Border Talks between Canada/U.S Leaders Sparks Controversy Raise Questions among Opposition by Markus Noé – February 6, 2011 – 10/13

30 Comments

1. 

   Harper wants Canada to be like the US and so he will accept whatever they offer. Get rid of Harper and do it soon. .

2. 

   Anyone fly over the states in the last year or 2, say to Mexico or Jamaica? Your airline already gave a bunch of infornation about you to them!

   Had a driving drunk charge? You are already not allowed into the states.
   We need to wait for details, but if the opposition parties are complaining, it must be the right thing to do!

3. 

   What a joke.The good old US of A is concerned about the USA and Canadian border.I think they should worry about the USA and Mexico border.

4. 

   The US is concerened with the Mexican border, they put up something like 3000 KM of fencing and have that patroled constantly. Sensors on the fences are on 24 / 7.
   Not only federally, but they even have a border county coalition to address common issues.

   Concern from Canada on their part is justified. You step on our soil and you get almost all rights that we take for granted. Some refugees are processed and released, some have gone missing, I only hope that they truly wanted a better life, however, immigration and refugees are costing us big time with money and world perception.

5. 

   Admin. We’ve talked about this but he can’t back out now. Ok. This story by Llewellyn is all over the net. It’s 41 pages of evidence. It’s already been read by every intelligence agent in the world. The story has been out for three weeks but is not discussed in polite company in Canada. Everyone else at the global party is talking about it. It’s like everyone in the world is laughing at us but we can’t know the joke. I don’t take any pride in reposting it.

   Part of the back beat to this story is that Mr. Llewellyn posted it Jan. 17/2011. Then after a few days he said he was in trouble and in danger, won’t get a job and is going to clam up and would everyone please remove the posting. Some sites did remove his 41 pages of evidence. However there are a variety of sites around the world that did not and so it hangs out there getting read by everyone except Joe and Jane Lunchbox and all their maple leaf pals. Well,. No I don’t think any office of substance would ever hire Llewellyn again and perhaps his future will include a job waiting on tables or moving boxes or sweeping floors like the rest of us.

   Now Gareth Llewellyn says he doesn’t want to talk about it anymore. Mr. Llewellyn has fired a shot straight into the heart of Canadian democracy. The analogy is that someone robs a bank, fires a shot, then goes home and when the cops arrive says, “I’m not comfortable with all this. I don’t want to discuss the event. Go away.” Well…it doesn’t work like that. Mr. Llewellyn, you will stand up, now is not the time to crumble. Hundreds of Canadian editors, publishers, radio, tv and news reporters are looking at your back. You may not be heart attacked for years. He said more than can be taken back. Let the adults decided. Let us all take a deep breath and be brave and bold. Spanner McNeil.
   ————————————–

   STEPHEN HARPER: CANADIAN PRIME MINISTER & CSIS OPERATIVE
   January 18, 2011
   From: llewellyn.gareth@yahoo.com
   Subject: Fw: CSIS involvement in politics
   Date: January 17, 2011 11:38:15 AM PST (CA)
   To: radical@radicalpress.com
   to make your day

   ― Forwarded Message ―-
   From: Gareth Llewellyn
   To: llewellyn.gareth@yahoo.com
   Cc: bakerg@sen.parl.gc.ca; coolsa@sen.parl.gc.ca; dallar@sen.parl.gc.ca; egglea@sen.parl.gc.ca; fairbj@sen.parl.gc.ca; zimmer@sen.parl.gc.ca; frasej@sen.parl.gc.ca; foxf@sen.parl.gc.ca; harbm@sen.parl.gc.ca;hervic@sen.parl.gc.ca; lavigr@sen.parl.gc.ca; pepinl@sen.parl.gc.ca
   Sent: Mon, January 17, 2011 4:30:37 AM
   Subject: CSIS involvement in politics
   January 2011
   Dear Senator:

   Would it affect your vote if you learned that the Rt. Hon. Stephen Harper was a CSIS operative in the late 1980s and early 1990s?

