussion concerning bioethics and embryonic stem-cell research. I was the only student not attending MSU to take part in the panel discussion. My picture was later placed in their yearbook.

I have an excellent relationship with many of the professors at Olivet College, spending most of my time on campus with them.

I was asked by WBCK to fill in for Chris Simmons when his wife gave birth to twins. I was offered his program after the station manager heard me debate the former president of The Council for Secular Humanism. I treated my opponent with such dignity that he would later say it was quite possibly the most fun and courteous debate he had had with a Christian over the radio.

I was honored by The Leadership Institute in Washington D.C. as one of the most promising young activists/writers in America. LI paid for my flight, food, and stay for an entire week. They subsequently offered me a position traveling the country in order to set up student organization and newspapers empowering them to be more fully engaged in the public square.

I have had my material published in the Garfield Lake Review, a peer-reviewed literary journal. Another of my articles was published in New/Nueva Opion located here in Battle Creek. The article concerned the proper treatment of foreign citizens.

I have been interviewed by the American Family Association, Agape Press, and Jay Dyer of NiceneTruth, also having had established a good relationship with Catholic writer/speaker/professor Dr. Scott Hahn and his wife Kimberly.

Prior to these charges, the education department at St. Philip chose me to lead their upcoming annual youth retreat. I was to lecture on issues pertaining to individual responsibility in society, responsibility within the family, and responsibility within the public square. The emphasis was on integrity, solidarity, and honoring those in authority. I was excused on account of the fallacious charges made against me (anonymously) by the Battle Creek Police and Trace Christenson within articles surrounding my case published in the Battle Creek Enquirer.

I was recently granted the Mayor Frederick R. Brydges Award by the mayor and city commission of Battle Creek. It states: “The City Commission of Battle Creek, Michigan, along with the citizens of the city of Battle Creek awards this certificate of appreciation to Jeremiah Thomas Bannister. We are pleased to recognize citizens such as Jeremiah Thomas Bannister, who give of their time freely to make Battle Creek a great place to live. My (Mayor Behnke) colleagues on the Battle Creek City Commission join me in commending Jeremiah Thomas Bannister for his devotion to the Battle Creek Community.”

And to top it off, though I could go on, I have been happily married for almost seven years, raising my children to live a life of prayer, contemplation, genuine happiness, patriotism, and obedience to lawful authority.

None of this is to “toot my own horn.” Rather, it is to demonstrate, almost ad nauseum, the kind of life I have and continue to live. While there is no doubt that I am far from perfect, and while there is no doubt that I still have much to learn about discernment and “recruiting up” (as my dad puts it) when it comes to friends I surround myself with, it should be quite evident that lies, theft, and criminal activity are as repugnant to me as they are to those who give their life ensuring public safety and social justice.

Lastly, it would be tragic were certain things to be overlooked. My being Bi-polar has, according to professionals in the private sector as well as in the VA, been a contributing factor for what many insist is a grandiose notion of self-importance and an inflated view of the influence I could potentially have on others. It also has been the cause of difficulties regarding discernment and my having the ability to pay attention to details that most others would consider obvious. For this reason I was prescribed Adderall in the private sector and Ritalin by the VA. I am currently on Celexa, as the VA insists that this will help with this difficulty without the undesirable side-affects. And according to my physicians, my condition may also play a prominent role in what many would consider gullibility and naivety. So while my Mental Health providers readily grant that I am comparatively intelligent in many areas, there are other areas (particularly interpersonal communication, discernment in decision-making, and friendship choices) where I am far from wise or prudent. They may, and even have, gone so far as to say it is has been occasionally reckless. Criminal? No. Stupid? Yes.

So today at 1:30 p.m. (EST) I will be going against the advice of my attorney. I will plead “not guilty.” I will do so not because it is easy, but because it is the right thing. I cannot bring myself to lie to a judge, regardless of the leniency the prosecution offers or the threats they throw my way. And I will make it very, very clear to the prosecution that while I am more than willing to testify against those who wronged me and my family back in March, as I was on that fateful day I voluntarily entered the precinct, I am unwilling to testify on matters of mere speculation, choosing rather to stick only by what I know in my heart to be true. If they cannot accept this, then it is their loss. For if they continue to coerce me, treating me as a means to an end rather than an end in and of itself, then there is no promise I would be willing to cooperate once the jury finds me innocent. Here I stand, on truth and justice, from whence I will not and cannot budge.

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