Crazy like a fox

Tonight I posted a draft image showing how “mobbers,” tenant clearers on the bleeding edge, use technology to constructively evict or harass legal residents out of their homes. I will need to make changes; there may be inaccuracies in the technical description of things like satellite spoofing. And in addition to parametric speakers, parabolic speakers can apparently be useful in bouncing sound off of windows and other surfaces when you want to harass someone.

No matter. What I did forget to mention was important, however. If the methods shown in the graphic of “Parametric, yes; prosecution, no” seem incredible, it is by design. What could be better protection for harassers with “respectable” clients than to use methods that are so crazy that reporting them makes the victim seems even more so?

Come on Seattle Police, look into this mess. Don’t let me down. I think there are professional tenant clearers working my street. I’ve taken a lot of damage trying to report this and get help. Let’s get these people out of Seattle and into the prison system where they belong.

Thank you.

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Pay the piper

The United Nations names “real estate mobbing” as a form of “forced eviction.” Amnesty International says it is a violation of Human Rights. No matter whether residential “mobbing” is done to turn over properties for speculation or whether it’s a brutal method of expelling someone from a community where lynching is just too gauche, residential mobbing is a crime. And it is with this firm belief that I say that those who mob or support mobbing should be subject to severe penalties.

There appears to be some awareness of real estate mobbing across Europe, particularly in Spain. Workforce mobbing is well known in Europe and there is a general awareness of it in academic communities in Canada and the United States. But the crime of residential mobbing seems little known and it is difficult to find information on it.

I have been living in a residential mobbing situation for about seventeen months now and it probably took at least nine months before I began to put it together. I can’t say that I’m certain of everything, but I’m fairly confident of some part of what “mobbing” is.

I’ve remained in this situation, in my legal home “enjoying” a valid contract with my landlords, because to be “mobbed” out of my home–for anyone to be “mobbed” out of home, is against my every principle. Forced (illegal) eviction is “immoral,” and it is against civil law. It harkens back to Nazism, to pogroms, diaspora and genocide, and to fascism.

What I’ve learned about “mobbing” has cost me. I will never get back a single moment of the solitude, the quiet of being of oneself, unto oneself, that this crime has stolen from me, probably for several years since it undoubtedly included months of watching me and preparing. I will never forgive the invasions of privacy and the disregard with which my life has been mined for information that could be used to manipulate, blackmail, or coerce me into abandoning a legal tenancy. And though I have not yet talked about it here, I will never forgive having been monitored and stalked through the last months of my cat’s life or for the stress it imposed on my cat that likely contributed to the circumstances of her death. Nor the fact that it is likely that these crimes against me, and effectively against those with whom I am in relationship, have likely been callously committed to make a profit by at least some of those involved. And over the months of my virtual incarceration in and out of my own home, I’ve arrived at specific goals for the resolution of this matter. They are as follows:

  • An investigation into the unethical conduct of those in the neighborhood watch in my neighborhood that was instrumental in setting me and this property up for a “property mob.” By that, I mean to say that I haven’t spent the last seventeen months being constantly monitored and harassed in my home and stalked and harassed outside of it for nothing. I want an investigation that is productive and leads to the arrests of key participants.
  • To bring residential “mobbing” into the awareness of the community and police authorities. The signs of residential mobbing should be recognizable to the police. The signs of mobbing should also be known to neighborhood organizations and information should be available on the Internet that helps victims of mobbing to recognize the phenomenon. I would hope that the information I’m trying to map out in this blog can be a useful resource.
  • As much as possible should be done to discourage mobbing as a way of acquiring property or as a way of making any kind of profit, whether as “tenant clearers” who perform a “service” for real estate investors and speculators, neighbors who decide that “mobbing” sounds like a cool way to get that extra few feet of land to enlarge their decks, or “mobbers” who hire themselves out to nasty neighborhood watch associations out to punish disfavored members of the community.

Finally, those who “mob” or support “mobbing” should be severely punished. Privacy is a basic human right and while it is culturally coded to some degree, it is almost certainly inhumane to be stripped of all privacy. In mobbing, one of the most important aspects of the harassment is to let you know that you are never alone, not in the shower or bed, and not in your mind.

