A Patriotic Nightmare. Don E. Post

voice.

      Darren, wishing Blaylock would shut up, whispered irritably, “He’s a fairly successful business man from Georgia that moved his family to a remote area of Washington fifteen years ago. His brother and brother-in-law followed with their families. Reportedly they dusted off an old eighteen fifty-four state law regarding squatter’s rights to build on fifty acres inside the Okanogan National Forest. They supported Randy Weaver during the siege at Ruby Ridge, then created their own state militia, and they did such a good job that other states asked for help. Ron and his brother reportedly spend their time raising funds for all these groups. Militias are now active in at least twenty states and membership is around five thousand. And growing fast.”

      “Ummm,” murmured Stevens. “I thought the movement was larger.”

      “Could be,” Darren responded. “There’s a lot of secrecy among these people.”

      Ron Chapmann’s speech mesmerized the Bellingham crowd as he told about his family’s experiences fighting the federal government and his vision of an international Zionist conspiracy. He warned of black helicopters cruising the skies preparing the way for an invasion of UN forces that would enslave all true patriots and turn the country over to foreign rabble. A lengthy diatribe against NAFTA, GATT, World Affairs Council, Trilateral Commission, the Atlantic Council and the lack of resolve to annihilate all the Arabs in the Mideast during the Iraqi war comprised the rest of his speech. He concluded with an evangelistic fervor that would have made Billy Graham envious. He walked from behind the lectern to the edge of the dais, leaned over slightly and in a slow, steely and mono-toned voice said, “I want you to know I’m not the head of any organization. My family is one of many who have decided the existing government is treasonous, and therefore not the legally valid representative of the people. We do not recognize any state or national authority as presently constituted. We do not pay any taxes, do not register any of our vehicles or property deeds with the State, and do not recognize the legitimacy of any state or federal laws to govern or control any portion of our lives. We live quietly on our own sovereign land, bother no one, and view the encroachment of our domain by anyone not personally invited to be an act of war.”

      He paused, took a deep breath and straightened his small frame. Whoops, hollers and applause echoed across the hall. He wiped his sweaty brow with his handkerchief as he waited for the crowd to calm down, and then continued in the same passionate manner.

      “As patriots there’s a great diversity of opinion among us, which is okay. We do agree on some things. First, the existing government has betrayed the founding fathers and, therefore, is illegitimate. Second, the nation has lost the historic Christian foundation. Third, the white race is targeted for extinction.”

      Again, he paused and the crowd applauded. Shouts of “amen” echoed throughout the hall. Someone yelled, “You tell’um, Ron!” Laughter rippled through the crowd. Ron motioned for quiet, and then continued.

      “If you share these beliefs, we want you to join us in returnin’ to the America as originally conceived by our founding fathers. The state militia has a network to help you fulfill your patriotism. Thanks for invitin’ us. We look forward to having many of you join us in our crusade to restore America!”

      The crowd jumped up clapping, screaming and shouting “amen” and “hallelujah.” Blaylock nudged Darren as they stood and said, “Guess we better clap too!”

      “Yeah, guess so.” The snaggle-toothed woman in the next row joined those jumping for joy. Her husband continued to sit quietly. Darren thought the guy might drop off to sleep.

      Although relatively new to the national patriotic scene, the next speaker, Colonel Arlo White, U.S. Army (Ret.), age 64, had amassed a great following since joining the movement. His six foot two, two hundred and thirty pounds seemed all muscle. His silver hair, in traditional military crew-cut fashion, and bulldog face communicated authority. His experiences in Vietnam and Desert Storm made him a highly decorated war hero. He reportedly led several private missions to Southeast Asia to search for U.S. POWs. He now trained state militia across the nation.

      The crowd, already on an emotional high, cheered the introduction. Meanwhile, Darren realized that he and Stevens could easily be beaten to death by this crowd if someone just pointed a finger in their direction and said, “There’s some feds folks. Sic’um!” He shook his head in disgust at the thought. His stomach began hurting, a sure sign of stress.

      As the crowd gradually took their seats, White stood, unleashing his huge frame, then strode with regal authority to the lectern. Blaylock turned to Darren and whispered, “There’s a man bloated with his own importance!”

      “Yeah, seems to be.”

      White stared at the crowd for eight to ten seconds. Deathly silence saturated the hall. Afraid to shift in his seat for fear the noise would echo throughout the hall, Darren remained immobile. His sore rear end would have to suffer. Then, in a deep baritone voice that boomed across the hall, White gave the crowd a vision of the movement’s growth across the nation. Complementing Chapmann’s sinister forces idea, he emphasized corruption and abuse of power in state and federal governments. He named politicians who had been convicted and sent to prison for abuse of power. (In truth none of the politicos mentioned had been indicted, but truth was a scarce commodity at such meetings.) He used the Brady Bill, NAFTA, financial support of Israel, unwillingness to carry the Vietnam War to its “just conclusion,” and inability to wipe out Al-Qaida and find Saddam Hussein as tools to paint the government illegitimate. The Constitution, he assured them, gave them the right to bear arms and overthrow the government.

      People loved the show. Many jumped to their feet cheering and clapping. Hopkins applauded meekly for fear of attracting attention. Blaylock sat with his arms crossed and looked bored. Arlo White beamed down upon the crowd, then lifted his two arms over his head and waved like an Olympian who had just won the one hundred yard dash.

      Meanwhile, Darren noticed that James Robert Earl had moved into White’s chair next to Ron Chapmann. He saw Earl lean over and whisper to Chapmann, then point toward Darren and his colleague. Darren suspected they had been identified. He tensed in his seat as he noticed that the only exit was toward the front. Then Earl, still whispering to White, motioned toward the exit door. Darren then saw a large man leaning against the wall by the exit motion for White and Earl’s attention. The man must weigh three hundred pounds, Darren thought.

      Petsch concluded the speeches as he bounced around the podium shouting and exhorting a message filled with fear and hate. Words and phrases often disappeared when Petsch screamed, so Hopkins and Blaylock couldn’t hear the whole message. They did hear him say,

      “God created the Aryan race to establish a Christian world. Them that get in the way are instruments of Satan. This Godly group has been sifted and winnowed and now is the Anglo-Saxon Protestants, Hallelujah, Amen!”

      Blaylock elbowed Darren and said, “What a bunch of ignorant crap!”

      “Boy, you can say amen to that.” Again, the snaggle-tooth lady eyed them. He didn’t care any more. The hate in the room disgusted him. He smiled at her. She turned away.

      Petsch also said that Cain satanically spawned the other religions and racial groups and they should be ignored or eliminated. “There would eventually be,” he shouted, “an Armageddon and God will strike down all non-whites and non-Christians.” An international satanic cartel of rich Jewish families, he explained, had taken control of the main line protestant groups. “God,” he continued, “will eliminate most people in the coming great war of liberation.”

      Someone in the audience yelled, “Send ’em back to Israel and let the Arabs kill ‘em!”

      While some people clapped, others intoned amens while waving their arms to the ceiling, others quietly nodded approval. He certainly had the group in the palm of his hand thought Darren.

      Petsch continued, “Can’t ya see the signs and smell the scent of Satan in America today? The number of the anti-Christ system is six-six-six, a six within a six within a six. Six sides, six angles, six points. And what is that? The Magen David, the six-pointed star of Jud’ism.