by Walter Bond
Since my arrest I have been asked a couple of questions frequently by supporters. The two most asked questions are, “What was it like being in the Animal Liberation Front / Underground?” and, “What’s it like to be in jail or prison?” In this article I will answer both of these questions to the best of my ability.
But first, I must admit certain experiences in life are initiatory and as such cannot truly be conveyed accurately through the medium of words. This has its good and bad points. For me, as an individual, I am very grateful that this is the case, for it has shown me that certain things are sacred and secret. I am reminded that sometimes word jugglery is simply inadequate no matter how elegantly stated.
When I think of the Animal Liberation Front, the first thing I feel is a feeling, not a thought. It’s a feeling of true solidarity with every other A.L.F. warrior. The fact that I do not know any of them does not weaken it — it strengthens it. The fact that we come from different countries, speak different languages and may hold different beliefs on a myriad of other issues doesn’t weaken it — it strengthens it! Because all that is truly and deeply important in this sisterhood and brotherhood is our actions and Animal Liberation, no matter what the obstacles. We are the woe of all Animal abusers everywhere. And we are self-liberated, more than most. When I think of my tour of duty in the A.L.F., I recall the most triumphant, free and intensely tumultuous times of my life. So with that said, here are my answers to…
“What was it like being in the Animal Liberation Front / Underground?”
Being an A.L.F. warrior can be a life of duality, extremes and often opposites. Before I went underground, I worked as a manager of dry goods in a health food store. I never attended any seminars or workshops on how to become an Animal Rights ninja or pyrotechnic professional. This is reality, not an action movie where you need to have some dramatic climax of events and a bunch of training. All that is needed to begin an underground campaign is the desire to act more than talk or posture. Unfortunately many Animal Lib activists never so much as make this crucial step. We seem content to play the pacifist victim role: “I’m crying all the time for the Animals,” and, “I wish I had the courage to do what needs to be done” are common themes amongst the so-called compassionate.
My transformation from a legal activist to a clandestine one came on the day I finally decided that I couldn’t stand one more hollow conversation about ‘The Big Picture of Our Movement’ or anymore rhetoric about how cruel this or that person or practice is. At that point I decided to quit my job. (I’m not suggesting that’s necessary… it was just my path to the underground.) I had no vehicle so I knew that anything I did would be local. I also knew that sooner or later someone would want to talk with me about the actions I had in mind. Therefore, I thought it would be best to not be so accessible as to be in one place, day in and out, forty hours a week.
The first reality check I had was about practicality. Being homeless for me was no easy task. I honestly was not good at it. I had passed the age where hipster anarchists would want me as a part of their neatly manicured communes and squats. For all the talk about diversity in such circles, most collectives I encountered were small cliques of 20-somethings that had nearly identical backgrounds and worldviews. I, as a 30-something Vegan Straight Edger wasn’t exactly a natural fit.
So, during my time in the A.L.F., I couch surfed when I could, and slept in parks when I had to. I stole my food when I had no money. (I’ve always felt that quality vegan food tastes better stolen.) I began to settle into a life of drifting. I found that after the arson of the Sheepskin Factory in Denver, I no longer had the urge to talk about Animal Lib issues incessantly and to no great effect. Nor did I need anyone’s approval or denial. This is how I knew I was on the right track.
While living homeless was a new tribulation in my life, the empowerment of direct actions more than made up for it. My worldview shifted from the philosophical and theoretical to the tactical and actual. And here entered the beginning of extremes in my life. By night I was picking targets and burning ‘em down. But by day I played the part of goofy overgrown Straight Edge kid just out for a bit of travel.
I made my way to Salt Lake City, Utah. My reasoning for doing so was that Utah has been one of the most targeted states in America for A.L.F. activity and also has a large and often extreme Straight Edge community. If there was anywhere that I could blend in and not stick out (as much as you don’t stick out with half your face tattooed) it would be there.
Once in Utah I had a couple decisions to make. First was if I was going to continue my campaign. Looking into the recent history of Animal and Earth Liberations I know that once the FBI was on the hunt they would use their resources for years to discover or frame someone. I also knew that sooner or later when they began questioning or infiltrating activist circles in the Denver area my name was bound to be at the top of the hardcore Vegan list. My next thought following was that once they discovered I suddenly left town, I would be more of a person of interest. So the reality struck me that I had crossed the Rubicon and in examining my thoughts and feelings about that, I decided that it was time to proceed further.