Whether and how much mobbers see and how much of their “seeing” is a hoax based on highly skilled eavesdropping using shotgun or other extremely sensitive microphones is something I’m not yet sure of. But I have concluded that an essential component of “mobbing” someone out of their home is making them feel certain that they are being watched, legally “monitored,” every second, minute and hour of every day. This is what I have endured for seventeen months and there was likely a significant period of watching me to gather information before the mobbers let me know that they were watching me.

The constant harassment of mobbing plays a crucial role in the eviction–it is with speech that the mobbers convince you that you are being watched. This alone is probably enough to get people packing and out the door, especially when the performance piece of the mobbers includes a “slip” designed to let you know you’re being watched one day when, blissfully unaware, you’re twiddling your thumbs on the pot. If those things don’t work, the mobbers have a never-ending menu of hoaxes, taunts, threats and blackmail to go along with a rich repertoire of privacy invasions.

Mobbing is an assault, and while I’m not given to the metaphorical use of the “R” word, it sure feels like rape. Legally speaking, I believe it constitutes a form of domestic terrorism as well as a pretty comprehensive collection of felonies. You could also call it a grievous assault or attempted murder. It’s probably not much different. As for being constantly pelted with insults, taunts and other harassments in and out of sleep, and as to the deliberate sleep deprivation, these things probably amount to torture.

This is why residential mobbing should be recognized as a crime deserving of severe penalties.

For all these reasons, I believe that the City of Seattle and any city in which mobbing occurs should sue those who conspire to mob or commit mobbing. This makes sense because mobbing is an assault to the community at large and exposes local government to financial and legal liabilities. Neighborhood groups that abuse their duty to act in the interests of all residents break the trust not only of residents but of the city. I further believe that in addition to prosecuting mobbers for each and every one of the felonies they commit or enable or contribute to, that “mobbing houses,” houses from which mobbers work, should be seized. Claims of ignorance on the part of the owner should be discarded as meaningless. Mobbing is enabled by proximity. Giving access to a victim by taking criminals into your home is criminal. It is fitting that the penalty for attempting to “mob” someone out of their home should be the loss of home.

What? Not me!

Sleep has been hard to come by these days. The mobbers are aggravated that they have not scared me out of my home, at least, that’s the way it seems. The night before last, they woke me twice before 4:00 am despite the sound boards at my windows. Last night, exhausted, I did not attempt to sleep in my bedroom and just slept on the living room couch, a location closer to the public street. As the harassers change their strategy in response to my use of sound board and earplugs, I change mine, stacking scraps of sound board behind other panels cut to the sizes of the window frames, changing the way I use earplugs, and trying to train myself to sleep on my back instead of on my side with my ear against the pillow.

When I was an undergraduate student, I worked—often two jobs—and did not have time to participate in the protests against apartheid that were then rocking the San Francisco Bay Area. Now in my 50s, being mobbed in a Seattle neighborhood run amok with real estate speculation has literally brought activism home to me.

This afternoon I was outside in my garden when I heard the voice of the real estate agent of a nearby house that I was told could not be sold at the price point they wanted for it while I was in the neighborhood.

“Hello,” she said. I kept working.

“Hello,” she repeated in a louder voice.

Meh.

And then even louder, and closer, “Hello!”

I turned around and without further ado she asked if I had a hammer she could borrow. She must have wanted it for the “For Sale” sign that was finally erected Monday, months and months after the house was taken off of the market when a deal apparently collapsed. That was, apparently coincidentally, right after the afternoon an inspection truck was parked in the driveway of the house with all the relevant parties in attendance. The sale’s collapse was blamed on me. This was, of course, well before the mobbing began.

No, I did not have a hammer she could borrow.

I asked her who she was. She was indeed the named signatory of the letter that my landlords had given me a copy of at the beginning of summer. It was a letter that demanded that I stop playing my radio outside and never speak to anyone about the sale of the house lest they attempt to get a restraining order against me.

The agent, of course, works for a very well known and large real estate company in the State of Washington, one with offices scattered throughout the City of Seattle.

