The previous article is one of many appalling stories I’ve read since I’ve been the editor-in-chief of OLM. I used to believe that these stories were rare. Because of my own experience, I now pay more attention. I know horrific cases of injustice are all too common.
The day my daughter was born, I constantly argued with the doctors and nurses. They convinced my wife that she needed antibiotics. They told us several times that she might need a C-section. Once our daughter was born, they also convinced my wife that our baby might die if she did not receive IV antibiotics. They threatened to call child protective services if we didn’t comply. They later admitted the IV antibiotics were given as a precaution. In other words, they lied. Our whole experience was a nightmare. But that’s another story. That’s not what this article is about. This article is about my experience with our justice system.
When my wife and I separated, my daughter was two years old. The separation was a mutual decision, and at first we got along pretty well, but it wasn’t long before our relationship went from good to bad. It would take a book to reveal every important or significant detail of this story, which I am in the process of writing. For now, let me just say that I wrongly lost my parental rights; I am no longer recognized as my daughter’s father, and I am currently on probation for my “crimes.”
My daughter and I were very close. In fact, we were much closer than she and her mom. In the weeks prior to the allegation, she told everyone who would listen, “I want to go live with my daddy.” My daughter was four years old when, out of nowhere, my ex-wife accused me of child molestation. The court indicted me for rape, incest, aggravated child molestation, and child molestation.
It didn’t matter that I’d passed a polygraph to the contrary with flying colors, or that a psycho-sexual evaluation found that I was not a child molester. Nor did it matter that her hymen was fully intact with no scarring or tearing. In the first of many revelations that convinced me the world had gone mad, my lawyer told me the DA would find a doctor to testify that a child’s hymen can grow back. As crazy as this sounds, my attorney, himself a former DA, said such testimony was common practice. Can you imagine?
My daughter had a persistent rash. My ex-wife called and reminded me to check that rash on my daughter’s last visit. When she was examined 19 days later, she still had the rash—a red area, with one tiny “skin tear” a millimeter in size, halfway between her vagina and anus. When asked by the hospital social worker, “Did Daddy touch you down there?” she said, “Yes.” She was right. I had touched her “down there.” I had checked her rash.
A rash of this sort is typical in young children, caused by anything from bubble bath to not wiping well. In her case, rashes were the typical result whenever she ate refined sugar.
From the moment I was charged with this crime, I was ordered not to speak to my child or to my ex-wife. I spent a year in jail awaiting trial. My resources were drained. My family’s resources were quickly exhausted. I was assigned a lawyer. On the day my trial was to start, I was told that even though I had “raped my daughter” I could take a plea and walk out of the courtroom–go home that very day with time served and probation. I refused.
I wanted to go to trial. I argued with my attorney, insisting on a trial, but I was facing a maximum term of life plus 30 years in prison. Finally I was convinced that the risk was just too great, especially since my lawyer’s trial preparation had been minimal, at best. But I refused to lie and say I was guilty. I agreed to take a plea called “Alford v. South Carolina.” Through this plea, I could maintain my innocence. The judge agreed I could take this plea, but only if I agreed to a 6-month prison sentence in addition to time served. He also agreed to include “first offender status,” which means I will not need to register as a sex offender after my probation is completed. The felony will be hidden from most background checks. Unless I want to work a high security job like at an airline or a bank, no one need ever know about my conviction. That is, unless I tell them.
I will tell them.
I have never tried to keep this case a secret. I never intend to.
I’ve been told I was very, very lucky, that the DA didn’t think I was guilty. No one, from the parole officers who reviewed my case while I was in prison to the probation officers assigned to me since my release, can make sense of my initial charges and the resultant deal. “What exactly did you supposedly do here?” my probation officer asked me with a look of bewilderment. They all say I dodged a bullet. They all say I am lucky. But I don’t feel lucky. I lost my child.
My court-mandated therapist knows I’m not a pedophile, but we continue to meet; our sessions are included in the terms of my probation.
The law is on my side for a successful habeas corpus, but I don’t yet have the money to fight a successful court battle. If I raise the money before the deadline, I can show that the arresting police officer, who also interviewed my child, gave false information at the indictment. A habeas corpus could result in one of two things: the right to a new trial or the charges being dropped.
A habeas corpus would put me back at the beginning—as if I had never gone to prison or served any time on probation. I could be re-arrested, to await my day in court, to face a jury—twelve people who will have no idea I’ve already served my time. And then, I could win. Or I could lose.
I am still in a lot of pain. I am willing, but not yet able, to fight back. I may never get the ruling reversed. I may go to trial and win. But even if I were to prove my innocence and successfully sue the county for millions, I’m told there is no legal precedent that will allow me to regain my parental rights. I’m told, “They just don’t do that.” Win or lose, my daughter and I have already lost. This isn’t something either one of us will ever “get over.”
I am braced for the worst outcome. If we don’t conform like the sheep we are meant to be, our government, our society in general, is likely to hurt us. People have a tendency to sit on their high horses and look down on others for being different, for bucking the system. They can take everything away from you. Almost everything.
For now, I fight back in a different way. They took my freedom. They took my child. But they didn’t take my morality. They didn’t take my integrity. They didn’t break me.
I fight back by publishing a magazine the goes against the grain. I fight back by speaking out against what I firmly, in the bottom of my heart, believe are lies and injustice perpetrated against the American people. I fight against the degradation of our food supply. I fight for our health.
I come across too radical for some, but I know from personal experience that corruption in the name of money, power, ego, and social standing is everywhere—in business, in the pharmaceutical industry, in the agricultural industry, in government. This is why I publish OLM. This is why I work 80 plus hours a week. Right now, this is the only way I can fight back.
You may have heard the government is imposing their idea of health care on us. People may go to jail for refusing health insurance. People may go to jail for refusing vaccinations. People will undoubtedly lose their children for refusing these mandates. For those of you who worry about things like this, you have every reason to fear.
For those of you who have lost a child or children due to non-conformity, I feel your pain. For those of you who started a business selling health food and/or supplements and did everything you could to be in full compliance but were still ruined by the lawless FDA and/or the FTC, I know it happens. For those of you who have been forced to do something you were not comfortable with for fear of legal trouble, I understand completely.
It’s a tough world out there. I have no easy answers. I will tell my story. I will finish my book. I plan to start a non-profit one day to help fight injustice. Regardless, I know I will keep fighting. Even if I end up living under a bridge with nothing left, I will go to my local library and blog on their free computer. For right now, I am doing all I can do.
For those of you who have been a victim of our “justice” system or big business, I say fight back if you can, any way you can, even if it’s just through telling your story.
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