Monday, May 7, 2012
He stuck up for people he didn't even like. He'd confide in friends about not being able to stand someone while elevating them to sainthood in front of the media. All for the cause.
He didn't have a family of his own. He was too busy fighting for yours.
Most people go out the way they've lived. A lot of people will go out docile, sick in the body or the head, cursing the darkness until then end rather than have ever taken the time to light a candle. The Christian's Bible says if you live by the sword, you will die by the sword. I hope that part is true. Jt died by the sword, as he had lived. Our enemies change their story constantly, re-arranging the horns on Jt's head. The enemy quickly offered the sheeple a verdict, dumped into the large feeding troth called the media. Some gobbled it right up, some stood back and waited to see what it was made up.
We have all seen someone set up in our lives. Some of us even claim to have been set up ourselves, victims of the systems absolute power to condemn. The worst fate imaginable fell upon the shoulders of this man, all in the form of a media who would never, ever let this man be a hero in death that he was in life. His loved ones were killed, including a little baby that he helped care for, though no blood relation of his own. Though she was half-American Indian, JT once told me one night while on patrol, "who else is going to help look after her? What other chance does she have?" We'll never get the image of that smiling baby out of our heads. I feel that JT, my friend, died trying to save that baby. Yes, the irony would be too strong for public consumption.
JT created the US Border Guard to "go to war with the army we had, not the one we wanted." What bold, direct and uncompromising words. Everyone in the movement is waiting for the "army they want to have." JT was out stopping illegals while skinheads crews warred against one another, Net-Nazis clicked away against one another on their keyboards and everyone was trying to out-white-power the next guy. He'd go into the CZ with anyone who was sincere, regardless of politics.
Now the truth is coming out, like droplets of water from a crack in a huge dam. But nobody is going to offer an apology or even a sympathetic word when the dam finally breaks (if ever). Too many hated him for raising the bar and breaking the operating standard OP of publicity stunts, smear campaigns and the occasional drunk-out. The ones of this side of the fence hated him for proving so many of them were just full of hot air. The ones of the other side of the fence hated him for not being nervous racialist, posting on the internet or slipping through the night with fliers. There was an understanding between the enemy of the much of the leadership in the movement: you can play but play by our rules. JT didn't play their game. He made up his own. We were all lucky to get to play it a few rounds, those of us who did.
I know what the shoe would be like on the other foot. If the same thing had happened to me, JT would not back down from trying to clear my name. I love life, I love the world around me and above all else, I love the new little people I see tottering on shaky legs and babbling out their first phrases. I wager to say that JT loved it all about the same. And he loved his own life but not enough to keep him from giving it. If I had to bet, he and Hoitt gave their lives in an attempt to save their loved ones.
"Isn't this a beautiful place?" he ask me once in a while, speaking of the desert we called the "CZ." "You know, this was all grasslands once. We Europeans brought over cattle that ate the particular grass that used to flourish here."
He'd stop and say something like that about every half hour. The man wasn't full of hate but rather in awe of the dynamics of life. I sent him the book Might Makes Right which helped him further understand nature's role in the world of man, since he already seemed to understand clearly man's role in the world of nature. Nature was our DI. It was about what could be held against those who would take.
JT lived a life of poverty. He didn't have to. He was smart and easily motivated. He left a promising political career to seek truth. Besides transportation, JT only owned a library of book and the gear he needed in the field to do what needed to be done. Yet even with those few things, he was generous with it all. He would drive for hours to pick up someone who needed a ride to the CZ. He frequently sent me books to read. I sent him Might Makes Right and Revolt Against the Modern World (though I doubt he ever had a chance to finish it). And for Christmas last year, with the help of some other Border Rangers, sent me an AR-15 rifle as a gift. I recognized the stock and furniture when I took it out of the box: it was made from JT's last rifle.
On closing, I have to relay this short story. During an operation, I had worn a very nerdy shirt and glasses to help avoid a lot of grief at the airport. During the op, my BDUs became smelly and caked with dust, like everything else! I had the luxury of taking a shower at Harry's house before the trip back to the airport. Putting back on my muffy, I saw that my plain looking shirt had been nearly ripped in half. I couldn't travel like that.
When I got to JT's house, I waited in a dirty tee shirt while he went inside (careful not to wake the baby) and fished me out another shirt to wear home. He came back with an urban camo shirt that fit me like a poncho. "This is kind of huge..." I said. "Want me to mail this back?"
"You can have it," JT said. "Whenever I get assassinated, it'll be worth something."
I laughed and said, "Straight to ebay!"
No, that simple but big shirt will go in that box where I keep all my dedications to my dead friends. May a tragedy like his never land at your feet, friends.