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Category Archives: Media Theory

I’ve been giving it some thought and will have to suspend this rendition of my story at this point.

I’d planned on providing Misha’s recounting of her arrest, followed by my day in the Supreme Court to have my habeas corpus denied. However, these matters are to be brought before a Supreme Court Justice at a later date. At this point it is best to maintain a proper respect for the Supreme Courts so as not impugn the reputation of the Court itself.

I have a number of issues from these days I hope to have addressed, but will be requesting they be examined by my lawyers and the Courts and fully validated before proper inclusion in the series. I wouldn’t want to defame anyone by associating their name with crimes they haven’t been proven to have committed. Copies have been written and distributed, but will be withheld until such time as deemed necessary.


While working on the next installment, I’ve received my first specific death threat against myself, my family and my home.

In writing this section, I’ve realized there is some rather unfortunate false intelligence floating around out there that led to these death threats occurring. The Western Star falsely printed on April 16th that I had been charged by the RCMP for the tweet that got me detained on April 7th. The original tweet refers to ‘Bringing down Confederation of Canada and having genocidal politicians judicially executed.’ Italicized sections are the full context of my tweet that was provided during my stay 144 hour stay on the 4th floor. The meaning was already there when combined with my pending Charter Challenge, but as a single tweet the context was lost. No threat towards the Confederation Building ever actually existed. Seeking judicial action through the courts is completely lawful, so no charges were even possible concerning that particular tweet. This didn’t stop the State for detaining me for 6 days and trying to keep me for 30, though.

The RCMP would go on to charge me with threatening the Prime Minister himself, not a threat to Parliament or the Confederation Building or to politicians in general. That tweet was from a month earlier on March 18th, not a tweet from April 6th, as the Western Star falsely indicated. In fact, the tweet I was unlawfully detained for was from April 7th, so the Western Star got it doubly wrong.

The tweet the RCMP charged me with was from March 18th and uttered as part of a series of blasphemes. It was a sentence crafted from my previous experience with the RCMP as most likely to get a response. I can’t remember it directly, but it went something like “If the Prime Minister were here before me right now I’d kill him with my bare hands. #HonorKilling” It wasn’t even directed at the Prime Minister’s twitter account, just an idle threat vocalized in frustration that only followers of my Twitter account would see. It resulted in the seizing of my electronic devices, my research, the marijuana production charges against myself and Misha and the peace bond. No threats to public buildings, public servants or generic politicians were ever made, despite the Western Star’s suggestive misprint. One specific tweet regarding the genocidal PM himself got me charged, unrelated to the misunderstood tweet that got me unlawfully detained.

The Western Star has advised me they’re looking into the matter, but they haven’t informed me of what they’re planning on doing. I’ve since reached out to my lawyer and am expecting to hear from her this afternoon. It’s been almost a month since the story was printed and it has been out there with this libelous spin for a while. Now someone new has earned themselves criminal charges and possible jail time for misinformation provided by the Western Star.

The threats themselves came from some pro-Zionism douchebag. Likely thinking himself immune to criticism since the Canadian government announced it would consider the boycotting Israel a hate crime, he decided to level some pretty hefty death threats against me online through social media accounts. I’ve received them before through Twitter, but usually block or ignore them as trolls simply doing what trolls do. This particular person decided to stalk me on Facebook first after reading an article about the incitement towards genocide charges I filed back in July of 2014. I would have just ignored this troll too, but his profile indicated he was in Gander, a mere 3 hour drive away. When he started leveling accusations about blowing up Confederation building, l blocked him and ignored the issue. After that he took to posting on my YouTube account, escalating the to a new level as these kinds of stalker-troll-types often do.

I’ve taken screen caps which have been forwarded to the RNC who are currently investigating. I’ll quote them here, unedited:

“yeah, I saw you called me out on twitter as “supporting genocide”. well that;s fucking it. you’re fucking dead. i will hunt you down and will fucking kill you. i will burn your fucking pot house to the ground. you’re a fucking dead man. if you know what’s good for you you’ll get the hell out of the province.

youre fucking dead.”


“yeah, i saw the twitter post you did about me. you’re fucking dead, sandnigger.”




“+Andrew Abbass and you’re a fucking dead man.”


“+ParadigmSlip the only good raghead is a dead raghead. go ahead and try and get me jailed for pointing out that fact, but you’re fucking dead either way, sandnigger.”

Since receiving them yesterday morning, the person has offered no further messages. I expect to receive a call today requesting password access to my Google and Facebook accounts from the RNC. This will leave me unable to update my business, petition or GoFundMe account, but I’d like to see this individual tracked down if possible. I submitted to a psychiatric evaluation for much less, why shouldn’t he?

Like my detainment, as well as Don Dunphy’s execution, its another example of the kinds of things that can happen when people operate on flawed or incomplete intelligence. However, other posts online by this person describe Palestinians as rabid animals, one of the hallmarks of the language of genocide, so I suspect he’s got some deeper issues.

Unless their parents were exceptionally arrogant, this person is likely using a pseudonym instead of their real name. They use their account to be an anonymous troll, issue threats and spew racism. I use my public identity as a citizen to be an activist against political corruption, knowing full well my words will be held to account. Unlike my tweets, these messages can’t easily be seen as idle threats or out of context, despite the false context provided by the misleading story in the Western Star. These are direct and specific threats to hunt down and kill a person and burn down their home. They’re also coupled with racial slurs, which elevate the death threats to the level of a hate crime.

Canada’s government announced it was pursuing a zero tolerance policy towards hate crimes on Monday.

Think they’ll live up to their words?

Now working on the story of my home being raided and Misha’s arrest for the tweet I sent on March 18th, not the tweet issued on April 7th (6th) as falsely alleged by the Western Star. Hope this clears up some confusion. I also hope they retract their unfortunately libelous statements in a future edition of their paper.

I woke up on the third morning more than a little groggy. It’s bad enough I had to sleep in a strange location, unwillingly taken from my family and friends and involuntarily detained via a certification of insanity, but the effects of my untreated sleep apnea were becoming uncomfortably noticeable.

Thursday, April 9th, was a largely uneventful day. It was originally to be the day that I was to argue my Charter Challenge before the Supreme Court here in Corner Brook, but instead I was sitting around waiting for breakfast in a secure psychiatric ward. Not quite what I’d expected for the day I’d spent months working towards, but at least it wasn’t a jail cell and I wasn’t being forcibly medicated. It was distressing to see the state of the other patients though.

I’d spent the previous day cluing up a few loose ends. Misha brought my jacket and pants for court and this gave me the time I needed to sew on a button. Had to do it in full view of the nurses station though. Can’t have stray needles floating around. I’d finished composing my counter arguments for the Charter Challenge in the hopes that I’d get to speak, but at this point I’d resigned myself to the knowledge that my hearing would be further delayed. I’d given my lawyer authority to speak on my behalf before the Court to apologize for and explain my absence. A delay has since been granted, but the final date hasn’t been determined as of the writing of this post.

My lawyer would finish filing the papers on Thursday and I’d meet with a legal aide in the evening to give them full access to my medical file prior to Friday’s Habeas Corpus hearing. This created another strange series of events that would further illustrate just how perverse the abuse of process was becoming.

Before I go further, I’m going to discuss some of the side effects of being pulled in. Aside from being unlawfully snatched from my home, slandered, and having my family and professional life completely disrupted, being detained can be surprisingly expensive. As I’ve spent the last few years living at or below the poverty line, I knew how to establish a solid budget and stretch my cash out quite well. As I was trying to develop a business idea with limited access to funds, I was stretching my finances further than I ever had before. This would come to an end when I was pulled in. What little cash on reserve for rainy days went into cab fair and trying to keep things calm for my family.

Upon emerging from detainment, I would find out two weeks later that my business assets would be frozen and I’d have to start making some quick phone calls. Things have been restored, but I still have been offered no proper explanation of how it was lawful to detain me as well as disrupt and degrade my business life.

Bill C-51’s new powers weren’t even needed for my detainment. The government simply leveled the accusation that I was delusional to expect to be able to argue before a Supreme Court Justice that they’re crooks and liars committing crimes against humanity so they had me committed for psychiatrist evaluation. They had full knowledge of my Charter Challenge and they can’t claim otherwise. The Attorney General of Newfoundland and Labrador specifically chose not to submit an argument after his attorneys were provided with my Memorandum of Argument. They chose to feign indifference and ignorance to the whole matter instead.

Another patient, Mary, was a good example of how detainment can shake the foundations of your life. She’s been forced to take a drug that’s making her gain weight and loose her teeth, along with a host of other side effects. The drug itself is known to her as Seroquel and it comes with a disturbing list of known issues. Its also been aggressively marketed for a number of off-label uses by an Australian pharmaceutical company, AstraZeneca, based on falsified reports for clinical trials that never actually took place. There are 10,000 lawsuits that have been filed against the company for the damaging side effects of this drug. Yet, here we have detainees under the Mental Health Act being forced to take it against their will.

Mary was recently detained because it had been discovered that she’d flushed her medication. She was tired of the physical and mental side effects and wanted freedom from her pill-shaped prison. They’d pulled her from her home before she could pay her rent for the month of April and brought her to the ward where I met her. Her rent for the month of April was left sitting on her television. Her landlord, disliking that she’d missed rent and perhaps thinking it would be ok to discriminate against someone detained by the State, served her with eviction papers. We discussed options for dealing with the landlord tenant issue. She’s since made plans to move to a less hostile location. I don’t know how her situation worked out, but I hope it got resolved.

Criminals are treated with more respect than wards detained by the State for reasons of mental health. Criminals are immediately offered legal representation. Patients detained under the Mental Health Act are not. Who really argues for the patients in these situations? I had the right to be advised of the reason for my detainment, but that never arrived. I expect the true reasons will emerge as hearings progress.

Criminals can also appeal their charges before a judge. The reasons for their detainment can be examined. Patients seem to lack this basic right of self-determination. Once medicated, they are under the authority of the prescribing psychiatrist. That doctor’s opinion then carries the weight of law, which is another example of how the rule of law abused in our country. A doctor can be appointed to a position of authority over another human being. They can remove that person’s right to liberty and freedom for refusing to comply with their directions. Patients can ask to be removed from their prescribed medications, but the doctors don’t actually have to listen. Especially with drugs like Seroquel, which have no standard protocols for discontinuing use. It turns the pill-shaped prison into a mental labyrinth, with the prescribing psychiatrist as the minotaur guarding the escape routes.

Seroquel is also known as Quell, which is darkly appropriate when used in politicized psychiatry or for simply sweeping societies uncomfortable mental health problems under the rug. Have a dissenter criticizing you too openly and angrily? Drag them off and have them ‘Quelled.’ I thank God for the peace of mind my personal beliefs inspire in me. They allowed me to weather the storm of detainment and double certification without much anxiety, which made the eventual release that much sweeter. As I mentioned in a previous blog, I believe spirituality is the root of the tree of wellbeing, not one of the branches or leaves, but the foundation itself. Building your mind on anything but the way you connect to reality is like building a house on sand. A good storm can undermine your foundation. Newfoundlanders especially should understand the idea of a house built on rock. Properly built, it can weather the worst that Mother Nature can deliver.

To that end, I spent most of Thursday anxiously awaiting my hearing before the Supreme Court the following day. I met with Misha and Ben during the afternoon visiting hours. Misha was exceptionally tired at this point. Like me, she wasn’t sleeping well due to the situation, but she is also 6 months pregnant so she had extra reasons to be tired. They left with Misha promising to return for the evening visiting hours. This wouldn’t happen as Misha would end up being arrested by the RCMP shortly after returning home. I wouldn’t know this until much later.

When visiting hours rolled around, another friend popped in to visit. He’d expected to meet Misha upon arrival, but this didn’t end up happening. He hadn’t heard from her since the earlier meeting. We tried calling her phone, but couldn’t get through.

As Misha disappearance was being noticed, my lawyer’s legal aide would arrive with disclosure consent forms to sign. She requested access to my medical records and provided two consent forms that I assumed granted full disclosure. I signed both, giving over full access to my file, then left her to make the needed photocopies. I took nothing from my file, nor did I ask anything be withheld. I opened my files like a book and offered the legal aide full access to everything that was available, then went back to hanging out with the visiting friend and trying to phone Misha.

This was the first time I was simply unable to reach out and contact Misha during the entire ordeal and it was the one that made me the most nervous. I had no idea where she was or what was going on. I contacted my family to see if they’d heard from her. I contacted Ben to find out if he’d seen her. He let me know that she was probably exhausted and home sleeping with the phone turned off. I hoped this was the case, but did let my roommate know I was a getting anxious about the whole issue. I’d already been taken from my home unlawfully. If a man’s home is his castle, my castle had been laid siege to and I felt as though my family now stood undefended.