The next decision to ponder was organizational affiliation. I had not yet claimed the arson at The Sheepskin Factory in any communiqué. I had in my possession the manifesto “Declaration of War” authored by Screaming Wolf (free download / buy here). I felt then as I do now that it is the best book ever written as pertains to the reality of Animal Liberation and the tactics that must be employed. And my own personal philosophy on radicalism and militancy is definitely more in keeping with clandestine groups like the Animal Rights Militia and Justice Department.
However, I became an underground illegal direct activist in part because I was sick of posturing. And the truth is I would never seek to do personal and actual violence to anybody, unless it was in defense of myself. So if I’m not gonna go to that level, why portray or posture as if I would? Also the reality thus far is that with all the great actions of underground affiliates such as the A.R.M. and J.D., and contrary to their threatening and ‘violent’ communiqués, many of their actions are of a certain shock value.
Don’t get me wrong… I understand that evil unpunished and un-avenged will be continued without end. And I am in no way a pacifist. Sometimes it takes force to stop violence — that is the reality of the world in which we live. But at the end of the day the Animal Liberation Front is the only group that’s been as continuously active globally, has rescued several thousand Animals under cover of darkness and caused several millions of dollars’ worth of retribution to Animal users and abusers everywhere. That’s why I chose to become an A.L.F. operative.
My next two targets were the Tandy Leather Factory in Salt Lake City and the Tiburon Restaurant in Sandy, Utah. I choose Tandy Leather for many of the reasons I torched The Sheepskin Factory in Denver. They are a business that profits from Animals being skinned, often alive, for no other reason than to take up hobbycraft with their dead bodies.
Tandy also sells the dead skin of many other once vibrant and living creatures, such as ostriches, snakes, lambs, etc. When I broke into Tandy Leather, I lit the bolts of leather and cash register on fire to show my distain for the practice of profiting from the blatant murder of not just the Animal Nations, but also Mother Earth, which is daily poisoned with cancerous and hazardous chemicals from the tanneries that supply Tandy Leather stores nationwide.
This sick capitalist system wants to always concentrate on these perpetrators, as if they were victims. I don’t buy that, not for one minute. Because if they are the victims of injustice, it is only the same ‘injustice’ that the slaveholders suffered when robbed of their slaves. It’s only the same form of ‘injustice’ that the Nazis suffered for just going along with orders and being ‘good Germans’. And it’s the same ‘injustice’ that Christians perceive is out to get them even though they run the entire western hemisphere of the globe!
The victims are the piles of dead and broken bodies that wanted to not be skinned alive for a buck… not their task and slave masters.
Next I went after Tiburon Fine Dining. This was a restaurant that sold the notoriously cruel product foie gras, which for the uninitiated is bloated goose or duck liver that is obtained by forcing an 18-inch feeding tube down the victim’s throat. The other end of that tube has a trigger on it that shoots the food into the stomach, much like a garden hose would water. Of course no Animal wants to be force fed to death, so they are kept in cages that confine all movement, so there is no chance of escape.
I lit Tiburon on fire on July 2nd of 2010, but I had meant to do it two days earlier. However, when I showed up there were a few cars in the parking lot and I could not be certain that there was no one inside, so I left.
By this point the stress of my lifestyle was beginning to catch up with me. I went to bed that night wondering if I should just call it quits for a while and put my own life back together. That night I had a very vivid dream that protested against that notion.
I dreamt that I had gone to the Tiburon Restaurant just to see the inside of the place and when I went in I saw a dining room packed with well-to-do rich people eating other people! They were gluttonous and relishing their cannibalistic urge for flesh. In my dream I was scared and sickened almost to the point of nausea. I awoke that morning partially amazed that these issues weighed so heavily on my subconscious and also struck with the realization that if it were people that were the victims of Tiburon, I would not so readily abandon my campaign.
So I found my reserve and went back to finish what I had started.
After the arson at Tiburon, the stress of the lifestyle was wearing me down. I knew I needed a break.
I had recently contacted my brother through Facebook and had talked to him a couple times via a payphone. (My phone was off — apparently you have to pay the bill every month.) My brother was concerned about why I was roaming around the country homeless. For once the roles were reversed. Even though my brother is exactly one year and two days older than me, I have always been the one to have my shit together. That said it felt good to be the one in need. And my brother, now married and with kids, seemed to have some assistance to offer.