“I didn’t write that letter,” she said.

Then she said she hadn’t signed such a letter.

Finally she said that it was possible her client might have written such a letter. Presumably, her “client” would be the owner of the house with the “For Sale” sign that required the use of a hammer.

I told her I’d send a copy of it to her manager. Of course, I had to express my astonishment that she would ask me to borrow a hammer after such a letter. At that point, or perhaps it was after I told her to get off of my property, she said it would be best if we did not speak further.

I thought not.

Stay tuned.

“They don’t investigate cell phone harassment”

“On being mobbed” is written to document the many unethical and illegal acts in the “mobbing” of a Seattle tenant. She became aware of the mobbing in May of 2014 and has refused to be harassed out of her home. Because of the duration of this illegal effort and the day-in and day-out cycles of hoaxes, threats, insults and so on, it is difficult to apply a strict calendar to events. These blog entries are written thematically with the goal of inviting a criminal investigation that would expose the mobbers, end the mobbing and, hopefully, discourage this type of predatory behavior in the future.

This mini-blog is titled after an oft-repeated utterance of my mobbers, in other words for those of you new to this blog, the harassers and sundry others who are in the midst of an attempted tenant clearing of me, a legal tenant, from my northeast Seattle home of more than five years. A prominent feature of the mobbing is apparently the repetition of statements like They don’t investigate cell phone harassment in an attempt to convince the victim that there is nothing she can do, that no one cares what is happening to her and that the only possible course of action is to finally acquiesce and allow herself to be harassed out of her home, likely because of some unethical members of a neighborhood watch acting in concert with real estate speculators.

This is the type of comment that is continually projected into my home, onto my television (cable hacking, most likely), onto systems that can be accessed wirelessly or through the use of cellular technologies and so on.

So heads-up, investigative authorities, the mobbers (those attempting to illegally and feloniously, in their words, “harass [me] out of the neighborhood”) assure me that you do not investigate cell phone harassment. But then, they’ve also assured me that you don’t investigate land deals or complaints of Internet bots, and they’ve also said that no one cares what happens to me.

It is statements like this that make certain facets of this crime identifiable as a con. The mobbers have put a slightly more euphemistic name on it in the past, cavalierly declaring themselves “hoaxsters.”

It would be a pity if those who are doing this to me in the good City of Seattle get away with it and do it to others who cannot stand up to such a predatory crime. Just because the neighborhood watch fails in its duty to safeguard and protect all of its citizens doesn’t mean that my city, state and country should do the same.

“Get the butter”

This morning I’m listening to NPR’s This American Life and scrambling the eggs when the mobbers tell me I need to take a shit.

Frankly, I do.

I plate the eggs, cover them with a warm tortilla, and make my way to the bathroom.

The mobbers have it easier on mornings like this one when there are NPR shows that I’m not willing to miss, even if I have to pay the price of enduring what is probably shortwave radio harassment overlapping the broadcast. They now ignore the fact that I routinely put my speakers outside to diffuse the sound of the harassment and add in other methods of harassment depending on the best way to access my hearing, to occupy my mind, and to stress me emotionally. This morning that means they’re all over my Internet-connected computer anytime I put fingers to the keys, and bouncing and projecting sound using what are probably parametric speakers as I travel short distances between the many windows of my 1940s rental home that some developer probably wants to tear down or flip.

But the eggs are getting cold. As I sit on the toilet the mobbers talk over my bowel functions. I am unphased and, at this point, don’t care how or what they see or whether they truly can mic my every movement so well that they know when I’m bending over or which way I’m facing. I’ve long since concluded that they do some of each and that it should be the police who worry about how they do what they do. Not me. I am, unfortunately, the victim.

I wash up and get back into the kitchen. There’s a slice of butter that I didn’t need for the eggs and as I pick it up they chatter in the background.

What you eat!

We’re tired of looking at your *shit*!

Move on!

But I swam hard yesterday, despite the non-stop harassment, and this morning I’m not at all exercised over the increasingly unremitting harassment and the rising intensity of this drive to expel me from my home. I open the frig and smile as a film reference they could incorporate into the mobbing comes to mind: Get the butter.