I had a very rough night, unable to get more than a few hours of sleep due to the growing anxiety over what could have made Misha disappear. I wasn’t even thinking of the Court hearing in the morning, I just wanted to know what happened to her.

This concludes My Life of Certified Insanity (Day 3 – Part 1). The next installment for this day will cover Misha’s experience with the RCMP that left her cut off from any means of communication with the outside world.

When Day 2 of my time on the 4th Floor ward started out, I had been certified by a single signature of an ER doctor. It was supported by a five minute discussion with a psychiatrist who wanted to observe me for a month. I would later find out she has a hearing problem.

I made my first mistake while looking for breakfast. Not realizing the individualized menu system in place, I thought all meals were the same as the trays were laid out haphazardly on the tables. I didn’t spot the name of a fellow inmate until after I’d eaten most of the meal. I ended up swapping the name tag for my meal with his, but it was still strange that there wasn’t even a discussion about the meals or menus. I had to learn about the process from Red Sonya.

Red Sonya is a prime example of how underfunded the mental health care system is in Newfoundland and Labrador. She suffers from bouts of confusion due to difficulty in regulating her insulin, but due to a lack of funding for specialized needs she gets thrown into the 4th floor ward with possible violent offenders.

After breakfast I made a point of inquiring with the nurses which doctor I would be seeing for my follow up assessment. When I was told I would be seeing Dr. Talpur, the same slightly deaf tiny hindu woman so frightened by RNC presence she wanted to keep me under observation for a month, I was a little surprised. I’d spoken to her last night, why would she now be offering the second opinion? This was fishy. The first signing doctor, Thistle, could technically say he’d seen me. We’d been in the room together. He shook my hand and we chatted for a brief moment. He was also in the room in the presence of police who could witness that he’d seen me. However, I felt that his signature on that original assessment was supported by Dr. Talpur’s 5 minute assessment, so this really wasn’t a fair baseline as her impartiality had already been affected. She’d already been in the presence of armed men who’d brought in a man with a long beard and a stack of legal documents. The RNC were presenting her with a copy of my tweet, blown up to fill a full sheet of paper. I shit you not. That’s how they do it. One tweet fills a single page. Poor Mr. Dunphy. Such small words on a cell phone, blown up and magnified to such a huge size. I can only imagine how confusing that must have been.

I think the comparison to the Ottawa Shooter was influenced mostly by the police presence and the beard. I wasn’t raving or incoherent. I peacefully submitted to the entire process. If I had been clean shaven, she wouldn’t have given that extreme of a comparison much of a second thought. I had a stack of legal documents that explained my reason for being there. It provided context. But when presented with slice of my twitter history, my beard, and my arabic last name, she decided I was planning on blowing something up. Instead, I’m just an outspoken activist engaging in legal action against a government that has committed crimes against humanity. I’m also into the idea of building cheap advanced organic farms to feed people. Nothing in that plan should scare anyone except those who hate freedom and independence.

Just for clarity, I never recanted any of the words I uttered on Twitter during my time at WMRH. I still think Premier Davis is an abject coward who is threatening the economic stability of the province with his lack of foresight and inability to deal with the complexities of a changing world. His vision for Newfoundland became evident when he released his pro-police state RNC recruitment video last fall. He’s militaristic and Newfoundland should have no place in it for his brand of intimidation. It threatens families, which form the beating heart of this island. Richard Squires did it less than 100 years ago and it seems that Premier Davis is poised to make the same mistake.

For further clarity, and to assure my point on context is understood, I believe that the Confederation of Canada must be brought down to strip power from the federal government. Through their actions they’ve incited genocide abroad and are responsible for crimes against humanity. They should be arrested, face trial and if found guilty, be executed for their crimes. It is not a threat. It is an insult aimed at Premier Davis combined with a demand for a free and democratic society that embraces true justice. It was misinterpreted in the same manner as Mr. Dunphy’s tweet, out of its organic context.

However, this tweet was different from the one that the RCMP arrested and released me for with an order to appear before a judge. That one was an idle threat I’ll discuss later. Different tweet, different context, different aspect of free speech. I am scheduled to appear before a judge of a lower court in June to discuss the matter. I have no interest in securing legal aide on the matter as I’m comfortable preparing my own case and have an established lawful intention that goes back most of a year in a well documented process.

To get back to Premier Davis’ gutless cowardice, he has our province drowning in so much oil he’s stealing from our future to keep this leaky oil tanker afloat. We can’t bail the political class out anymore. They’re leeches who just want political power and authority. They’ve got no real ideas on how to right their ship because politicians never do. They’re just stealing from Peter to pay Paul. Literally. Let their ship sink.

Newfoundland and Labrador has a bright future, but all in resources that are currently under utilized because educated people are being completely ignored by these Conservative governments. Only 20 percent of the known arable land on the Island is currently producing food. Why are we paying so much to import tiny produce when we could supply all of our own cheaper and provide worthwhile jobs to locals?

Did you know there was a experimental greenhouse in Gander that provided fresh vegetables for 500 US soldiers year round? All the fresh produce they needed was provided by this one greenhouse. Imagine 1000 of these providing all the fresh produce for every family on the island. All organic. Never a worry about ferry service being unable to deliver or poor quality produce. Build them underground, use geothermal heating and tie them into Muskrat Falls to provide power for LED grow lights and Newfoundland and Labrador will never have to import fresh produce again. Ever. Might take ten years to build them all, but why wait? We could break ground on the first of them this summer if this government didn’t have its head jammed so far up its own oil-filled arsehole.

Other resources that are going underutilized are our shellfish wastes. Did you know that crab, lobster and shrimp are rich sources of chitin? Chitin is the amazingly versatile organic compound that will underpin the future for a number of fields. It is also the foundation of my research with insects. Want to know an excellent source of renewable and perfectly biodegradable bioplastic to replace polluting oil-based plastics? Chitin. Want to know how to keep produce from spoiling longer organically? Chitin. Want advanced bandages that speed wound healing? Chitin. Want to use less pesticides to control insects or fungus on crops? Chitin. Bigger flowers with brighter blooms? Chitin. Forget graphene, graphane and carbon nanotubes, one of the most important molecules for the future of our planet is chitin and its derivatives. Newfoundland currently just throws the majority of it away.

The other groups of molecules that Newfoundland has in a unique abundance are dihalogenated acetates based on chlorine, bromine and iodine. These are present in seaweeds. The results of the research I’ve been engaged in since 2007 show that they are an unrecognized vitamin for promoting proper mitochondrial function. I have a hypothesis that these compounds played a key role in the early evolution of multicellular life. They already have a 30+ year history of use in treating metabolic disorders. They were also shown to have a broad spectrum effect on triggering apoptosis in cancerous cells (2007), provided normoxic conditions are present (2010). Their unique, simple and compact shape puts them among the strongest organic molecules capable of reducing oxidative stress. Oxidative stress builds up over time and results in cellular exhaustion through mitochondrial dysfunction. Health Canada continues to claim these compounds are synthetic, despite research from the 60s and 70s and broad rediscovery in marine sources today. Check chemspider. There is plenty of corroboration there.

Between the electrical ties to Labrador, the shellfish, seaweed and farming resources, rural Newfoundland would have a bright, independent future on lock down.

However, the greedy, shortsighted mental midgets running the province from the Avalon think with their guns instead of the brains God gave them. They only want to lay claim to rural Newfoundland to deny others rightful access. They’ll change the Crown Lands Act to reclaim land that they want to exploit, pushing off families who’ve had the land in their families for generations. The Avalon will do to rural Newfoundland what Israel is doing to Palestine, steal the land out from under the families trying to live peacefully. Look at how they’re continuing to cut public services. Look at the cuts to education. Look at the gerrymandering under the guise of budget cuts for MHA representation. If they really wanted to uphold democracy, they’d slash their own salaries in half. Less representation diminishes democracy. Small powerful governments supported by a militaristic police have a tendency to become dictatorships. Ask Richard Squires.

So, as my final statement on the tweet that got me detain, I think that Premier Paul Davis is a useless simpleton that is steering Newfoundland towards economic disaster. He wasn’t even a real cop with the RNC, he was a desk jockey. Head spin doctor for media relations. He’s ignorant of the larger issues at play in the world and the province of Newfoundland and Labrador will suffer further due to his shortsighted stupidity.

To get back to my own issue on the 4th floor, when I found out Dr. Talpur would be conducting both the first and second assessments, I requested a second opinion.

At first, the nurses were a little reticent to discuss the matter, but when I explained my situation to them…

I’ll finish off the Day 2 in the next installment.

On the second day of my detainment strange things began to be revealed.

I had a rough sleep my first night. I had been removed from my home and family over idle threats uttered on Twitter, which are covered under free speech and protected as such. Threats uttered out of frustration, bitterness or despair are considered idle and the State had no lawful reason to detain me.

Imagine someone getting frustrated with their job and exclaiming ‘One day I’d like to burn this place to the ground.’ Later on that day they’re dragged off to be detained for a week of psychological analysis. They are branded dangerous and required to be medicated. It creates severe problems with a free, open and democratic society. Your friends, family and co-workers effectively become the ‘thought police’ as described in 1984. Idle threats become reclassified as a thought crime. No police officers, doctors, nurses, judges or politicians ever need threaten your freedom of speech, your social group does it for you.

Criminalizing idle threats through social groups, whether in the real world or online, will be the end of free speech. It creates a precedent where anyone who vocalizes their feelings of dissent at an unfair system, perverted to benefit those in positions of power, can be imprisoned for their words.

This same kind of criminalization of thought and emotion already exists within the psychiatric system. During my time inside I met other people who had been remanded into the custody of a doctor for similar cases. Simply telling an ex-boyfriend she was so upset over their sudden break up she felt like dying was enough to get one girl I met medicated into oblivion. I’ll call her Sunny. Sunny doesn’t even remember the week she was admitted to the ward due to being so heavily medicated. She’s been locked into the system and her mind ever since. Most days she can barely raise her voice above a whisper.

An intelligent young girl, a university graduate working towards a new career, living in her own apartment with her own vehicle… a life obliterated by a single utterance. An idle threat spoken in anger, bitterness, frustration and despair over a break up, misused by someone who had already dissolved their relationship. That misuse ended with Sunny being remanded into semi-permanent custody where she’s not even allowed to request a second opinion from another doctor.

During her stay, while trying to deal with her existing issues, Sunny made friends on the ward. Two of these friends would later go on to end their lives. Sunny is expected to mentally and emotionally heal in a situation where she’s been told something is wrong with her emotions, then she’s denied the ability to grieve the loss of her friends. To me, this illustrates the kind of endemic psychosis present in the system.

I’ll repeat what I said before in regards to all the cops, nurses and doctors I met during my detainment/vacation. All good people. I felt no malicious intent from any of them, aside from the lawyer for the hospital. Him, and others of his ilk, are perfectly comfortable with being malicious for money. They are employed by a system designed to confer authority over their fellow man. It doesn’t matter if the reason for someone being remanded into their authority is lawful or not.

Before I go on further, I’d like to talk a little about what I observed on the ward.

In regards to the ward itself, the environment they’ve created to allow people to heal is so cut off from anything natural or organic its astounding. Not even a single plastic plant breaks the grey monotony. Everything is neutral-toned, old, and the ceiling is covered with rust spots from ancient leaks. The facility is kept clean, but the beds are small, plastic-lined and uncomfortable. The food is largely atrocious, with most meals being barely recognizable as food. The soup was good though, probably the most nutritious item on the menu. Other than that, for breakfast you might find a single slice of bread and a bowl of gruel or dried scrambled eggs that have the consistency of styrofoam. Even clean water is in limited supply. There is a dispenser, but its kept in the nurse’s station. You have to wait until a nurse is available to be able to fill a tiny shotglass with water and ice.

Besides the fact that everything is made of plastic or metal, there are some decorations meant to add depth or levity to the surroundings. Two of them stand out the most in my memory.

The first is a quote from a film actor about how no one hates nurses… unless you’re getting an enema. Why would this be there? Is it some sort of sick joke to remind patients that nurses have the authority to hold them down and perform strange operations against their will? Is the joke supposed to be funny for the nurses or the patients? Perhaps someone in ‘management’ didn’t realize it would be inappropriate to create an adversarial climate between the nurses and their charges. Who ever decided that it would be a good idea to joke about rectally violating patients obviously didn’t put much thought into their message.

