On the eve of my third Thanksgiving as the victim of real estate mobbing in Seattle

It’s Sunday night, the week of the American holiday of Thanksgiving. This will be my third Thanksgiving while living in the state of being real estate mobbed here in northeast Seattle in a small neighborhood afflicted by an old guard neighborhood watch gone corrupt and its real estate speculator cronies, including builders, house flippers and other “investors,” and the real estate agents who profit off of them.

Tonight the owners of the north and south mobbing houses, their minders and their mobbers, are attempting to make a strong showing and hammering me with surface harassment on the window panes of whatever room I’m in as well as adding a track of harassment to the television programming that I just turned off.

An escalation in the intensity of the harassment is not uncommon on weekend days when the owners of the mobbing houses are in evidence, although tonight, in addition to the vehicles of the owner, there’s an unfamiliar Kia hatchback with Washington plates in the north mobbing house driveway. In the last week there’s been an unfamiliar red Subaru SUV there several nights, also with Washington plates.

Like any crime victim, I do try to note the vehicles as well as the people who come and go from the mobbing houses as the character and intensity of the harassment directed into my house varies and as the voices of the harassers change.

As usual, the red SUV of the Asian or South Pacific islander with the tribal tattoos is in the driveway of the south mobbing house; the owner is probably hiding his vehicle in the garage as he began doing as I started documenting the mobbing.

There’s been some other interesting activity these last weeks as the winds and rain have kicked up in anticipation of a stronger winter than we’ve experienced the last few years. For example, there was the day I saw an old black Honda-like sedan with tinted windows drive by twice, its apparent driver then standing alongside and photographing my vehicle. Or the day the tribal tattoos guy sat at the mouth of the garage of the south mobbing house as another man of similar ethnicity wearing a brown cap and driving a truck with Oregon plates and a Semper Fi sticker backed a small fully enclosed trailer up the driveway, leaving within the hour. Not long after, the veranda of the south mobbing house was covered over with tarps tightened down with rope and over several days last week a familiar guy worked outside under the draped area and not far from my front windows as I sat here trying to work while the slings and arrows of mobbing sounded between the scrapings of his pry-bar and the blows of his hammer. This looked like the same guy who raised the kitchen ventilation system of the south house to a level directly opposite the half-light of my kitchen window around the time I began to realize they were using fans and venting systems to transport harassment onto the surfaces of my window panes. During the days this was going on, there was work at several nearby houses and an interesting pattern of subterfuge was played out where quiet would fall as trucks passed the house and men got into or out of their trucks, and then as they moved further away the hammering, scraping and harassment from the tented area would pick up once more.

Thanksgiving is approaching and the migrating birds fly overhead in formations disturbed by the rising winds. As I gather the fallen leaves and throw out cracked corn for the pheasants in the garden, I remain the victim of a crime called real estate mobbing, an adult bullying crime that includes a slew of felonies like cyber-stalking and cyber-harassment and is likely legally a form of domestic terrorism. It’s a crime that, to the best of my knowledge, no one is yet investigating although at least some of those responsible could easily be arrested and prosecuted because they live around me, conducting this crime in plain sight by using clandestine means and novel devices.

Each day the City of Seattle and the Seattle Police Department fail to investigate who these people are around me—tenant clearers or real estate speculators who harass people out of their homes for a good deal—not only am I further victimized and endangered by this serious crime but we, as a community, perhaps even as Hillary Clinton’s village, lose the opportunity for justice.

I have cared enough to write about and try to expose this crime that I am convinced affects others, probably across the nation. I ask the City of Seattle and the State of Washington to honor my care and my life, to honor the care and lives of all good citizens during these days of giving thanks, and to investigate and prosecute this crime.


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