It must also be said that my brother had a very drug addicted, violent and criminal past. With these things in mind, I made a fatal flaw. I told my brother, my flesh and blood, what I had been doing. My exact words were, “Google ‘The Sheepskin Factory’… That’s what I’ve been up to.” The first website that came up on his search was an Animal Rights website. From there he looked up accounts of the arson from the mainstream media and found out there was a cash reward for any info leading to the arrest of the person or persons involved.
48 hours after that phone conversation, my brother was a federal informant. Over the next 3 weeks, the FBI taped my phone conversations (my brother had wired me money to get my phone turned back on) and followed me around Salt Lake City. My brother wanted me to go back to Iowa, the state of my birth and the same state he still lived in. I can only guess that this was where the feds had originally intended to take me down. My brother once again wired me money for a bus ticket to Iowa. I decided to go back to Denver so that I could keep a couple bucks. My intuition was telling me that something was not right, but I had surmised that after setting fire to two Animal exploitation businesses in just under a month that it was paramount that I leave Utah quickly. It never occurred to me that I was running into a trap.
Looking back, it should have been obvious, but hindsight is 20/20. In any event, when I arrived back in Denver, I contacted my brother and told him of my change in travel plans. He told me that our half-brother, who I know of, but have met only once, was living in Denver (which I knew was true), and that he would be coming out to help him move. He told me we could meet up, then catch up on old times, and of course he would have a few bucks for me.
For two weeks I lived in a park in downtown Denver while searching for temporary employment. At this point let me say that the authorities have done their job well – and I’m not talking of their arrest of me. What became evident to me living in the underground is that there is no actual support for the A.L.F. When I first began my campaign, I approached a well-to-do ‘militant Vegan activist’ in Denver and alluded to the fact that I was now underground as evidenced by the news on The Sheepskin Factory arson. This was a person that liked to brag about how much money she had to support all the “real and hardcore Animal Liberationists in the struggle.” But when it came down to it, I was not only denied a single penny, but I was also no longer welcome. The “Animal Rights community” is so scared to be green that they’ve become yellow!
In the 80s and 90s, there were networks of aboveground support and actions in North America took place much more frequently. Now to be in the A.L.F. is to be a leper and to be found out by other “activists” is to be shunned and forgotten. Welcome to “militant animal liberation” in current day America. A whole lot of tasty food, conventions, big talks, large books and cowardly bullshit!
But I digress… back to the story. So I met my brother at the Ramada Inn in downtown Denver. The first thing on my mind was that it was nice to be in the hotel instead of the park. My brother was calm and cool, no hint of anxiety. We began catching up on old times and he began speaking to me candidly about past criminal activity that he had been part of. With my defenses down, weary from the road and the street, tired and hungry, I made another fatal flaw.
I gave my brother a detailed account of my campaign. He asked me if I was gonna stop to which I responded, “No, not until they catch me or kill me.” I told him of my plans to leave the country and then come back at a later date to resume my campaign. Everything was being taped by the FBI.
After we talked I asked my brother to drive me to the northern suburbs so that I could talk to a former employer about some work. On the way to Northglenn, we talked about family affairs and such. I was happy to be with my brother I hadn’t seen in over a decade, I was happy that I would be sleeping in a hotel that evening and I thought everything was starting to look up. My brother dropped me off and gave me a hug and a kiss. As I happily exited the car my last words were, “See you tonight bro… love ya!” He drove off and I went to talk to my former employer about construction work.
There didn’t seem to be anything immediate but there would be some drywall work coming up in a couple weeks. I headed off on foot towards the bus stop. Northglenn was the suburb of Denver I had spent my teenage years. My grandmother used to own a house just a few blocks from my former employer and two houses over from him was a house that my aunt lived in for many years as well. She had since moved and sold her home to the Robbs, a family that also had roots in Northglenn. As I walked by my aunt’s old house, the Robbs were having a barbeque of dead Animals. They said hello and I walked up into the front lawn to talk for a few moments. And then, as fast as lightening, the ATF, FBI and Joint Terrorism Task Force descended upon me, guns drawn and ready to shoot… I was under arrest.
“What’s it like to be in jail or prison?”