Oh, that’s something else I haven’t told you about yet—their unceasing attempts to somehow “get into” my head by incorporating dialog from films I’ve watched into the mobbing. By the way, they know I’ve watched them how? Because until I disconnected my cable TV service for the second time during the mobbing, Comcast’s lousy and highly insecure method of delivering Internet bandwidth and wireless services exposed me to one of the mobbing houses—the line was partially shared, it seems, at least, a friend of mine who knew how to use network tools better than I did last summer identified the other computers just on the other side of my router because of the shared configuration of the Comcast service.  This kind of use of household utilities, by the way, is an old feature of blockbusting techniques, one that works pretty well for hackers who can apparently use them to access your router or to use packet sniffers like Wireshark to “read” your Internet traffic. In fact, it may be because mobbers clamor to use each and every service your home provides, including windows, downspouts and fans, that Wikipedia, for example, defines “real estate mobbing” as an updated form of “blockbusting.” The opportunities that companies like Comcast give hackers are documented in books including Hacking the Cable Modem: What Cable Companies Don’t Want You to Know.

If only the police would actually investigate, I muse as I ignore the mobbing chatter and chow down on my chipotle hot sauce drenched scrambled eggs. After all, the mobbers are very much up my ass, sans beurre. And this is the way it’s been for seventeen months, probably preceded by a prolonged period of foreplay during which they were likely invading my privacy in an attempt to find something they could use to coerce me out of my home without exposing their neighborhood watch friends to the legal peril they are now in.

It’s about time that this was the Last Tango for tenant clearing in Seattle.

Criminal harassment and the parametric speaker (part 1)

The days are getting cooler now and the leaves are on the street. My second summer of being “mobbed” in my legal home in northeast Seattle is turning into the second autumn of my mobbing and like so many mornings as of late, the mobbers woke me before dawn.

Move on!

We don’t care if you’re quiet as a church mouse. We’re going to get you out!

No matter how much you scream and shout, we’re going to get you out!

You’re fat, ugly, and old. And too bold!

Wait one. Allow me to note, for City of Seattle authorities in addition to the FBI who I hope are already investigating this matter, the presence of two descriptors that generally are considered indicators of hate crimes by the City of Seattle: Fat and old. These are, of course, the stereotyped insults that are supposed to make a middle-aged woman turn and run. If I were a man, they’d tell me that I couldn’t get it up, couldn’t get girls, or was a failure because I didn’t drive a BMW. Such is the mind of a real estate mercenary.

Okay then, back to bed. Don’t be shy. It’s been a long time since I slept alone, probably longer than I know.

I push the pillow away from my ear. Sometimes this deadens the sound of the harassment. For a while I was using silicone putty earplugs and deeply inserting them into the ear canal gave me nights of sleep. They got around it.

“If we can’t get you one way, we’ll get you another. We’re stuck like glue! We’ll find a way to shoot it in to you.”

And they do, at least, they try to. Maybe not as effectively as before, but there seems to be increasing concern by those in the know in my neighborhood. A certain builder who apparently once told my landlord that I was “just a renter” keeps coming by the house I’ve been assured he won’t put up for sale until I go, and this week some of those who were likely instrumental in giving me the gift of mobbing have conveniently gone away, leaving me to the mobbers.

And the owners of the mobbing houses seem to have “staffed up,” shall we say. The owners and their friends who live in the houses seem to have changed cars or hide their personal vehicles in their garages. All the better to make it appear as though you’re not at home at all. What? A problem between the neighbor and your “guests”? Mon dieu! The harassment intensifies. After all, the “mobbing” has been going on for more than sixteen months and the nasty people who probably arranged it have deals to make, houses to flip or to build, and profits to net.