The other item that comes to mind is this tree painted onto the wall. It’s supposed to be some sort ‘Tree of Wellness’, but it sends very twisted and ignorant messages. For starters, the tree looks like it’s dying or it’s late fall and losing its leaves. The tree only has a single leaf on each branch, which in most cases looked to have separated from the branch and is in the process of falling instead of being still attached. The tree also has labels written next to each leaf to indicate their importance towards being a healthy person. Some of the names of the leaves are ‘confidence,’ ‘success’ and ‘spirituality.’ This is where the symbolism in the tree draws on the assumptions of psychology which turn it from a non-science based on expertise at judging symptoms, into a religion.

In my own understanding, spirituality forms the root of the tree all things spring from, not a branch. A rich man doesn’t have a better chance of being spiritual than a poor man because he’s already obtained success and confidence. If anything, that confidence rooted in non-spiritual ground prevents that person from ever truly questioning their foundation. Spirituality is given lip service by psychologists and psychiatrists. The religious views of patients are to be respected, but largely ignored. This tree represents a very flawed viewpoint that turns the so-called science of psychology into a fundamentally flawed religion. That flawed religion has also evolved its own version of the Inquisition.

Again, let me be clear, I had no problems with the nurses or doctors themselves during my stay on their ward. They followed their orders to the letter and never gave me any issues whatsoever. My purpose in referring to this particular implementation of psychiatry as ‘The Inquisition’ relates to the healing process that is supposed to occur in this place. Healing through interrogation is about as effective as preaching religion to someone you’re torturing. No trust develops. The psychiatrists in charge of the patients are not therapists. From my discussions with the patients, their doctors appear concerned more with diagnosing side effects of the drugs they’re prescribing than addressing the underlying experience of those under their care. Caring for the patient’s mental wellbeing isn’t their job. Their job is to balance out the cornucopia of medication the patient is receiving.

Treating people as a collection of symptoms denies their inner world. It denies the pain they may be experiencing in favor of treating these natural emotional responses purely as a side effect of some underlying disorder. It ignores root causes completely. Perhaps a person has a strong emotional response to a situation that’s arisen in their life they have developed no mental or emotional processes to deal with. Will muting that pain with medication teach them those needed skills? Will it help them deal with similar situations that emerge in the future? Will it stop the triggering of memories associated with those events from being dragged them kicking and screaming back into the light? Of course not. It just masks or veils those issues in favor of squeezing the person back into their lives.

Who’s fault is it that situations like this have arisen? Surprisingly, it’s neither the doctors who practice their flawed religion of pills, nor the nurses who support them. What I see as the main reason for the current state of despair in the mental health system is a lack of adequate funding and a mismanagement of existing funds. Talking to the nurses and patients, I was told that around the turn of the century the system had much better funding. Understand that? Before Newfoundland and Labrador became a ‘have’ province, we had a better mental health care system.

Since coming into our own financially, so much money has been cut from the system that the ratio of patients to nurses has diminished significantly. Nurses in the ward are so overworked that they only have time to do certain necessary tasks. They deliver pills, take blood pressure and fill out paperwork. Their role as therapists in the healing process has been reduced to that of automatons. They’re forced to ask patients disturbing questions like ‘Do you have any thoughts of suicidal or homicidal ideation?’ instead of simply inquiring how people are feeling. Rather than having the time to provide the feelings of security, stability and trust needed for people to heal their mental wounds, they’re reduced to poking and prodding the people under their care. It leaves the whole process resembling a futuristic version of the Spanish Inquisition. Even Inquisitors thought that they were doing their jobs for the good of the souls they were torturing.

Beyond the limitations placed on nurses in their roles as therapists, there is another problem that compounds viewing the 4th floor ward as a place of healing. It’s used as a dumping ground for people with a tendency towards uncontrolled acts of violence and aggression. When I was first admitted, the ward still bore the scars of one such outburst. The patient’s phone had been destroyed by a patient who lost control of himself and began throwing chairs. A long scar marked the window of the nurse’s station where he tried to break through. How are patients supposed to remain calm and heal their wounds when the possiblity of a violence from which they can’t escape intrudes on their peace?

RNC officers are mandated by the Mental Health Act to bring certain types of offenders to the ward for observation and treatment. Once they’ve delivered that person into the care of the nurses and doctors, their obligation towards them ends. As the patients on the ward are the ones who share their living and sleeping space with these violent offenders, it is their peace of mind that is inherently violated by these events. Without a separate place to bring violent offenders, every time one is introduced to the ward the risk of creating an environment toxic to healing is further compounded.

I’m going to split this day into two posts to keep my own timeline of events separate from my observations of the ward. The events of my own life during this time are only used to illustrate the on-going abuse of process. The people who really need help at this point are the patients, doctors, and nurses who are overworked and overburdened by a system that cares nothing for the importance of their often thankless work.

I write this post in the hopes that people will gain further understanding of why I did what I did.

We’ve gone so far astray from what made us human we’re practically robots, going through the motions of being people. We care more about our possessions and our immediate family than we do about our neighbors. As a result, we can witness grave atrocities and pretend they’re acceptable. Sometimes we’ll even go so far as to justify them, despite that we forfeit our souls in doing so.

All it takes is a few lies in the social narrative. Lies lack the weight of truth. They unbalance us. They leave us prone to greater failings and make it difficult for us to see eye to eye with each other.

Sometimes the lies fester for so long they overtake us in our daily lives. They affect how we see our friends and our families. They make us distrustful of strangers. They leave us defenseless against those who manipulate the truth to suit their needs.

The only way to return to the common ground where humanity’s tree has been planted is to accept hard truths.

Just because someone has authority over you, doesn’t mean they deserve to have it.

Just because someone has a piece of paper that tells the world they’re an expert, doesn’t mean they don’t make mistakes.

It also doesn’t mean that expert won’t lie to your face to protect the unquestioned status of their authority.

Don Dunphy’s case is a good example of that.

Some people may wonder why I’ve taken such a hard stand on the Gaza issue. To me the origin of what drove me to these extents was my nephew’s death and how it became linked with that land in my mind. When he first took ill, Israel and Gaza had just resumed their hostilities. They announced a ceasefire the day he died.
Many would call this a mere coincidence, but for me this short, brutal war felt like another shard of my then fracturing soul. When it ended, it felt like a minor miracle had been performed to counterbalance the tragedy my family was experiencing. Here we stood a month prior to the fabled 12-21-12 of the Mayan calendar, the End of the World to some, and peace had erupted on the most wartorn part of the planet at the same time as the death of an infant. I was shaken to my core. It felt like my world had just ended.

Unlike the rest of my family, I had no real support system in place. I was left to fend for myself with my emotions in turmoil. I was also alienated from them by the truths I’d later spoken when the anonymous letter came out and that alienation has since become permanent.

It’s difficult to tell people who put so much faith in the system they’re practically worshiping it that they’ve been fed falsity. The cognitive dissonance alone produces anger and hateful statements. No one likes to admit they’ve fallen for a lie. It makes them embarrassed and ashamed. Having that lie be tied to such deep grief makes it all the more difficult.

When Merlin died, it wasn’t his death that tore at me as much as the stark reminder of how much my family had suffered when my nephew passed. I loved Merlin, but my nephew was my blood. Even a year and a half later, the unhealed wounds and feeling of alienation at being denied truth by my family still gnawed at me.

As a person of faith I try to see all good people as part of my extended family. This made the new Israel-Gaza situation that much harder to bear. In my mind it was already tied to the feeling of familial loss through my nephew. Seeing people that could be distant relatives in so much pain over the deaths of their families, only a month after Merlin’s passing had brought my nephew back to the forefront of my mind, I was too raw to bear the sight of it.

When I started the petition and filed charges, some Palestinian people began tweeting the most horrific pictures of dead and dying children at me. Without any sort of emotional defense prepared, the scale of the pain these people were experiencing crippled me. I had to beg them to stop showing me the truth as I felt as though my heart was being flayed open every time I checked my notifications. It made it difficult to keep talking to people on Twitter about the charges and the petition as I’d be constantly worried that new and more horrific photos would show at any moment.

When the charges were finally dismissed, the anger and frustration at my inability to do anything solidified into a determined outrage. I would not be able to simply ignore what I’d seen. To many innocents had died because of Canada’s support for this genocidal war.

Flash forwards to April 7th.

One of the first things I remember doing the day I was pulled in was checking for updates on the Don Dunphy story. I’d seen that media had spun the tweet in a negative light the previous day, but were grudgingly offering a summary of the associated tweets as a link within the article.

Not content with the reaction I was seeing online, including visibly disturbed fellow Twitter users expressing their anxiety about how quickly Don’s death was being covered up, I called my RCMP contact for information. He updated me that his report on the formal complaint regarding the dismissed genocide charges had been filed months ago and that he was a surprised I hadn’t heard anything yet. I asked him if he’d heard anything about the Dunphy issue and he told me it was outside his jurisdiction. I thanked him for his time and went back to look for more information online.

Reading through the stuff coming up on Twitter, the Premier’s office was making announcements about stricter policies concerning social media, rather than acknowledging a mistake had been made. They were going with the story that a family man had just snapped and the authority had to legitimately slap him down with capital punishment.

To me, this was just another senseless death that someone in authority was trying to justify to save his own position of power. Another form of senseless human sacrifice directed at families. At this point, the anger got the better of me and I crafted the tweet that go me arrested, but not before I peppered the Premier’s Twitter account with accusations of cowardice and covering up for a murder.

The tweet itself I’ll paraphrase as I’m writing this without access to the Internet to check it, but it went something like this:

‘How about this one @PremierOfNL:

I’m going to bring down Confederation and have politicians executed.

Ready to have me shot, coward?’

Understood in the context of my Charter Challenge and the genocide charges I’ve been pursuing, I’m talking about the ‘Confederation of Canada’ and ‘judicial execution’. Too much power has been invested in the Federal government. That power has allowed them to commit crimes against humanity, including inciting genocide. For that they should be tried, and if found guilty, judicially executed.

I was also calling Davis a coward for continuing to push the line that the execution of Mr. Dunphy was justified. I’ve since explained my speculations on what I think happened in the preamble of this series. It might have simply been a case of accidental manslaughter, until the Premier’s office tried to legitimize it as the necessary execution of a mentally ill old man.

But the cowardly Premier and his staff of crack twitter experts took my tweet without any context, the same way they did Don’s. They took one look at my tweet, my last name and the beard I was sporting in my updated Driver’s License photo and decided I must be a terrorist. The end result would see me certified insane after a five minute analysis for questioning their authority.

The first thing that let me know something was about to go down was a phone call from the RNC. Since filing my charges in July, they’ve had my number on file. Due to this, calling me up at my home was easy to do, unlike Don.

They requested I come into the station and informed me that I may be arrested. I told them they were operating without context again and I had no interest in discussing the issue until after my Charter Challenge was complete. Following my day in court, I was willing to come in to discuss the matter.

The officer became insistent at this point, saying that if I didn’t come to their Station for 1PM that day, they’d come to my house to for their ‘follow up.’

At no point during the discussion did I resort to base insults, but when the officer threatened to send people with guns to my home over a tweet, I let them have an earful.

The sad truth is that many police no longer deserve to be armed. Many of them are too keyed up with the desire to have their sense of authority maintained. They’re too quick to reach for their guns. It’s like they think they’re cowboys and this is the Wild West. Any member of the public can be a dangerous desperado aiming to gun them down so they’re always prepared to shoot first and ask questions later.

This kind of mentality shows the sickness that’s infected police, not just in Newfoundland, but all over the world. They’re no longer viewed as the integrated heroes of communities by themselves anymore, but simple paid enforcers of a social order handed down from above. They have job security and a pension. Upholding the law isn’t their job anymore. Their job is simply to follow orders.

This mentality was rife in Nazi Germany. To see it emerging in Newfoundland is disgusting.

Once I’d been informed that the officer would be sending people with guns into the home of my family, I loudly voiced my outrage at the veiled threat. I said those kinds of threats amounted to state terrorism of the public. When asked if I’d changed my mind, I told them that I’d be waiting for them with coffee.

The sad thing is the RNC at this particular station filed the original genocide charges which were covered in local media. They should have understood the context of my tweet since my Charter Challenge was occurring only a few buildings away from their station. But it didn’t matter at this point, someone had decided something had to be done about me.