The ATF drove me to Glendale to be booked in. That is in South Denver. Before we arrived at the police station, the ATF took a detour by the burned out remains of The Sheepskin Factory. The thing about being arrested for arson is that everybody assumes you are a compulsive pyromaniac. I’m sure the vehicle I was being transported in had cameras in the cab. Unfortunately, the sight of a burned building doesn’t make me laugh hysterically or even start rubbing my hands in excitement.
Once at the police station I was put in a small interrogation room with two detectives and an FBI agent. I was told, and I quote, “You will now be given the opportunity and privilege to talk to the FBI.” My response was, “I have nothing to say.” The agent then threatened to arrest my brother (which he knew was their number one snitch) simply for having talked to me. I said nothing. Then he had some dialog with the detective in front of me about how, “it looks like he doesn’t want to help himself.” I stared at the wall behind their heads and remained silent. And that was it: five minutes of not talking. And no other agent has ever questioned me again.
Next came what I like to call the system and the media fucking with me. First I went through booking in Glendale for 3 hours. Then I was transported to Denver City Jail and sent through booking for 13 hours. Then I was allowed to sleep 2 hours before my initial court appearance and moved again to Golden, Colorado for 8 more hours of, you guessed it, booking.
For nearly two days I barely ate (nothing is Vegan except fruit in the sack lunches you get when you’re in Receiving). I got 2 hours of sleep and kept getting passed from one deputy to another at various County Jails, and aside from fingerprinting me and processing me in, they kept up with the questions which I refused to even acknowledge, let alone answer. Then finally, a cell and sleep.
The next morning I was awakened by an inmate pounding on my cell door, telling me, “Come out here (the commons area outside our cell), you’re on The News!” I stumbled out into the pod and watched myself on T.V. All I remembered from that new story was that mugshot was the worst picture of me on earth! The next media I saw about my case they said I was arrested at a BBQ eating beef burgers! I was pissed off that the media had sought to make me look like a hypocrite and joke, with their lies. Looking back now I can see that I’ve grown. I no longer care what the media says about me, or anything for that matter. But upon arrest, it was a big deal to me.
As far as what my time was like in jail in Golden, Colorado, it was difficult. County Jail is the worst part of doing time. Since most people that come to county are going to leave within 30 days, it’s not set up with much to do. In Jefferson County I was locked down 19 hours a day in a two man cell the size of a small bathroom. Most of my cellies were detoxing heroin addicts or petty criminals.
Another part of County time that sucks is all anybody wants to talk about is their charges or their case, which, when you’re facing serious time, you spend a lot of your day wishing you could focus on anything else.
Here is another truth about doing time. Whether you are in County Jail, prison or the hole, there are things about that facility you will like or dislike (in comparison to other jails that you get carted around to). For instance, although I was confined to my cell a lot in Jeffco (Jefferson County), they fed me a Vegan diet! My meal trays came to me with a computer printed sticker that said “BOND, VEGAN” in big letters! And I also had an amazing view of the mountains.
As far as dealing with the inmate population, that was not difficult either. First off, whether inmates agree with you or not, they tend to respect a person that stands up for their beliefs. Secondly, jail and prison work by a kind of pecking order. Part of that pecking order is related to the severity of your crime. The only true outcasts in prison are sex offenders and snitches. So as the new guy when I’m asked, “What are you in for?” and I respond, “3 federal arson charges with domestic terrorism enhancements,” it immediately puts me in the class of serious criminals. Third, I’m outgoing and good with people. Jail is full of people, so it’s a trait that serves me well. And lastly, I am admittedly somewhat of an alpha male with an abrupt temper (it’s not my fault… I’m an Aries).
I guess the best advice I could give anyone that finds themselves in prison or jail someday is this. Walk with pride, be respectful and don’t be eager to buddy up with people; let them approach you. And most importantly don’t make a big deal about it. Yes, it sucks. Yes, I would rather be anywhere else. But millions of people are in prison and they cope and survive. It’s all just a part of fighting this evil empire. Or being poor, or black, or native, or “illegal” or a pothead, or… you get the idea.
There are however additional stresses to being a prisoner of war or political prisoner. The first letter I ever received in Jeffco was from some anonymous person accusing me of being a hypocrite and joke to all “real Animal Rights activists”. As the weeks went on I began getting printouts from the internet about all the movement chatter. People seemed upset that I had too many tattoos and rumors abounded.
