Protesting for The First Time

I have experienced an intense number of stalking and harassment since my anticipated protest on Independence Day. However, it was on Monday, July 11, 2011 when I finally decided to execute a protest. I was finally pushed over the edge when a friend of mine---whom appears to know little about the organized stalking, but not everything---had his car mysteriously breakdown on him. This has happened on numerous occasions. I have always suspected that it was my stalkers whom were vandalizing his vehicle, probably to get to me. I decided to tape a sign to the back of a shirt that I had planned to wear for jogging. The sign said: "Stop Hidden Oppression." There was a URL at the bottom reading, "www.freedomfchs.org." I was heavily anxious about the reaction that I would generate. I figured that cars would blow their horns at me at the very least with police officers concocting a reason to arrest or commit me at the most. I took all precautions necessary before proceeding. I left my apartment with the sign on my shirt and ran through the streets, bearing the vital message. I stopped at a street corner located only about five-hundred feet from my apartment building, waiting for cars to pass, so I can cross the street. A woman stood behind me with a man silently reading my sign.


"I agree with you, sir!" She said to me.
I turned around as she repeated her statement. "Thanks," I replied.


Traffic had cleared, so I proceeded to jog across the street. I heard whispering as I continued jogging, but other than that, everything seemingly went back to normal (before my targeting). I came across another street corner waiting for busy traffic to clear. It was a one-way street and a construction vehicle stopped in the middle of his lane. Traffic seemed to stop on both lanes after that event. I proceeded across the street when a car came at me on the other lane. The driver yelled, "What the fuck is wrong with you?" I ignored him and continued jogging. I ran back to my home covered in sweat and heavily panting. I removed my shirt to see if there were any sweat stains on the sign. There was tape lined against the sign on the inside of my shirt as well, so I only saw a few drops. I felt proud that I mustered the courage to get out and spread awareness of this system of oppression. I removed the sign and tape from the shirt, placing both aside. I drank some water and proceeded to remove the rest of my clothing to shower. I dressed with fresh new clothes afterward and headed out to run some errands. I experienced intimidation by Street Thugs. I passed a group containing three of them with one glaring at me. Another Street Thug then invaded my space to induce some fear into my mind. I first headed to the Post Office to check my PO Box then to the pharmacy to purchase some items. On my way to the pharmacy a jeep full of Street Thugs passed me with one in the backseat glaring me down. I arrived at the pharmacy and did some shopping. I waited at the check-out line once I have acquired everything and experienced directed conversation from a fat, ugly female Street Thug talking on her cell phone. She said in the middle of her conversation, "He's not going to have a job." I interpreted this statement as meaning they would retaliate in a manner to effect my employment, I began worrying.


I was on my way to work the next morning when I was confronted by a number of vehicular harassment.It went as follow:

---A police officer circled me three times

---Five commercial vehicles in a row passed me.

---Two Maryland license plates passed me that I recognize.

---A Tennessee plate passed me with the driver glaring.

---A car passed me slowly with a Ron Paul bumper sticker. This was an act of projection---using symbolism to remind the target that he/she is under surveillance. I had a conversation with a TI friend named "Alan" about Ron Paul the previous day.

---Last, but not least, a tow truck stopped next to me just sitting idle. I wondered if the driver was going to go. Suddenly, a young Amish man (yes, even the Amish are involved in organized stalking) rose from the back seat as quickly as a Jack-in-The-Box and yelled "Queer-boy." He ducked just as quickly.


When I arrived at work, a member of management stared at me in a hostile manner. I figured more trouble would come. I called Gerald (See About Me [in Detail]) to tell him about the whole thing after arriving home from the end of my shift. He advised me to cutback on the activism.