I set about making some coffee and cleaning some cups, as well as informing people on Twitter the RNC were coming for me. I let the Western Star know. I called my RCMP contact back and left a message to let them know I was about to be taken in. I also went across the street to buy cigarettes and let the staff of the local corner store know that something was about to go down, but advised them to stay calm and not worry.

The RNC showed up around 3. They came to my door and asked if they could come in. I said yes and asked if they wanted to come in for coffee. They declined, confirmed my identity, then began informed me I was being detained. At this point both myself and Misha began asking what the charges were to be. It turned out that no charges were pending, but that they were going to detain me under the Mental Health Act.

This is where the situation becomes unlawful. I have no mental disorder, I am quite rational and non-violent, just angry at the injustice of the world. To detain someone under the Mental Health Act, certain conditions had to be met. Signed documents had to be provided. None of this was done. Instead, I had the RNC standing in my doorway with their hands on their guns demanding that l come with them, refusing to even shut the door to keep too much of my home heat from escaping.

While the officers acted without any directed hostility towards me, they were also unwilling to budge on the matter. They were dutybound by their orders to bring me in. They did lead me to believe that there was a possibility that the issue could be resolved through a discussion at the hospital, so after a few minutes of frustration I relented. I grabbed the documents for my Charter Challenge and peacefully left my home of my own volition. I was not dragged. The officers never even had to lay a hand on me. I didn’t like the idea of armed people around my family and at that point I simply wanted the guns out of my home.

One of the officers would later tell me that if I’d offered him a spot of tea, he might have relented. I figured he was making friendly small talk, but he had a good point and I had no hard feelings towards him. Coffee certainly doesn’t help people relax. I’ve since taken his advice and switched to tea.

Upon arriving at the hospital with my armed escort, I was taken into triage and admitted as a patient. After filing the required paperwork, they moved me from triage into the room reserved for violent individuals. The picture of this room was the last I tweeted as I was being thrown into detainment. My phone and other items were taken from me and I was left to wait for the doctor to arrive.

During this time I had a few chats with the RNC officers who brought me in. I tried to let them know that I understood they were just doing their job, but that they were making the same mistake they had made with Don. It didn’t matter, they had their orders and the situation had to unfold. My fate was out of their hands.

When the first doctor came in, Dr. Thistle, we shook hands, exchanged a few pleasantries and he left. The only thing memorable about him was that at the time I thought I saw a distortion in his right iris so I tried not to stare at it and make him uncomfortable. Thinking back, it might have been my own reflection I was seeing in his eye. Either way, we only spoke for a few moments before he left. I wasn’t angry, irrational or incoherent when we spoke. However, I was a little nervous about the situation as I had a doctor trying to assess me surrounded by armed RNC officers who had just taken me from me home. He would later write that I seemed a little ‘paranoid’ about the situation and that word would be the ‘diagnosis’ that the lawyer for the hospital would use to keep me detained for a longer period.

My roommate, a much bigger person than I, would later tell me about being admitted at the same time. As he walked by the room I was being kept in, he saw half a dozen cops in the area and wondered what could possibly be going down. When he saw me, with my beard, he assumed I must have been some sort of terrorist mastermind that they’d caught. At the time he’d worried that I might end up in the same ward, much less the same room. He would later change his mind after getting to know me. His family would be just as shocked when they learned the truth of the situation.

After the first doctor left, I was seen by a tiny fragile female Hindu psychiatrist who would certify me as insane five minutes later. I tried to explain the context of my tweets and my Charter Challenge to her. I would later find out she was hard of hearing, so I don’t even know if she was actually listening to me. She finished her assessment quickly and left the room.

Shortly after this meeting, while waiting to hear the results, I requested I be allowed to speak with Misha. I hadn’t seen her since we’d arrived together and I wanted to make sure she was ok. I passed along the phone to her and told her I’d seen the psychiatrist. She left the room to inquire as to the doctor’s opinion and was informed that I had been assessed with the same profile as the Ottawa Shooter. They wanted to keep me under observation for a month.

Upon hearing that I could be pulled into detainment for a month based solely on the opinion of people who didn’t know me, Misha got upset and left. There was nothing she could do. Being from Russia, she had a pre-existing fear of how psychiatry could be politicized by those in authority. She’d knew stories of dissenters who would disappear into the system, never to be heard from again. Despite my attempts to warn her that Newfoundland hadn’t gotten that bad yet, she left visibly shaken by the events.

Shortly after this occurred, I was taken up to the 4th floor and shown my new home away from home. I didn’t have anything with me other than the clothes on my back and my Charter Challenge. I met with my assigned nurse for an entry interview and was assigned a nicotine patch to help with the fact that I wasn’t allowed to leave the ward. I explained my Charter Challenge issue to the nurse and was informed that the Hospital had an obligation to let me speak my case before a judge. This would change the following day.

Once finished with my entry interview and my tour of the facilities, I popped down to the public computer room and hopped on Twitter and Facebook to let people know what happened to me. The following day the hospital cut the entire ward’s internet access off to keep me from speaking publicly to anyone further.

After a few words online, I called the Western Star and let them know where I was being detained. They offered to send a photographer the following day, but I told them they’d have to make sure pictures were taken off ward. I didn’t want to violate the privacy of the other patients.

After all this, I went back to the public room and made a few new friends. The first person I chose to speak with had a small crowd of other patients around her and she looked very friendly. I’ll call her Red Sonya. We chatted for a while and exchanged stories. She was very intelligent and insightful and as a former truck driver had a great deal of stories to tell. She also provided me with the book I’d read during my first three days in detainment, ‘The Jester’ by James Patterson. As the climax of the book ends with an excommunicated former jester leading a revolt against the evil ‘Lord Stephen,’ it was the best book I’d read in a while and exactly what I needed to lift my spirits.

After a very trying day full of context-removed tweets, phone calls, guns and psychiatrists. I was glad to get some sleep. I knew I’d have a discussion with a new psychiatrist for my baseline assessment in the morning. Without a half dozen officers present I felt it would be much easier to discuss what brought me in.

I was in for a surprise though the following morning when I learned that the same tiny Hindu woman who had interviewed me for five minutes would be the doctor conducting the second assessment. I felt this to be unusual. The first doctor signed my papers after conferring with her the first evening, now she was providing the second assessment signature as well? To me it seemed like a violation of the process. The same doctor would offer her opinion twice after already being influenced by the first situation with the RNC.

At this point, I requested to be seen by a second doctor. I didn’t want to be interviewed by someone who’d already decided I was just like the Ottawa Shooter after a five minute discussion.

This brings me up to the end of my first 24 hours of detainment. There will be some overlap of days as I try to sort out the details, but I’ll try to keep it as coherent as possible.

The next installment in ‘My Life of Certified Insanity,’ will be out after I get some details of my current life sorted out. I’m without Internet or phone access from my home now and have had all my computers, research and business materials seized. I can’t even contact the RCMP or my lawyer without walking to the store. I’ve been left with no way to earn money or proceed with any of the projects I’ve been working on these past few years.

Long term food sustainability for Newfoundland as well as the cure for cancer and other oxidative stress disorders will apparently have to wait.

When I first filed the charges against our sitting Prime Minister and then Foreign Affairs Minister John Baird, I realized I would come across as being a little naïve. However, I wanted to stick a pin into that moment of time so it would be recorded and remembered. What I didn’t expect was the extents to which I would have to go to raise public awareness of the issue. I’ll summarize this briefly and to the best of my ability as this is the last piece to contextualize the tweet and the day I was pulled in.

Charges were filed with the RNC on the 21st of July. At the time, open war was being waged by the Ukrainian military and mercenaries from the West against the separatists in the East. The media was filling airtime with speculations of Russian weaponry being used to down MH17. Meanwhile, Gaza was being brutally assaulted by Israel. The story received minor coverage compared to the events in Eastern Europe.

Social media outlets like Twitter were a different story altogether. Videos, pictures and horrifying cries of damned souls being bombarded and executed were a near constant barrage, interspersed with periods of relative quiet. Even those periods of quiet were filled with prayers for salvation from those the rest of the world had abandoned to their fate.

I started the petition the weekend prior to filing the charges to advise others to step forward and file similar charges within their own jurisdiction. I did this in the hopes of speeding up the process, but local police they contacted refused to acknowledge the issue as presented.

Thursday the week after I filed the charges, I finally received a call from a RCMP officer in St. John’s, NL. He informed me he would be driving out the next day, August 1st, and wanted to bring me down to the station to discuss the charges. I met him at Tim Horton’s and we drove to the station where he brought me into the conference room instead of a standard interview room. I know the difference in this particular station as I’ve been inside their interview rooms four times since and am quite familiar with their standard layout and practices. This first encounter was quite unusual. You should also note that prior to these events, I have had no real professional contact with the RCMP or RNC. I didn’t even have any traffic fines on record, my last ticket for missing a stop sign being back in 2003 or 2004.

The officer informed me that the video was being considered a policy direction and that my only option to see foreign policy change was to vote. Charges were being dismissed and there would be no follow up investigation. When I asked how genocide could be considered a foreign policy directive and whether or not anyone properly investigated the Israel-Palestine situation, he suggested I file a complaint if I didn’t believe they’d done their job properly. At that point I left before my growing outrage made me say something insulting or unprofessional, then walked home.

My first response was to update people who were following through the petition and on Twitter. I was pretty upset at the way the entire issue had been handled. I wondered how anyone could think that these kinds of immoral actions in inciting war and genocide could be justified in the eyes of God and the law. Section 27 of the Rome Statute, to which Canada is a signed and ratified party, denies the use of governing policy in crimes pertaining to genocide, yet this was the excuse offered by the RCMP.

I began to wonder what kind of system could have arisen to allow these kinds of abuses to go unchecked. How could a nation traditionally known for peacekeeping suddenly become such an overt warmonger yet not be called to account for its actions? I resolved that as someone who had borne witness to the problem, I was duty bound to see it through to the end. To simply ignore it was to forsake my soul to apathy and fear of an unlawful authority.

Most of the information regarding that time is stored within this blog and the petition. There’s a blog post titled ‘The Problem with Canadian Federal Politics’ that examines a lot of what I was seeing on the world stage back in November.

Here are some of the highlights:

I took the advice of the RCMP officer who’d brought me in to dismiss the case and filed a complaint with the Commission for Public Complaints against the RCMP on the 5th of August, once their offices were open after the long weekend. They received and accepted the complaint that the officer “Failed to conduct a thorough and complete investigation into allegations, of criminal misconduct, including, but not limited to, advocating genocide (sec. 318 CCC).”

The Commission for Public Complaints mailed out their formal complaint notification on the 6th of August of 2014. I received my copy late the following week, but not before an interesting action was taken by the government. The Monday after the complaint had been filed, at 6:30am in the morning, Global News released the news that the Commission replacing the one I’d just filed a complaint with was now being required to take a lifetime gag order. Anyone working for the new commission would now be required to take a lifetime oath of secrecy, the violation of which could get them 14 years in prison.

For example, if someone working for this new commission were to provide information to the media regarding a complaint that was being investigated, despite that information being in the public interest, that informant could be dragged off to 14 years of prison.

This made me a little worried. I entertained the thought that perhaps the formal complaint appearing on a certain Minister’s desk on Friday afternoon was sufficient to provoke such a response early Monday morning, but kept biding my time. I did email the Public Safety Critic for the Liberal Party, Wayne Easter, as he’d voiced his opinion on the matter, but he never responded.

I wrote letters to all the Premiers and Regional Chiefs prior to the Premiers Conference in the summer. The full text is available at this link ( Not one of them responded either.

I received my first documented response from the RCMP at the end of August to inform me they didn’t even review the video as their letter says no evidence was provided to support the basis of the charges, despite the YouTube link being included in the charges I filed.

On September 22nd 2014, I contacted the Commission for Public Complaints against the RCMP to ask about the status of my complaint. As it stood, I hadn’t been contacted by a single police officer.

During the wait for the RCMP to acknowledge the complaint, following the dismissal, non-response of Premiers, Aboriginal Chiefs and a horde of other MPs I emailed directly, I decide I would have to hatch a new plan to try and see justice upheld. One of the issues I’d flagged with the letter I’d written prior to the Premier’s conference was that the repeal of Section 13 of the Canadian Human Rights Act in June of 2013 was exacerbating both Anti-Semitism and Islamophobia in the wake of the Israel-Gaza war. Section 13 prohibited hate speech online. Unlike alcohol prohibition, this one was actually good for society. As Premiers, they had the power to use the notwithstanding clause of the Charter to restore the repealed section. When I realized I’d been completely ignored, with not so much as a follow up email, I decided I’d have to use the tools that had been provided as best I could.