The first interview I granted was with some 50ish academic establishment animal rights welfarist creep. He showed up to the jail, started poking fun at my tattoos and began his interview by saying, “I’m wearing a leather belt. If you could, would you choke me with it?” I said, “Only if I thought I could get away with it.” He actually scooted his chair back a little. Next he told me that his mother’s house had been burned down by an arsonist and that he strongly disagreed with my tactics to which I responded, “Then don’t employ arson as a tactic.” Once we got into the issues of Animal Liberation, I debated him with savvy until he admitted that I really did know what I was taking about.
I left that interview with a bad taste in my mouth. Instead of allowing the system’s media and divisive elements within the A.R. community to pick me apart, I decided to fight back with my pencil. The first article I wrote was entitled “Why I Am Vegan”. In it I detailed my path to Veganism and Animal Liberation. Having built two slaughterhouses as a teenager, I saw firsthand the grotesque evil that happens to animals in food production. I’m happy to say that internet article was posted far and wide and well received.
The support mail began rolling in. If there is one thing that I look forward to every weekday in jail, it’s mail call. I cannot stress enough how important it is to write prisoners. When I am fatigued or overwhelmed, it’s supportive mail from like-minded people that keeps me going. It also reminds me that I’m still someone to somebody out there. Prison is geared towards stripping down your sense of worth. As time rolls by, it’s easy to give up on everything and just become part of the prison politics.
So I began to write more articles and my supporters, etc. Not only has writing been an effective way to stay active in Animal Lib, but it’s been a great coping mechanism. The courts always try to scare you into not speaking out along with their lawyers. The idea is for you to just sit there quietly, let the media vilify you, let the system use you to scare any other would-be militants and of course grovel and beg for mercy as if you were in front of God Almighty.
What a crock of shit! Many people have asked me how I am able to remain defiant through all this and that’s a simple answer. I care more about the Animals and my beliefs than I do about myself. All the big talk you hear about how much we Vegans care about the Animals no matter what the price, well I actually feel that way. Plus I guess I just don’t feel like kissing anyone’s ass, be they business owners or the U.S. government. I’d rather go down swinging than degrading myself. But that’s just me, that’s how I roll.
That said, I wrote my final statement to the court in Colorado about two months before sentencing. It took me about 45 minutes. I sat down at the desk in my cell and just let it rip. My thought process was, “What would I say if I had no fear and nothing to lose?” Writing it and speaking it in court were two different things. On my day of sentencing I was a nervous wreck. Saying my final statement felt like looking down the barrel of a gun and saying, go ahead shoot me! To my surprise I received the mandatory minimum sentence of 5 years.
Great news to be sure, but unfortunately there’s another shoe yet to drop, and that shoe is called Utah. Early on in the court process I tried to have my Utah charges dealt with all at once while in Denver. Being as all my charges are federal and not state, meaning that my crimes are not legally seen as crimes against Colorado and Utah, but against America, I can be tried for any of them in any federal court in America. The word that my attorney and I received from Utah was a definite no. I was to be tried in Utah separately.
After sentencing in Denver I began my three weeks in transit to Salt Lake City. Denver and SLC are a nine hour drive from each other. But before I was to go west, I was flown east to the Transfer Center at Oklahoma City. Upon arrival I was separated immediately from the other forty or so inmates. I was told I would be held in the special housing unit or SHU, which is just a way of saying the hole. In the SHU you have a shower in your cell and you are locked down 23 hours a day. When I asked why I was not going into general population, a corrections officer came over with a clipboard and said, “You are part of the Animal Liberation Front. That is a security threat group to the United States of America. While you’re here, that’s where you’ll be.”
For five days I was in a cell in the SHU by myself. But for my last two days I had a cellie, a small Hindu political prisoner from Singapore. He had basically been kidnapped by the CIA and brought to America because he gave a friend a ride to the airport and that friend was under investigation for gun running to Al-Qaeda. My feelings were mixed. While I was happy to not be alone in my cell and my cellie was an educated and interesting man, it really began to strike home that they (the FBI) seriously think I’m a terrorist.
A couple days later I was in the air again, but instead of landing in Salt Lake I was taken to Nevada Southern Federal Detention Center. During the booking in process it looked as if I would be going to general population and then the gang coordinator took me to the side to ask me some “routine questions”. His first question was, “So are you some kind of terrorist?” I said no. His second question was, “Are you some kind of activist?” I said, “I am affiliated with the Animal Liberation Front.” And so I was taken to “administrative segregation” – another fancy way of saying “the hole”. I was kept there for ten days this time with no cellie. But I did have an interesting neighbor that was a high ranking member of the Mexican mafia. On our hour of recreation outside in the kennels (narrow fenced in cages for U.S. convicts in the hole to pace in for an hour a day) we would exercise vigorously together.