I move the pillow away from my ear, then I try to find a comfortable position on my back. But I’m a side sleeper and, sooner or later, I end up with an ear against the pillow. I try two earplugs but it contains the harassment when my ear is pressed to the pillow so I discard one, and move it from ear to ear. My evasions are accommodated and though the harassment is muffled I cannot quiet it enough to sleep. I sit up in bed and cover the crack between the sound board and the window glass with a poofy pillow in hopes of blunting any sound that the board doesn’t absorb. Finally I get up and go to sleep on the couch in the living room, an area where fewer of their windows overlook my own, an area not so easy to access over the back fence. My roommate’s cat, who has been exiled to the upper story with me to escape her owner’s dogs, welcomes me.

They wait for me to settle in.

“Get out!”

You’ve heard of victimless crimes. This is not one of those.

When I get around to writing part 2 of Criminal harassment and the parametric speaker, I’ll tell you about one of the dirty tricks mobbers probably use to make it difficult for the criminally harassed to make successful reports to the police.

This is the parametric or directional speaker.

The natural alliance between tenant clearing and hacking (part 1)

I’m in the kitchen preparing a late dinner and walk over to the sink. “Move on,” a masculine voice whispers from the other side of the window pane. The voice doesn’t register and I figure it’s either the guy whose red SUV has been in evidence nearly every day these last weeks, or another guy I’d just seen awkwardly walking away from the mobbing house, his head covered with the hood of a jacket, to a truck that seemed familiar to me. I consider whether I have the plate number of that truck and remember that the owner of that mobbing house has driven one like it in the past. I finish dinner and sit down to begin this post. “Hey! Idiot!” The masculine voice is dim though I hear it right next to me. It’s probably a projection timed to hit me as I sat down to work. Usually it’s “Village Idiot,” an insult that I had concluded fits in well with the narrative that mobbing seems to be. At least, it’s been a famliar part of their incantations for more than sixteen months since I first heard the neighborhood watch co-captain telling a few young adult women in the street that I was “the village idiot” before being aware that I was been “mobbed,” much less coming to understand its meaning. This insult has been but one in their oft-repeated refrain,  this song with which they seek to disgorge me, the renter, from my home. The tone of voice changes depending on how the insults are transported to me, but it’s probably not the first time the voices of these men have been transmitted to me from a nearby home. They’re probably the same ones I’ve heard in my bedroom, observing how I look as I sleep, how much of my body is revealed when I cast off the sheets in the summertime heat, and where I keep my hands. It’s nothing new. Not anymore.

This is the backdrop against which my life has been lived for the last sixteen months, but it’s often more intense than that, at least, they want it to be. Harassers seem to need a lot of attention.

For now though, I focus on my thoughts and the whispers quiet. For the moment, I focus on this writing, these words.

Back in the days of blockbusting, developers got residents to scurry on with whispers and rumble machines. As I’ve learned firsthand, ventilation and water systems transport and even amplify sound. As builders with a ground-up understanding of building systems, developers’ intimate knowledge of architecture, materials and fabrication allowed them to make structures unlivable. The super could shut down water and heat; the rumble machine could shake occupants into submission. These appropriations, even subversions, of building utilities and services remain the way to, in the idiom of my mobbers, “get you out.” My own mobbers keep window fans poised in locations above my own windows and the sound drifts down to me, they’ve likely stationed speakers on the opposite sides of the fences we share and activate them when I’m within range in my bedroom, outside in the garden, or in the bathroom. They’ve bounced sound of my windows, they’ve used my air cleaners as propulsion systems for harassment, they’ve taken advantage of the concrete slab that connects our houses. Sounds they don’t have, like the rumble of a blockbusting rumble machine, or the gunshots I joked that it would take to evict me, even these sounds they can manufacture and project to me.

But while mobbing uses the old-school and the low-tech, it’s decidedly high tech. This, I would wager, is a natural outgrowth of the development and real estate industries being very forward-thinking when it comes to investigating new ways to make money. Real estate was very quick on the uptake with digital cameras and 360 degree environments to entice customers who want to feel what a house looks like before they see it. Developers and builders have been quick to adopt drone technologies to survey properties, especially those on steep lots as in my own neighborhood, and perhaps to survey their occupants as well. Where profit margins are concerned, the bleeding edge is worth the risk.