I began trying to get myself flagged on Twitter to have to speak with the RCMP. Unable to just walk into an RCMP office and request charges be re-filed, I had to come up with a new way into the system. A backdoor, if you will. I would have to walk a fine line between establishing a psychological profile through Twitter that might get me pulled in as a possible criminal with showing that no mens rea existed to carry out these idle threats beyond raising RCMP awareness of needed action.

Newfoundlanders might recognize the situation as something that might arise on a long boat voyage in days gone past. Working closely with people on long sea voyages requires strict social discipline. It wouldn’t be uncommon for someone to blow their top and utter threats in the heat of a moment. Everyone on the boat might hear the argument between two people and this would bring the social order established on the boat into disarray. To remedy the situation, both parties would be brought before the Captain in the standing room of the boat. He would act as the judge of the issue. If the offending party was unable to control themselves enough to speak their mind at this point, they were likely tossed into the brig for a portion of the voyage. Being able to speak calmly, eloquently and displaying appropriate restraint while before the Captain was as much as psychological examination as a legal one. The Captain was required to assess the possibility of a danger to the wellbeing of his crew. Simply uttering idle threats without a connection to violence would likely have been a common occurrence on longer voyages, especially with newer crews. After all, the phrase ‘swear like a sailor’ didn’t exist just because seafarers have developed an unusual way of affirming oaths on a Bible.

In short, I was going to attempt something that could end with me thrown in jail. As I was up against a government that was openly advocating for genocide and war, I thought it worth the risk.

To establish that the threats were idle and spoken out of anger, I limited myself to tweeting them while watching CPAC and listening to the speeches of MPs. The first one that got me pulled in was in regards to comments I made directed at Greg Rickford as he explained to Parliament how they wanted to reform Canada’s nuclear energy policies. Reading over his Bill, the implication arose that this would open the door for the proliferation of nuclear material in Canada and reclassified facilities as operators. After seeing how close this government’s ties were with the growing Ukrainian crisis and their requests for nuclear armaments, I uttered an idle threat out of anger, desperation, bitterness and frustration. I still managed to make it a joke about his greasy Hitler hairstyle.

It didn’t take long for that to gain the attention of the local RCMP, but that first meeting was a little more nerve wracking than the last as I didn’t know what to expect at all. They called me up out of the blue and requested a meeting. I offered to meet them at Tim Horton’s and we arranged it for the following day. They met me in and unmarked vehicle in the parking lot and gave me a pat down to make sure I wasn’t armed.  Then we drove to the RCMP station for an interview. Unlike the last time I was there, this time I was brought into the Interview room with a camera instead of the back conference room.

Once the tweet at issue was presented, it was easy to recall the circumstances under which I’d ‘uttered’ it, in a moment of anger in response to a perceived threat by someone advocating for a return to the Cold War logic of the build up of nuclear armaments. I perceived this to be an indirect threat against my friends and family. After that issue had been cleared up, while still on camera for the interview, I presented the interviewing officer with a copy of the charges as originally filed. I explained to him that I was trying to get their attention to get the information into the system and that no follow up had been made on my formal complaint months after it was filed. Not even a letter had been issued at this point acknowledging the complaint. They informed me that they had no knowledge of the complaint and that as no charges were being pressed, they couldn’t conduct any follow up information on the information I was providing. They released me with a warning to stay off CPAC.

Shortly after this first meeting, I was called in again by the RCMP. Different officers were interviewing me this time. Again for uttering threats, but this time still stemming from tweets made when I was initially trying to get their attention. I knew I had to walk a fine line to establish the right psychological profile, so I’d since kept my tweets to a certain level of vulgar response without making direct threats. But this one had come from when I was initially trying to get their attention, so they had to follow up on it anyways. I walked to the RCMP station this time, taking with me a copy of the formal complaint. I don’t remember this specific tweet, but I remember it being easy to contextualize. All my specific tweets at politicians were made while they were speaking live on CPAC, in response to their actions. I wasn’t planning any attacks and they had no reason to believe that attacks were pending. I had some good discussions with the officers and once again was informed that they could take a copy to add to the file but not follow up on it as no charges were being pressed. Without charges pressed, they couldn’t investigate the issue. They also informed me that I should avoid angry live commenting about CPAC on Twitter in the future as if they had to talk to me a third time they might have to press charges. They did inform me that while my methods were unusual, they appreciated the respect and candor I was offering in coming in of my own free will and speaking without a lawyer present. The usual reaction they received when contacting the public regarding comments made towards politicians on Twitter were insults towards themselves and more threats. They told me there was usually no real follow up possible to place in their reports beyond that they’d tried to contact the person involved who usually denies everything or refuses to discuss the issue. I thanked them for listening to me, promised to avoid further idle comments on CPAC Parliamentary coverage, and went on my way back home.

On the 18th of October, after these two meetings with the RCMP had been completed, I finally received a follow up call from a further RCMP officer about my formal complaint. We scheduled a meeting for the following week on the 22nd of October at 9:30AM.

When I walked to the RCMP station that morning I had no awareness of how much was going to happen that day. I went in with my BlackBerry Playbook, my Z10 and some papers. I spoke with the officer again in the interview room regarding the complaint, showed him the video and walked him through the transcript. I also discussed the context of the Israel-Palestine and Ukraine situation and showed him some of the other propaganda material being distributed by the government that seemed to contain strange subliminal elements. We ended our discussion; he informed me that he’d continue his follow up investigation and file a report in the near future. I walked home.

On the way home, I learned of the situation emerging in Ottawa with the shootings through Twitter. I witnessed the fear coming out of people on Twitter as reports came in of multiple gunmen across the Ottawa area around Parliament Hill. A friend would later tell me of a commercial he saw on CNN while following their live coverage. The ad was a UPS commercial for a fictional company named the ‘Gunderman Group.’ The name of the company features prominently on the screen several times in the video, but what jumped out at him was how much of a coincidence to see a commercial featuring ‘Gun man group’ in a commercial as CNN was doing its best to terrify its American audience into believing that an entire squad of terrorists had attacked Ottawa.

As the situation cleared and the facts about the single shooter, Michael Zehaf-Bibeau, were released to the public, I was completely blown away by the situation. I couldn’t even bring myself to update the petition with information regarding the latest meeting with the RCMP. As with Mr. Don Dunphy, at the time I felt as though I was being presented with a version of me that could have been, had I made different choices in my life. Where I was advocating lawful submission to the process I was undertaking, Michael had chosen to take the law into his own hands in opposition to everything I stood for. Even his long hair looked similar to mine. Pull a bandana up over my nose and I’d probably look just like him from the famous picture with the shotgun. The timing of the event was what truly shocked me though. As I was sitting down with the RCMP for my interview, he was recording his final words onto his cell phone. As I was walking home from my meeting, he had killed Corporal Nathan Cirillo and stormed to his death in Parliament, frightening the bejesus out of everyone there.

When I finally did speak on the matter on my petition, I made sure to make it known that I have always advocated for lawful action. The Jewish, Muslim and Christian faiths all advocate following the law of the land within whose borders you reside. That even if religious interpretations of all Abrahamic faiths pointed to our current government being The True Enemy of all truly living humans and the planet we live on, they also say they will not meet their ends by human hands, but through legal action in a court of law. Anyone curious as to what I’m referring to can check ‘Daniel 7:26’ for the specific reference. You’ll also find his dreams of the unholy 10 province nation under a Crown (Canada) that would arise in the Last Days. You can find a cross reference in the second chapter of the Qu’ran, or any part of the book of Revelations that refers to ‘seals’. Seals aren’t just a sea mammal or the wax impression of a ring; they’re also legally binding documents.

While I stayed active on Twitter to try to keep interest in the petition alive, I was also developing a side project. For the most part, the majority of the volume of my tweets was simply the petition link cut and pasted over and over again. I’d just find an active hashtag that was throwing out lots of unique names and cut and paste the petition to plant a seed in as many new people as possible to try to spread the word as far and wide as I could. This was the most frustrating process in the entire experience. I wasn’t glued to Twitter, but the Z10 wasn’t designed for cut and pasting. Some days I’d just sit in front of my PC and do the cut and paste routine enough to get temporary locked, then switch to my phone for regular twitter discussions for the rest of the day. Occasionally my Twitter seeding would bring in a troll, and I’d exercise my new right to online hate speech without uttering threats, just hateful vulgar insults. All of them unfortunately no longer prohibited by Section 13 in Canada.

All of this occurred while I was waiting for the RCMP to file a report and deliver their letter of disposition towards the issue. As of the writing of this post, I still haven’t received any further updates on the complaint.

In the meantime, I kept working on my business and my research and my experiments with my miniature pot plants. I could think of no other legal option other than simply waiting until I was visiting a friend one evening in December. I’d been listening to someone discuss how he would have to appear on marijuana possession and possible trafficking charges in court the following day. He asked for advice, I told him he’d be better off asking a lawyer, but if he was providing to a medical user with a registered condition who was unable to get a prescription he could try saying he was facilitating. This backwards Newfoundland medical and legal system creates criminals for fear of either Doctor or Patient being stigmatized for prescribing or using marijuana medicinally. A charter challenge in favor of medical marijuana user’s right to access might actually help remedy the situation.

While I was thinking about Charter Challenges, I started wondering if there might be a way to challenge the process that was established by reporting an act of inciting genocide. After a few discussions with local lawyers and a more established constitutional law advisor, I made a decision. I drafted up a rough, and flawed, originating application for my Charter Challenge and went down to the Supreme Court house and tried to file it. I ended up missing a section and had to walk home, called for advice, updated and then filed again. The originating application was created on December 19th, 2014. I mailed it out to the Attorney Generals of Newfoundland and Canada the same day. The one that went to Ottawa arrived just before New Year’s, the one destined for St. John’s disappeared without a trace.

I didn’t really know what to expect when the day arrived to appear in Court. I put on a good suit, packed up a couple of notepads with some notes and a Bible I’d found left behind in an abandoned camp outside Pasadena. I appeared at the Court with the attorneys representing the Attorney Generals appearing by phone. I remember forgetting to say ‘M’lord or Justice’ when asked my name. The attorneys for the other side suggested that service hadn’t been completed properly. The judge offered that if they attorneys both had copies, they could consider themselves served. As they’d been declaring themselves to have been unprepared to argue the case, they requested a day to prepare arguments. The Justice told me to have my arguments submitted to the Court by March 2nd, with the responding attorneys having until the 9th.

I spent the next few weeks trying to figure out how to write my arguments and properly file the documentation. Then I wrote three drafts and submitted them to people on the petition, this blog and on Twitter. I accepted all intelligent feedback from interested individuals and finalized the initial document. I went ahead and submitted it a week early. The attorneys responded on the 9th.

Their response? The Court wasn’t even allowed to hear my argument. I had no standing. I hadn’t been charged with a crime, so I couldn’t say my rights had been violated to contest that crime. I wasn’t an elected official, so I had no defined public interest standing that the court should accept. Based on a system of common law precedence, the Charter Challenge should be simply dismissed and I should pay the lawyers for the government for their time.

The unfortunate problem with their argument is that they were largely correct. I hadn’t filed affidavits pertaining to the nature of the offense I’d mentioned. I could discuss the nature of the offense if the judge was allowed to hear the case, but based on the system of precedence it was likely I wouldn’t even be allowed to speak on the matter.

At this point I had to enact Plan B.

This would lead me up to the events of March 18th, the day I uttered the tweet that resulted in my house being searched by the RCMP, my devices being seized and my small supply of unlicensed, medical-grade, research marijuana being destroyed. This occurred while I was being unlawfully detained and missing the court appearance for my Charter Challenge. It wasn’t the same tweet that got me unlawfully detained on April 7th.

Interesting times we live in, eh? A few words on the Internet can turn your whole life upside down and inside out.

The next post in this series will be ‘My Life of Certified Insanity (Day 1).’

My life as a political and human rights activist began as a transition from my life as a social entrepreneur which began as a tangent from my life as a pet owner. I broke this section into two parts to give it a full airing of the details. It might be a little much for some people, but I wanted to make sure I’m offering a complete version of what happened that lead me to my current place in life.

In the Summer of 2011, I was recovering from a workers injury that ended my electronics technologist career less than a year after landing the job. I had torn my right rotator cuff while trying to move a several hundred pound battery stack across a tile floor. Both shoulders were damaged, but my right arm was basically hanging off my body. I filed a workers comp form and received authorization for exceptionally strong pain killing medication. I chose to stick to just the anti-inflammatory medication and use pot for the pain as I healed. I was seen by a physiotherapist once and given Doctor’s orders not to do any heavy lifting.