As far as my Vegan diet was concerned, both federal facilities worked with me on it. Hole time is more boring than anything. But once again, there is an upside. In prison you are hardly ever alone, so I took advantage of the solitude and did some meditation and stretching practices and a lot of exercising. Then back on the plane once more and on my way to Salt Lake City.
At his point, I had been doing county time for 8 months and after going through an entire court case in Colorado and transit to Utah, I was getting very tired of county jail and court proceedings. Upon arrival at Davis County Jail in Farmington, Utah (which is where I am currently awaiting sentencing as of the time of this writing), I requested a Vegan diet, which is usually my first priority entering a new facility. I was told I was not even allowed a vegetarian tray for spiritual reasons (which is standard at any jail or prison I’ve been in). I had to fast for my first two days, until my lawyer could get a court order to make the jail feed me vegetarian meals (I am still Vegan, but I must pay out of pocket for Vegan commissary items to supplement what I can’t eat on my vegetarian trays.)
As expected, Utah has been a different experience than Colorado. As far as the jail itself, it’s not bad. I have more freedom of movement than in Denver and I am able to receive books from the publisher, so I’ve been reading a lot. I also have more time outside, which is nice. But that’s where anything positive ends.
As concerns my court cases in Utah, the U.S. Attorney’s office wants to turn my current 5-year sentence into a 15 year sentence and perhaps more. Apparently, it’s a big deal that I gave a heartfelt and provocative statement in Colorado. Since my extradition to Utah, I have been made aware on more than one occasion that my beliefs and words are far, far more damning than my arsons. Instead of the system being focused on my “crimes” which did about 60,000 dollars-worth of damage, as compared with the 500,000 dollars-worth of damage done in Colorado, the focus is on scaring me into shutting my mouth at what may be my only opportunity to open it.
Given that everything is “terrorism” these days, I am under no illusions that the prison system is going to house me in some fluffy Club Fed. So I speak out not only as one that defends, fights and cares for our Earth Mother and her Animal Nations, but also as a man whose pride will not allow himself to be bullied by the powers that be. The decisions I make and words I speak are for the future, with the hopes of an upsurge in activity, activity that truly liberates Animals and permanently stops their exploiters.
Usually this is the point in my article where I write my inspiring and radical high note to leave the reader feeling empowered. But in this article I will end on a note of distress. My apologies in advance.
I am not your hero, or your mascot. As long as that’s what you’re looking for, that’s all you will ever find, and I promise you that you will always get let down. Every time you find a Keith Mann, Barry Horne, Rod Coronado, Peter Young or Walter Bond, all you have found is a person that decided to take matters into their own hands. And we cannot teach you how to do that, because that’s your decision, alone. At times I am embarrassed by what I see. Animals suffer and die and we do nothing. The real heroes of Animals are those who work at sanctuaries or otherwise directly impact an Animal’s life for the better. The only “militant Animal Liberation community” is the A.L.F. and the underground. Of course there are many things that must be done and doing something is always better than doing nothing. But why settle so small?
A gangster will protect his evil enterprises with violence and his own life is ready to be sacrificed at any moment. But we self-proclaimed betters won’t even risk social alienation. Cowards, fakes, frauds! If you care than prove it! Not to me, but to yourself! No matter where I end up or what happens to me, my cell, for however long I’m in it, will have a mirror, and I will always be able to look in that mirror and know there’s a real motherfucker looking back at me! And there is no potluck, convention, conversation, website, flyer or workshop that will ever compare to that!
So this is my last, unsolicited internet article that I will be writing for a while. Of course I am always open to interviews and will always respond to support mail. My next stop is sentencing on October 13th of 2011 in Salt Lake City, Utah. After that I will make the transition from county jail to federal prison where I will begin writing a detailed and definitive book about the Vegan Hardline, a syncretic philosophy, program of action and way of life that can and must succeed.
Until the next time remember… don’t sing it, bring it! And don’t talk about it, be about it! As for me I will continue always looking forward.
Animal Liberation, whatever it may take!
A.L.F. – P.O.W.