My birthday fell on one of those infrequent rainy days in Berkeley, one of those days when big drops plop onto windshields and the bay skies are a diffused mass of grey. But I like the rain, and California needs it. I was heading south on Shattuck and, as usual, the mobbers were with me.
I might note that I was in California though my home is in Seattle, Washington, and that crimes committed in two states automatically fall into the jurisdiction, so far as I understand it, of agencies like the FBI.
Anyway, I was listening to music and ignoring the harassment. To listen to music is to give them a venue, so I listen less than I would like on days when it’s getting to me. Or I listen loud, to something like Nick Cave’s early punk piece Birthday Party, where there’s this annoyingly great refrain of Cave barking like a dog Woof, woof, woof, woof. It drowns out the harassment and, I always hope, offends them a bit. God, I love that Nick Cave.
With sound transmitted from my iPhone in a modern wired car, they have multiple means of intrusion other than physically following me everywhere I go with a parabolic or parametric speaker. In a modern car, so far as I gather, they have onboard wireless, from my iPhone they have wireless or cell, except I often keep both off. My car comes with satellite radio, so there’s another option there I believe, and perhaps that is a fantastic one given the circumstances of my being a couple of states away from Seattle at the time with their probable contracting of satellite phone services from a small Woodinville, Washington company that I recently saw working on the lines of one of the mobbing houses. Not sure how that works but I am beginning to learn more about how it might. Nevertheless, the most ubiquitous medium for them to use for harassment is the radio. Cars have radios, and antennas, and I’m thinking that mobbers know a lot about how to use them. More on that soon. I still need to blog on the bot hoax that opened the mobbing and that, as the mobbers continue to claim, “got [me] out of Microsoft.”
Anyway, I was listening to Stromae, a hip-hop artist from Belgium. I listen to him a lot; you should listen to him too. Check out his videos on YouTube. There’s nothing like a little French hip-hop-pop while you’re tooling down Shattuck through Berkeley’s gourmet ghetto. I was listening to Stromae’s AVF, or maybe it was Papatoutai (a number 1 in France), or maybe Cesaria or Formidable. This last song, especially, is beautiful and highly emotional. Stromae conveys emotion in a way that is powerful, and rare. And one that appeals to someone like me, a woman isolated in a neighborhood bullying situation who has now been monitored and harassed round-the-clock for over a year and a half. Stromae might even believe me. (Real estate mobbing is recognized in Europe and particularly in Spain. An article on the evolution of laws in the European Union and Sweden against mobbing and “moral harassment,” a term originated by French psychologist Marie-France Hirigoyen, appears in the Boston University Law Review at https://www.bc.edu/content/dam/files/schools/law/lawreviews/journals/bciclr/27_2/10_FMS.htm.) On this, my birthday. I was listening to Stromae and ignoring the mobbers’ prattle.
We came to a street light, my little modern car and I. Did I mention that major intersections all have cameras these days? Not that it matters with onboard camera systems that are easily hacked, the defensive use of dash cams that allow cyberstalkers to “hop” on board, and smart phones with cameras that ride the dashboards of cars wired and radioed. For a moment I tuned in on the mobber’s repetition of an oft-stated “insult”:
The mobber kept repeating it, as though it should have some effect on me that it wasn’t having. I considered the unusual repetition and the mobber’s irritation at my lack of response.
Then I laughed. I had mused about what they would say on my birthday. Happy Birthday! Now get out! That would have been funny. But this was too. Because here I was at a stop light at Shattuck and Center on my birthday, the fat drops of rain being sloshed off the windshield by wipers intermittently fanning over the glass, a middle-aged single woman. And the mobbers were plumbing it for everything they could, harassing based on the stereotype that for a woman of age, any age really, a birthday is a traumatic event. Like what used to be said in Japan about women and marriage. Like a Christmas cake (Japanese form of a Yule log or Bûche de Noël), a woman is best at 25, and not a day later.
I laughed. Because the use of such stereotypes is telling. This is the mentality of people who seek to manipulate, coerce and harass people from their homes. Use base insults, use stereotypes, threaten to report them with for crimes they haven’t committed, threaten to expose their secrets, the “dirty laundry” of their families, their private lives. Call them “threadbare,” and try to access and use deep-seated feelings of vulnerability and lack to embarrass them into giving in to crime. It shouldn’t have worked when Jews were forced to hide their ancestry during the Spanish and other inquisitions, it shouldn’t have worked on adulterers and homosexuals in McCarthy’s heyday, it shouldn’t work for queers in the military, and it doesn’t work for me. Why should I care, why should anyone care, about what some racketeering criminals think? Especially criminals who go around, essentially committing domestic terrorism to harass people out of their homes. Why should we believe what criminals tell us? Why should I care about these criminals who’ve inflicted themselves upon me and who intrude into my life, into my home, and onto the modalities of communication that I use, and what these criminals say?
Really, Mayor Murray and Seattle City Attorney Pete Holmes, these people could be arrested for crimes of stereotype alone. They are racketeers and criminals of the worst kind. God forbid they should remain on “the outside” where they’ll go around telling people on their birthdays You’re old! And too bold! or where they’ll threaten to expose them for non-crimes of financial difficulties, sexual behavior, or failed relationships. God forbid they might do this to others, because they probably have, and it has probably worked. And god forbid they do this to others, as they have done to me, by monitoring and stalking day after day and month after month. But they probably have. This whole thing is too practiced to be a one-time, first-time event. And it didn’t take hearing one of the mobbers recently complain that he was having people coming from all over the state to “mob” me for me to suspect that this is a network of racketeering real estate speculators who look for neighborhoods like mine that have the right combination of real estate opportunity and patsy.
Come on, City of Seattle. I don’t want to be a martyr. Investigate the illegal behavior of this neighborhood’s community watch and their collusion with real estate developers and speculators in my northeastern neighborhood of Seattle. Make it safe to reside here as a human being, with all the foibles and vulnerabilities that any human being has. Make it safe to be nothing more than a good person who insists on her rights and would prefer to be scribbling some caterwauling novels instead of a blog about some criminal scumbag speculators called mobbers who should be behind bars.
And to the mobbers, in the words of Stromae, Allez vous faire!