This effectively ended my career with the tech company I was working with. Unable to risk having their project manager further injured, I was placed into a windowless cubicle and given a desk phone. All my work from then on would be tech support and paperwork. As someone who has always enjoyed hands on work, be it computer repair or planting trees, I was unable to adapt to life indoors behind a desk. I had to leave the company as the position I’d been placed in wasn’t what they’d hired me to do. I was left managing groups of repair teams who each earned more money than me and constantly called for advice. Unwilling to be forever squeezed into a windowless box, I left the company and spent the next few months fighting to obtain EI so I could finish recovering from my injury.

In October of 2011, I decided to get a pet dragon. I’d been introduced to Bearded Dragons from Australia through a friend who’d owned one. I’d been researching Australia independently because I’d heard that didgerdoo usage helps alleviate sleep apnea. That same week I saw a 75 gallon aquarium show up on Kijiji along with an ad from a local breeder who had a clutch of month old dragons he was selling. It felt like I was being guided towards having a pet dragon at that point, so I dove into the idea and went up to meet the breeder.

When he showed me a plastic tray with the few remaining dragons he hadn’t already sold, I was struck by how much they looked like tiny dinosaurs. Such tiny little perfect scales, intricate patterns and elegant feet. I put my hand in the bin to reach for one and they all scattered except for one. This little guy showed no fear of me whatsoever despite him being no bigger than my pinky finger. He just stood there with his head back and looked at my hand. This was Merlin and he became one of my most steadfast companions during the next two and a half years of my life. I didn’t realize it, but his influence would transform my life completely.

I drove out to Trout River the following day and bought the aquarium. Then I went to the local pet store picked up some lights and heaters and dry food. Next I brought everything home and set it up, leaving all the lights and heaters running through a full day/night cycle so I could check the temperatures. A little bit of research was required at this point to ensure I’d be able to create a good environment for little guy. If he didn’t have a warm enough place to sit during the day, he wouldn’t be able to digest his food. Once I was certain that the temperature and humidity ranges were suitable for a baby dragon, I drove up to the breeder and picked him up in a shoe box lined with my t-shirts for warmth.

I’d be sharing some pictures of his size for reference at this point, but even my family photos were seized by the RCMP when they took my devices. It’s funny how much value can be stored on one device, which can be unlawfully taken away and peered through by unknown people. They’ll be looking through photos of my nephew dying at 11 days old in a hospital shortly if they haven’t already. Sorry if it got a little dark there, but thinking about Merlin in a shoebox lined with a t-shirt reminded me of burying him the same way last year because I didn’t have the money to take him to a vet. All my pictures of him were taken when the RCMP seized my electronics to try to uncover a terrorist plot. I have a few on Facebook, but I took hundreds if not thousands of them. They’re being used right now to try to compile a psychological profile for someone who doesn’t exist.

Shortly after I got Merlin home and he was settling into his new surroundings, I was confronted by something I hadn’t fully prepared myself for when buying a bearded dragon. While adult bearded dragons eat mostly vegetables and a few bugs, baby Bearded Dragons eat mostly bugs. Tiny, wriggling, squirming, crawling, creeping bugs. Mostly beetle larva, crickets and another high protein species. Considering how far I’ve come and how much interesting research they inspired, I’m surprised at how revolted I was by them at the time. In retrospect, I’m not a big fan of most snakes or lizards either. I only jumped at the idea of a bearded dragon because… hey… I had a pet DRAGON.

This idea was later overturned when I realized that instead of me having a pet dragon, Merlin was being granted a human slave. To keep a bearded dragon healthy, you have to have a rigorous feeding schedule. You should keep their tanks clean of their poops, but make sure to check them occasionally to monitor their health. You have to be able to offer quality greens and discern the high nutritional value ones like collards from the low nutritional value ones like lettuce. Not all greens are created equal. You also have to pick through your feeder insects to make sure you’re not feeding them insects that are too big and may cause impaction. This caused me more grief than anything else. I have no problems baiting a hook with half an earthworm, but darkling beetle larva looked so much like maggots I had an deep aversion to touching them. They seemed so unclean and unnatural, despite the fact that they are eaten as a staple food in a good portion of the world.

As Merlin grew into his full size over the next two years his appetite increased along with him. Live insects are surprisingly expensive and it got to the point where the cost of Merlin’s groceries was a approaching a fraction of my own. To offset this, I decided to try my hand at insect breeding on a small scale. I wasn’t completely comfortable with having insects in my home, but the ones I was working with couldn’t climb smooth plastic, so I comforted myself with the knowledge they couldn’t escape.

They say necessity and politics makes strange bedfellows, but never in my life prior to these events had I imagined sharing a home with a family of bugs. Mice, carpenter bugs, and the occasional earwig are expected when living in an older home, but I never thought I would willingly allow in a family of beetles.

I bought mealworms from the local pet store, gave them a quick rinse to wash the ever-present mites off, then let them pupate into beetles. I set the beetles in a new bin and gave them bran and carrots as a food source. Within a few months, I had a new population of feeder insects for Merlin at a fraction of the cost. I began to think of them as my indoor compost bin for the vegetables that we had left over from our meals.

After about a year of trial and error, I settled into a much cheaper daily routine of taking care of my dragon and enjoyed the presence of such an odd creature from the other side of the world. It was like have a little alien dinosaur in my home that followed my movements like a sunflower follows the Sun. Taking care of such a small and unique creature added a depth to my life that didn’t exist prior to the fall of 2011.

I spent the winter doing point of sale repairs and installations for a temp agency operating out of Ontario. They made a habit out of billing their customers much more than their employees were getting, but that’s the nature of these kinds of shyster agencies and their contracts and I still needed to earn enough to live on. I went back to physical labour the following Spring doing landscaping in Pasadena. My old Boss called me up and offered me the kind of work I enjoy out in the sun, so I couldn’t refuse. I spent a whole summer tearing down a forest of trees on his land, as well as replacing old wooden fences with new metal ones. Having spent the winter trying to bring my shoulders back into working order, this was exactly what I needed to do to be healthy, spending a lot of time working in under the Sun.

By the time the fall of 2012 rolled around, I’d done a decent job of transforming the landscape I’d been working on.  I was still getting the occasional jobs working for the temp agency and my finances were in good order. I had stocks that were doing well and money saved in my TFSA. I had excellent credit and no outstanding bills. I was able to reapply for EI, although at this point I was basically getting less than a $1000 a month to live on.

As the winter settled in, I began to consider my options for work. I wasn’t interested in working for temp agencies for the rest of my life, and didn’t want to end up stuck behind a desk answering the phone. I started looking at the bugs I was raising and began to wonder if they might not give a clue to a direction forwards for my life. I knew that local stores were ordering them from outside Newfoundland, so I began to examine what would be needed to offer a local supply.

As I was trying to figure out what to do, my family was getting ready to experience a period of joy and tragedy. My nephew was born on November 10th, 2012 and it was a moment of exceptional happiness for the whole family. My parents came in and we were all so excited to see him and welcome him into our lives. We didn’t realize at the time how deeply his birth would shake our foundations.

The first moment I held him, shortly after he was born, I had a very mixed experience. As my brother passed him to me from his arms, joy and pride welling up in his eyes, I felt a sense of elation to see my little brother so happy at being a father. When I took his son into my hands though, the first thing I remember feeling was a stabbing pain in my left palm where I was holding him and then breaking out into a cold sweat. I still felt a feeling of joy at holding my new nephew in my hands, but it was tempered by a feeling of unease. At the time, I chalked the stabbing pain in my hand up to being unfamiliar with how to properly hold a baby and the cold sweat to anxiety at holding this fragile new bundle of joy in my hands.

I spent some time with the new Mommy and Daddy and my new nephew, then left them alone to get some rest, knowing I’d see more of them when they were released. They came home a few days later to a welcoming party that brought together both sets of grandparents to marvel at newest addition to their next generation.

Our joy was cut short when my nephew’s health took a turn for the worse. Despite repeat visits to a public health nurse regarding a jaundiced look he was presenting, they assured my brother and his wife that everything was fine. The last moment of peace we would have for a long time happened as they took him to the hospital to treat his jaundice with light therapy. By the time they’d arrived, his hold on life was beginning to fail due to an undiagnosed heart condition.

Affecting one in every thousand babies, my nephew had a condition known as a coarctation of the aorta. The blood flow to the lower portion of his body was suppressed by a tiny pinch in the lower half of his aorta that runs to his liver and kidneys. As those organs struggled to deal with the reduced blood pressure and building levels of toxins, his heart rate and blood pressure were increasing to try to raise the lowered blood pressure below the pinch in his aorta. This caused the blood pressure in the upper half of his body to increase and put too much stress on his heart. It could have easily been remedied in the womb through simple surgery, or with an injection that relaxes the smooth muscle walls followed by a minimally invasive procedure that opens up the pinch.

I know now that these symptoms are easily diagnosed from birth without any special medical equipment. Simply feeling the difference between the strength of the distal pulse at the wrists and the femoral pulse at the groin will identify the condition. It’s a simple test that takes moments and could easily save lives, but it’s not one of the current protocols for dealing with newborn babies in Newfoundland and Labrador.

Unfortunately, the doctor in the pediatrics ward where he was brought for treatment didn’t do this check either. He saw a baby experiencing a rapid decline in health and jumped to the conclusion that he was suffering from an infection instead of a heart condition. Despite being born in that wing days earlier, he couldn’t get immediate access to my nephew’s file which would have shown other symptoms of his heart condition, like his high heart rate at birth, and he might have reacted more appropriately. However, this information wasn’t readily available electronically and he treated him for infection instead, relying only on his initial assessment.

The first course of treatment when dealing with someone presenting with symptoms of an infection is to rehydrate them. Unfortunately for my nephew who was experiencing a cardiac crisis due to the inability of his kidneys to properly cleanse his blood and regulate blood pressure, this mistake would cost him his life. Increasing his blood volume without allowing his kidneys to restore the proper balance deepened his cardiac crisis, spiked his blood pressure further and ended up causing brain damage.

I won’t go into further detail on this matter, but in the week that followed my extended family travelled back and forth across Newfoundland and Nova Scotia to try to get my nephew some treatment. The hospitals we dealt with did a good job trying to come up with a million reasons why he’d suddenly taken ill. Genetic issues, infection, abnormal metabolism… they threw reason after reason at us until finally revealing they’d found the root of his heart condition. At that point the damage had already been done and he was barely clinging to life. He was removed from life support and passed on November 21st 2012 in the arms of his loving parents.  I can’t remember crying that hard at any other point in my life. To see someone so innocent, so free of any of the sins of this world, snuffed out after momentarily bringing such joy into our lives… it struck me as a crime against God.

I wasn’t until after we arrived back home, the house still covered in welcome posters and banners from the week before, that I began to think over what had happened. At this point we knew he had a coarctation, which was treatable, but didn’t realize the magnitude of mistake which had been made that first night. I contacted some nursing friends of mine and explained what had happened. They confirmed that the last thing a baby experiencing a cardiac crisis should be treated with is saline. A baby’s blood pressure is a very delicate thing. They’re so very, very fragile. Once they’d injected him with the saline, that very first treatment offered to a baby they thought to be experiencing infection, he was done for.

I spent some time trying to explain it to my family members individually, but they were still largely in a state of shock. That all came to a head one night when my brother’s wife logged into her work email account and found a letter from an anonymous source at the hospital. They’d been trying to contact her for the past week. The letter explained that the cardiologist had made a mistake and that my nephew would have been perfectly fine and healthy had it not been for that error they were now trying to cover up.

After a period of confusion, I had to be the bearer of bad news and tell them what I’d learned. Imparting to them such a shocking truth after going through such a twisted experience was hard on the whole family. We were all still in a state of disbelief, but I couldn’t leave this letter from an anonymous person hanging in the air. The family was so upset that more questions immediately began to emerge about what happened. It needed context. My background in biology is more extensive than my family’s, so what came as a natural understanding to me was foreign to them.

We agreed not to discuss it further. This may be the only time I speak this openly on the subject matter. I just want to further clear the air and illustrate that doctors are just as fallible as the rest of us. They’re prone to the same errors of judgment when presented with incomplete information. And just as prone to denying making mistakes to save themselves and prevent their authority from ever being questioned.

In the months that followed, I withdrew from my previous activities. I had a period of introspection and spent my last Christmas home in Labrador. We setup a special Christmas tree in our backyard for the nephew that was no longer with us. From then on, Christmas trees will always remind me of him.