There’s no lack of risk with hacking. But for developers and real estate speculators, hacking of all forms is a great way to offload risk. For speculators who sometimes walk fine lines between legal profit and criminal racketeering, mobbing can be a way to achieve the goal of turning over properties for speculation while remaining shielded, even practically indemnified, that is, if the victim swallows the mobber’s line.

To learn why real estate speculators are mad for mobbing, read The natural alliance between tenant clearing and hacking (part 2), to be published in the next day or two.

The First Hoax: “They’ve agreed to sell us the house!”

“On being mobbed” is written to document the many unethical and illegal acts in the “mobbing” of a Seattle tenant. She became aware of the mobbing in May of 2014 and has refused to be harassed out of her home. Because of the duration of this illegal effort and the day-in and day-out cycles of hoaxes, threats, insults and so on, it is difficult to apply a strict calendar to events. These blog entries are written thematically with the goal of inviting a criminal investigation that would expose the mobbers, end the mobbing and, hopefully, discourage this type of predatory behavior in the future.

It was May of 2014 and I was balancing a full-time job and an academic program that I hoped would prepare me for a midlife career change. One day, as though by prearrangement, the neighbors on two sides of me stood in the driveway adjacent to my own, excitedly talking not far from my open windows. They were talking about an offer made to my landlords to buy the house in which I had resided for more than four years. One of the leaders of the local neighborhood watch congratulated the thirty-something couple who lived next door to me and, in her nasty way, began talking about how nice it would be to have me gone. Yes, they agreed. She went on to talk about the “green space” they’d have when I was gone. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard about this “green space.” One, maybe two years before that, she’d apparently called up my landlady and said she thought that the front yard or the front yard and driveway of the property that I leased should be “returned to green space.” They went on, talking about how glad they were that I’d finally be leaving, about their plans for the garden I tended after I was gone, and so on. It was an event obviously staged, one that continued through that week.

That week they went on about how my landlords planned to accept the offer and let me know by Friday. The hoax continued all week. There was a lot of talk about whether they would want to be my landlords. And there was talk about how they would encourage me to leave if I did not leave of my own accord.

By midweek I wrote my landlords to ask if such a thing had really happened.

Friday night the thirty-something couple had a gathering, their portion of our merged driveway was jammed with vehicles, their windows open and the drapes that allowed those sitting in their living room to see into my dining room open, as usual. Guests seemed to be directed to look into my house; some seemed uncomfortable. Like the outside gathering on the driveway “announcing” the offer on my home, the event seemed staged for my benefit.

Indeed, there was continuing talk about the supposed offer made to my landlords and how they would deal with my tenancy once they took possession of the property. The thirty-something girlfriend of the owner of the house confidently told an older woman that she thought I would “be more comfortable” if I left.

My landlords told me there had been no such offer. And they told me they were not interested in selling the house and were happy with my being there.

Soon thereafter, I began to experience harassment with “monitoring” in my own home and stalking elsewhere. Note that I didn’t know the word “monitoring” at the time, nor did I know what to make of the voices that began appearing or overlapping those on my cable TV, my radios, and more.

My being mobbed came after years of a more mundane neighborhood bullying and harassment situation, some parts of which are documented by my own public disclosure requests, letters to the city and police, and so on. Because of its origins and the many, many events that preceded my becoming aware of something that I came to call “mobbing” based on the words of the harassers and the sparse information available on the Internet, it’s hard to say when the first hoax happened. But this one comes close.

The next hoax would be the bot hoax. It led to my losing a contract of more than two years duration. More on that in a later post.

Who mobs? (part I)

For the first six months or so of the mobbing, this was a real sticking point for me. Who could possibly do such a thing to another human being?

I couldn’t get past the enormity of what was happening to me, that other human beings that I had barely exchanged words with or hadn’t exchanged words with at all had conspired to throw me, a middle-aged woman and legal resident, out of my home in the liberal city of Seattle and in a democratic country that had long since stopped telling people where they could live. What was worse was the realization of months and perhaps years of planning that had gone into the effort. The opening blows in the mobbing were designed to make me uncomfortable and embarrassed over the information that the mobbers seemed to have at least improperly and most likely illegally obtained about me.

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