After a few months of withdrawn grieving I decided to get my life back on track. I was still working with the temp agency, but also interested in starting my own business. I approached the local community development corporation with my idea surrounding insect production several times during this period and was rejected or ignored each time. I kept working on the idea and early in the Spring a friend asked me for a ride up to Canadian Tire to buy some fertilizer for his plants. I offered him a sample of what my mealworms were producing and the rapid results amazed us. I went back to the drawing board and began thinking up a plan to pair this fertilizer source with organic agriculture. It offered a means of establishing a business that created value-added products with no wasted byproduct. Everything that went into the business came back out as a higher value product, I just needed to formalize the idea.

In the summer of 2013, following a few weeks of meetings with the Navigate Entrepreneurship Center, I had the business concept fleshed out. I submitted it for review by Service Canada and the local community development corporation. It took 3 months for them to finally approve the idea. Total time trying to get into the process to be able to work on my business plan? 10 months.

During the approval process I met Misha and we’ve been almost inseparable ever since. It’s been a difficult road for us as so much of my money has been invested in an idea. The lack of local development opportunities has been stifling progress and leaving us struggling to make ends meet, even without exceptional circumstances arising to cause further conflict.

Shortly after being approved for self-employment assistance in November, my old apartment developed a leak in my roof over my bed due to a failed renovation that left heat pouring into my attic. Experiencing a complete disruption in my home life, my sleep apnea took over as my most pressing health situation. Having an absentee landlord who only bought the place from my previous landlord to earn some cash, he had little interest in spending money to keep the place livable. When I raised the issue as something that couldn’t be waiting on until spring, he served me with an eviction notice. Unwilling to deal with a landlord that would just shirk his responsibilities and wait until I moved out, I took the eviction as offered and moved out, letting him know on Christmas Eve that I had vacated the place. Dick move, I know, but I had just suffered through over 3 weeks of unhealthy sleep and was looking forward to getting some proper rest. I still paid full rent for the month of December.

Moving into the new place was a whole new experience. I had space to start up a lab in the basement, which led to me germinating my first marijuana seeds to experiment with. Prior to this I’d only been working with mint, which was great for tea but not much else. As a plant with a much more rapid growth rate, I’d hope that experimenting with cannabis would teach me how to grow a variety of plants indoors. If my current indoor garden is any indication, it has done that job quite well.

While all of this was new business planning and development was on-going, I had an older project brewing in the background coming to fruition. I’d been researching seaweeds as a source for a mitochondrial enhancer for oxidative stress related illnesses. In May, a quote from a movie inspired a whole new direction into my research that showed the compounds I was researching had played a well-established role in ancient medicines practiced around the world. I used this new knowledge to create a brief YouTube video to complement an earlier one and set up a Thunderclap to try to raise awareness on social media. I spent two weeks campaigning to build up supporters for the campaign and, to be perfectly honest, it came to nothing. Few people cared enough to bother reading the material, so it simply fell by the wayside for most. If you read back far enough in the blog, the information is all still available.

The Thunderclap was my first step at transitioning into from social entrepreneurship into activism. It was also the week that Merlin passed on suddenly. It was a very difficult few weeks. Not as difficult as when my nephew died, but it was still distressing to watch Merlin rapidly get ill and die practically in my hands. I buried him in June and planted some sunflowers over him to keep him company. I planted a little lilac tree over him last fall. I don’t know if the little tree has taken to its new environment, but I’ll be tending it once the snow melts.

The next step in my transition into activism happened a month later, but was shaped by time spent with Misha. She’s spent a portion of her life in Ukraine, so she brought me a unique perspective on the situation that was absent from Canadian news outlets.

While CBC was cheering on the fall of the previous Ukrainian government at the end of February, she was warning me that the people seizing power were those she’d previously identified as far-right extremists. The actions of the new government following the coup illustrated that mentality quite well as they cracked down on dissenters in Eastern Ukraine and tightened their grip on power.

Once Ukraine had conducted their formal elections under the guise of ‘trusted’ Canadian election monitors, the new President quickly legitimized the civil war between West and East Ukraine by declaring the dissidents to be terrorists. He declared a resumption of hostilities against the dissident/terrorists on July 1st, 2014. Canada Day. The Canadian Federal government cheered him on. After studiously ignoring politics for several years, I found myself horrified by the fascist and tyrannical tendencies that were now being displayed by the Canadian government.

As July progressed, other issues began to emerge. In the Middle East, the situation between Israel and Gaza was becoming ugly. Atrocities against children committed by extremist elements from both sides led to the resumption of rocket attacks and an escalation towards war. Like seeing a train wreck in slow motion, I watched both situations in the Middle East and Ukraine with great trepidation. The two situations then converged surrounding a very unlikely series of events that seemed too well-timed to be coincidental.

On the 16th of July of 2014, four children were killed on beach in Gaza. They were killed in full public view of people staying at a nearby hotel and the event drew outrage from media outlets stationed in the area. Israel announced a humanitarian window for the following day to grieve the loss of the children, but kept massing their infantry forces along their border with Gaza. As the humanitarian window was closing on the following day, MH17 was shot down over Eastern Ukraine. While media attention turned to the downed plane and the chaos that was ensuing in Ukraine, Israel launched their all out attack on Gaza.

Some people might not understand the level of brutality used in Israel’s war last summer. They think that all nations have a ‘Right to Defend’, but ignore the fact that the section of the UN Charter they’re using refers to the ‘Right to Defend Responsibly’. This refers to accepting responsibility for civilian deaths in a conflict situation. Accepting responsibility for war crimes committed by overzealous soldiers and for public figures that openly incite discrimination and genocide. Accepting responsibility for training soldiers that no longer see their neighbors as living beings worthy of their respect.

To illustrate the brutality of the conflict, I’m going to discuss some of the munitions used. The rockets launched by Hamas forces are basically homemade. They don’t have a very extensive range and their explosive power is limited. They’re a little scary when they’re aimed at you, but in the last conflict they simply weren’t effective at all. Israel has their ‘Iron Dome’ rocket defense system that lets them shoot down incoming rockets. Gaza has no such defense system.

While Israel has access to some of the most advanced weaponry on the planet, including nuclear weapons, I’m only going to look at a single type of munitions they used for comparison, explosive unguided artillery. Bombs launched like bullets from the ground that have a 300 meter kill radius on open terrain. Used in a city setting, that kill radius becomes much larger as explosive forces bounce off buildings and down city streets. While Hamas launched over 4000 largely unsuccessful rocket attacks against Israel, the IDF launched over 34,000 rounds of explosive artillery alone. This doesn’t count any form of missile or jet attack and also disregards the cluster munitions that were known to have been used in the conflict. It just compares the effectiveness of Hamas’ largely useless rocket brigade against the overwhelming violence of the Israeli response. To call this a case of overkill is to make the understatement of the century.

What came as a greater shock as all this was emerging was Canada’s stance. While we’ve traditionally been seen as Peacekeepers in the region, we abdicated that responsibility publically and sided with Israel. 9/11 was cited at the time as one of the reasons, but the truth is Canadian’s reason for supporting this war is more closely rooted in fear, bigotry and islamophobia.

On the 17th of July, as the world seemed to be descending into chaos with CBC ignoring the deaths and funerals of the four Gazan children from the previous day, I began trying to figure out Canada’s position. I was introduced to a propaganda video released by the Conservative Party to their Israeli supporters on the 16th of July that made me realize how involved Canada had become in instigating this conflict.

In the video, our current Prime Minister and then Foreign Affairs Minister advocate directly for war and genocide. He advises confronting the ‘dark forces’, a dangerous thing to say to an audience of predominantly white people. The quotes used in the propaganda video are taken from his speech before the Knesset earlier in the year. During that same speech our Prime Minister spoke of a ‘sophisticated language of hatred developed in the modern world for use in polite society.’ He used this threatening doublespeak to criticize the Arab delegation present, angering them to the point of leaving. Even back in January of 2014, he was angering and dividing people on racial and religious lines.

Flash forward to July and his same words are again being used to reinforce the idea of settling religious and political differences through force of arms. To me, this was so un-Canadian and wrong I had to speak up. The following weekend I typed up a transcript and analysis of the video, along with a list of charges. I brought it to the local RNC and requested they file charges.

Thus began my life as an activist.

My next post will cover how my forays into political and human rights activism resulted in my detainment on the 4th Floor the Western Memorial Regional Hospital for 6 days.

I created a GoFundMe account specifically for the Charter Challenge to help hire some additional legal aide.

All donations will go towards helping to build a case that will see the Federal government of Canada and the Provincial government of Newfoundland and Labrador held accountable for their crimes against humanity.

There is a lot of background information that is needed to fully understand what happened the day I was pulled into detainment by the RNC. A lot of the information is available online, but I’ll try to quickly summarize it for those who haven’t been following along very closely.

My name is Andrew Abbass. I’m a Canadian. I was born and raised in Happy Valley-Goose Bay in the province of Newfoundland and Labrador. My parents were teachers on Wing 5, the American-turned-Canadian military base in Labrador. I was born at the Grenfell Hospital on the base. I went to Mother Goose nursery, then St. Michael’s, a grade school under the RC Board across the street where my parents taught. I went to high school at Goose High. All of these buildings were located within a kilometer from each other. They’ve all been torn down. None of them exist at all anymore.

What does still exist are all the connections I’ve made with the family, friends, classmates, teachers, professors, doctors, nurses, optometrists, recycling depot operators, pharmacists, computer technicians, car wash operators, tree planters and community radio aficionados I’ve met during my time walking around on this blue marble floating in space.

These people have watched me grow and develop through school and go off to university. They watched me perform ‘The Cremation of Sam Mcgee’ in a junior high poetry slam while sweating to death inside a full set of winter gear. They’ve seen me sorting their recyclables with a smile, simply enjoying the feeling of turning one man’s trash into another’s treasure. They’ve watched me work like a dog dragging trays of trees off the beaten path of Pynn’s Brook into the woods so others could earn their daily bread one year, then join them in planting trees the next.

Just because my family name is ‘Abbass’ doesn’t mean my family doesn’t have deep roots both in Newfoundland and Labrador and Canada. If you go down to the Newfoundland Emporium on Broadway in Corner Brook and check out the family name register they have on display, you’ll see my family name at the top of the list. Says it means stern. We’ve been here a while.

My father comes from Cape Breton and is the son of a Lebanese barber who fought against Nazism and the Axis Forces in World War 2. His mother was descended from Scottish farmers and sea captains who built their families around Minasville, NS in the Bay of Fundy. She was also ‘stationed overseas’ during WW2, although for her that meant being in PEI.

My mother’s background is even more varied. She brings together a long history of families from Newfoundland and America. Her family tree research shows that we had family on both sides of the American Civil War, the Boston Tea Party, the War of 1812 and a host of other conflicts. She’s also got some native blood on her father’s side as well. With the number of times her family fought amongst themselves during the history of making her, it’s a miracle her ancestors survived long enough to produce her to be my mother, meet my father, and help him raise me to be the man I am today.

I don’t want to dig too much into family details or my own personal history, but I just want it known that I had a wonderful family life and upbringing with an exceptional extended family and some great friends. People who still understand the meaning behind the words ‘Family Values’ that others in the political arena toss around to win elections. Every chance at growth, development and education that could be provided was on offer.

As a result, I always done my best to be a good upstanding citizen and uphold the law, although I may have an overdeveloped sense of justice. I do smoke pot, but have a medical condition that it remedies. Prior to a few consciousness expanding realizations of the last year, I always considered it to be a victimless crime. I buy it, I smoke it, I get restful sleep and I feel better. No harm done to anyone, right?

The problem is that this isn’t necessarily true. The pot had to come from somewhere and the money ends up in someone else’s hands. Not knowing where it originates from leaves the door open for it to be coming from any criminal element interested in supplying it. It could be funding a gang of Hell’s Angels, some white supremacists, a terrorist cell, even human trafficking. You don’t know where that money goes once it’s left your hand other than back up the chain into mystery. The pot you’re buying could be funding the trafficking of more harmful drugs back into your own communities.

This creates a serious problem.

Unlike alcohol, which has no real medicinal value other than as a disinfectant, cannabis has an exceptionally long list of medical conditions that it benefits. Everything from stress, high blood pressure and chronic pain to nausea, glaucoma and cancer sees a benefit. There is a distinct need in society to obtain a source of natural organic relief that produces minimal side effects and has a long history of therapeutic value that spans our shared cultural history. Anyone who denies the therapeutic benefits of cannabis is beginning to sound as ignorant as those people denying global climate change as an actively occurring process. They may, in fact, be the same ignorant people. Time will tell.

Instead, there is an insistence and a belief that the first course of medical treatment in the modern world must be signature magic pills. Magic pills developed through esoteric patented processes that leave a person with a host of side effects that must then be remedied through other magic pills. It is the pipe dream of a madman. Instead of addressing the root causes of health issues in modern society, be they mental or physical, we allow pharmaceutical companies to draw a veil over our eyes. These doctors have been indoctrinated as high priests into the cult of the magic pill since Med school. They are plied with gifts and promises that their patient will be able to switch to a newer better pill with fewer side effects… in the future… once they work out the kinks… and it’s been approved. It is no longer a science at this point, it is now a blasphemous religion designed to imprison people within their own bodies.

They stop treating patients like people with friends and families and lives and start seeing them only as a set of disorders to be remedied with their toolbox of pills. It’s like putting a Band-Aid over the gaping wound after being shot in the stomach. Or having your mechanic fix the brakes of your truck with duct tape, clothespins and spit instead of manufacturer certified parts. It leaves you primed to break down further in the future in a manner which could be life threatening.

However, we blithely continue on down the road towards the pill-shaped prison. We remain unaware that just because someone has been granted the title of ‘Doctor’ by a school of thought doesn’t mean they know how to make you well.

In the case of psychology and psychiatry, we have a group of people that may have an exceptionally keen eye for categorizing symptoms, but when it comes to issues like the ties between mental and social health, they ignore root causes completely.  Instead, they rely on their toolbox of magic pills to mask the symptoms as best as possible to try to fit the person back into the hole they’ve created in their life. They play God with people’s lives in a manner befitting the worst Nazi medical experiments of history, but completely unaware of their actions. To quote a famous Jew from a few thousand years ago, “Forgive them Father, they know not what they do.”

I had a sharp reminder of that this past Fall when I almost lost my favourite Aunt. A change in doctors led to rapid changes in the dosage of her prescribed medication and then her personality. These kinds of things happen all too often in our overworked system. It’s not always the fault of the doctors, it’s just how each doctor’s time with each patient is limited and mishandled by the bureaucracy above them. They may be struggling to do the best in a system that simply overburdens both themselves and the patients. A system which forces them to suffer through inordinate wait times for the most simple of procedures which end up dehumanizing both the doctor and the patient.

Before I get too far off topic, I was talking about marijuana and its benefits. As the readers of this blog may know, I have been charged by the RCMP for the production of a controlled substance. For the last two years I have been conducting research using insects to produce a fertilizer and soil amendment that also acts as an immune stimulant. I’ve grown mint, aloe, snapdragons, dill, cilantro, garlic, vines, collards and sunflowers indoors under lights of my own devising. I also have a grapevine with a 6 foot spread growing in a 2 gallon pot of soil.

I’ve been building my research into a business with the help of people associated with Grenfell University. I’ve also got a number of other research projects on my plate. One is about using dihalogenated acetates in seaweed to restore mitochondrial function in cells. It relieves built up oxidative stress which is the prime trigger of a number of human illnesses, including all aging related illnesses. These compounds even directly address what makes cells become cancerous. But that’s another story for another day. There are a few blog posts about it on this site, you just have to read back a while. I hope to get back to work on it once the RCMP returns the electronic devices they’ve taken from me. I have a meeting with a research associate involved with the project this week and have a sample still sitting in storage waiting for examination. At least we have that much.

Back to the pot.

I suffer from severe obstructive sleep apnea due to enlarged tonsils so I can’t sleep on my back. I’ve apparently had it most of my life, but wasn’t diagnosed until 4 years ago. I’ve tried CPAP. I could take it for a while, but after about a year I couldn’t ‘stomach’ it any longer. CPAP users will know exactly what I’m talking about. I spoke with a local ENT about it and he wanted to perform a major surgery to correct the issue instead of just removing my tonsils. I considered it at first, but the month long recovery time made me say no. Just as well, a girl in the States ended up brain-dead after that same surgery a year later. That doctor has also unfortunately since died of throat cancer so I can’t even go back to discuss other options.

What does work for me is falling asleep in a particular position and sleeping restfully. If I toss and turn I end up on my back and then I stop breathing. My blood oxygen levels drop dangerously low, my heart rate and blood pressure spikes. I wake up without realizing that I’ve woken up, gasp for air for a while then fall back asleep in the same position. Repeat. I wake up exhausted and in a daze that leaves me mentally and physically drained and unable to focus on simple daily tasks like doing the dishes or laundry. Basically I’m the Elephant Man, but with the elephantiasis only affecting my tonsils. If either of us falls asleep on our backs we’re in trouble.

Pot remedies the issue for me.

With a properly selected strain, I simply rolled a joint or packed a bowl in my bong, Dr. Frankensuess, before bed. Lying down in the recovery position you’d put someone suffering from alcohol poisoning in, I can sleep peacefully through the night. If I happen to roll over and wake myself up after a short restful period, I simply take another toke from my bong and go back to bed. It provides for relief and a restful night’s sleep that I haven’t been able to obtain through any other offered method.

If I was in BC, I’d be able to get a prescription easily, but in Newfoundland the doctors are very nervous about getting involved in the process. Unlike the pill pushers who work for the pharmaceutical industry as drug dealers, marijuana growers and users have few people able to openly lobby for unshackling this medicinal plant from the criminal element that controls it in this province. This appears to be where I’ve stepped into that picture, although my story is much more complicated.

As I’ve stated previously, my research has been into developing processes built around insects. They’re basically lab workers capable of performing their function every moment of their lives not spent in an egg or pupating. They produce an amendment rich in the plant immune stimulant, chitin, the application of which triggers an infestation response from the plant. This trigger turns on the cellular defense mechanisms of the plant, increasing the rate of water and nutrient uptake and the efficiency of photosynthesis, as well as increasing the blooming and fruiting potential of the plant. This research has long term application in ensuring food sustainability not just for the Island of Newfoundland, but anywhere in the world.

While my initial research involved mostly mint plants, which made some excellent tea, in January of 2014 I decided to investigate its potential use on marijuana plants. I wanted to be able to study how the genetics of a single plant would be affected by the amendment my lab assistants were producing. I sprouted a number of seeds I’d been given of my favorite strain, green crack, and selected the four most vigorous of them for experimentation.

I took the first few months to train and bonsai the plants to keep them small and make them capable of supporting a high number of clones. When I started taking my first few clones to test their rooting potential, I was using a bubbler bin that I’m currently using to produce clones of my grapevines. I sexed the plants and determined I had lucked out and gotten four female plants to work with. I spent months studying the characteristics of the clones, with the ones that successfully rooted in the bubbler making their way into the 16 ounce solo cups that would be their final home. I studied the growth and flowering characteristics of each plant through their clones, how they responded to different environmental stresses, and how they responded to varying levels of application of my fertilizer. After over 6 months in the selection process, I decided on a single plant with the best flowering and rooting abilities. During this time I also developed a very simple small scale drying process using clothespins and paper bags. Up until this point I wasn’t producing enough marijuana to supply a single person with a regular medicinal supply.

I flowered off the remainder of the plants as they lacked the vigor of the plant I’d chosen, dubbed Green Monster or Lillian. I also decided to re-vegetate one of the other mothers, Vanilla to see if I couldn’t increase its rooting potential. It had some of the best flowering characteristics, but had the worst record for clones surviving the cloning process. I don’t even use rooting gel in my methods, relying simply on a clean environment and natural processes. I figured I’d give it another shot to see if I noticed any improvement.

While all of this was going on, I was doing my best to get my research business off the ground. I had contacts within Grenfell University, but they were stuck waiting for their lab to be finished and made available for use. I had financier interest, but no location to start my business. Instead of worrying about what I couldn’t get done at the moment, I kept my mind on what I was able to do.

After 9 months of experimentation, including much trial and error with a variety of light sources and ventilation methods, I settled on a single plant line to experiment, including a redesigned flowering tent that used LEDs for lighting and had a homemade odor reducing ventilation system. Even then I was still only growing tiny plants in cut down 1 gallon water jugs. I let plants vegetate a little larger at this stage, but quickly ran into problems with them not liking their roots being so constrained and crowded, so I had to step up to a larger container size.

I ended up settling on a mix of square and rectangular pots that gave me 1 and 2 gallons of soil to work with and allowed the plants to vegetate a week or two after establishing roots before putting them in to flowering. Green Crack has a short flowering cycle, between 50 and 60 days, depending on the ratio of THC to CDB you’re aiming for at harvest. I used a tie-down method to create a hybrid between a screen of green and a sea of green, but I kept the plants exceptionally small. I wasn’t aiming to traffic in marijuana, just to continue my research and hopefully hit a point where I could stop paying for it from outside sources. They usually don’t have reliable access to a stable strain for consistent delivery of medicinal benefits.

While this was going on, another situation was emerging in my life. The Love of My Life, who I will only refer to as Misha for the remainder of my story, became pregnant around the beginning of November. At first we were nervous about the idea of becoming parents and starting a family. My small business was struggling to find its footing and we weren’t seeing any support for the idea from the local business community or government organizations I’d been working with.

In November, the self-employment assistance I’d receiving to help me get my business started was cut off. I’d been filing requests with them for a whole year trying to have them recognize my sleep apnea as a disability that was having a negative effect on my ability to start a business. Having this acknowledged would have offered me an additional 6 months to get my business off the ground with more assistance during the entire period. Instead, due to ‘budget cuts’ that eliminated the group of people responsible for identifying and resolving issues around worker’s disabilities, no one remaining in the offices was willing to discuss the issue.

I had to borrow extensively from friends and family to keep my own new family afloat during the months of December and January. All of my issues were finally resolved in February after a few calls to the Citizen’s Representative, but not until after months of trying to ask local politicians and bureaucrats for advice on the matter. Threatened with legal action for discriminating against someone with a disability, the local bureaucrats from Service Canada caved and acknowledge that I might have a disability they’d ignored. They requested a note from my doctor that he’d offered to write a year earlier and within a week they’d backpaid me the money that had been withheld.

What went unacknowledged was that my credit cards, rent, student loans and electrical bills went unpaid for a while as I was trying to rectify the situation. I did my best to juggle the money around to keep them all happy while still buying groceries, but having a complete cessation of income while trying to get a business off the ground ended up putting me deep into a financial hole.

Around the middle of January, another worry crept into the situation. Misha, the Love of My Life, has very unique eyes. As the first term of her pregnancy came to a close, she started getting more and more bouts of extreme nausea and had a lot of trouble keeping food and liquids down. Her eye condition added to our worries as the unique shape of her eyes leaves her prone to retinal detachment. This is due to intraocular pressures created by the vomiting. One tough night left her with a temporary gap in her vision that made us both extremely nervous. It’s also an issue for the birth process itself, so it’s never far from our minds.

I started reading into stories of women who used marijuana during pregnancy and still gave birth to perfectly healthy children. I realized that the pot I’d been growing in small quantities for research could help her keep food down and reduce the vomiting. This would help keep both her eyes and the baby healthy. Lacking the ability to secure a simple prescription for such a complicated issue, I made the decision to become ‘a full-blown criminal’. I increased the number of plants I was growing in my bin, attempting to get a much larger harvest to supply our medical needs for at least a month or two until I could make further plans.

I was still 3 weeks away from the first decent harvest when my home was raided by the RCMP for my electronics for uttering threats on Twitter. This unfortunately occurred while I was detained. The RCMP were unable to contact me and took my electronics as they had no other way to determine if I was plotting some sort of secret attack. Instead they’re discovering I’m developing new medicines, technologies and methods to feed people. In the words of Mick Jagger: “You can’t always get what you want.”

In the week since I’ve been released from the hospital, I’ve had to resort to the traditional criminal methods to obtain medicinal relief. These include buying supplies from people who also have police officers in their family and are supplying to other people who have medicinal reasons, like cancer, for using marijuana. But these people are still considered criminals by a system created to benefit legal pill pushers. Dealers who push drugs with side effects like suicidal or homicidal ideation onto unwilling people. There is something very sick and wrong with our current society that needs to be healed sooner rather than later.

I wanted to tell this portion of the story before moving onto the next section about the specific tweet that got me pulled in. I think it helps explain why Don Dunphy’s story, that of a disabled outspoken activist and family man who was growing and using marijuana medicinally, resonated so strongly with me.

Don’s story could easily have been my story.

There but for the grace of God go I.