   This interesting-but-not-scandalous information (as once described by Jeff Sallot, a noted journalist and now teaching media at Carleton University) has been deemed by the Canadian Security Intelligence Service (CSIS) as an item of ‘national security,’ and I, in turn, was deemed as “prejudicial to the safety and interests of the [Canadian] state” under the Security of Information Act (SOIA).

   My career was ruined as a result.So, congratulations… you are now privy to a national-security secret.
   If, after a moment of contemplation, you find something fishy about this ‘secret,’ as if Canada’s security wouldn’t change one iota if it were broadcast around the world, you are privy to what this package is really about:
   the lack of judgment by CSIS, their dirty tricks, harassment and above all, their denial of basic justice to innocent Canadians.

   The Liberal Party of Canada is aware of this information, but according to a letter from Michael Ignatieff’s office (copied to the Evidence directory), the Liberals are not interested in this issue.

   The reasons for the Liberal’s lack of interest may include the fact that CSIS may have also protected a Liberal Prime Minister from another ‘national security secret’ i.e., a brief affair with a Peterborough woman in or around 2005 by harassing her to an extreme degree.

   Read the article about her ordeal at the hands of CSIS in the Evidence directory (#23a and b).This package is a book proposal seeking a publisher. Four chapters and an introduction tentatively entitled Life Under CSIS Rule are included, as well as a book synopsis and letter to a prospective literary agent.
   A series of magazine articles are also feasible, as is internet publication.

   The Gangstalker Directory contains “About Gangstalkers” to explain the role of ‘gangstalkers’ simply, a network of louts recruited to harass a whistleblower including some photos of them in action. The phenomenon of gangstalking has been developed very well at the website, gangstalkingworld.com, to which I refer the reader.

   In my case, CSIS has rented apartments in my neighbourhood to house them, so I enclose some photos of those houses as well.

   My resume and a photograph of my wife and I are included to identify us, as well as a Contact sheet to warn of the difficulties of communication when you are under CSIS investigation. My proposed book isn’t as important as the country.

   If you don’t want my experiences in Life Under CSIS Rule to be a regular occurrence in Canada, all under the excuse of ‘national security,’ please pass my story along. Please accept my legal permission to do so.Sincerely,Gareth Llewellyn___

   Life Under CSIS Rule by Gareth Llewellyn
   Chapter I
   January 2007
   The nightmare began when I sat in Starbucks in the Ottawa Marriott Hotel.
   I was sipping my favourite triple-mocha when an auburn-haired lady entered, bee-lined to the table beside me, sat and stared at me. Coat on. No coffee. Her hands were folded in her lap. There was no intensity in her eyes, but she kept on staring. Naturally I was perplexed, but I ignored her and my gaze wandered to another table beside me where a game of musical chairs broke out. A man sitting at the table doing nothing but fiddling his thumbs, left his seat too quickly and was just-as-quickly replaced by another. Then a third. Not a coffee between them. It was a peculiar sight and I returned to work a few minutes later, mystified.
   Most people have weird days too. I suppose my situation was very like those manufactured situations in the old TV series Candid Camera, filming unsuspecting strangers to gauge their reaction. For me, this game played itself out the next day at Starbucks with different people, and intermittently after that. Nobody appeared to say, “Hey, this is a joke” or pointing out the hidden camera.
   At work, meanwhile, someone had used my computer overnight and left little traces behind, called ‘electronic footprints’ by the Information Technology (IT) people. I worked for the Canada Border Services Agency (CBSA) as an Intelligence Analyst in the Intelligence directorate. I was 53 years old with a Masters in International Relations (Terrorism) and had 20 years in the government, so I knew that the IT people accessed our computers regularly for upgrades and repairs; however this midnight visit looked suspiciously like an investigation. For one thing, why do it at midnight? If it wasn’t an investigation, on the other hand, it could be something far worse.
   Right about then, a woman from our Toronto office called to ask if I had used one of their work files. Customs, Revenue and most other departments divide Canada into districts (or “ports” in the case of Customs) who “own” a file based on the Canadian’s location, usually his or her address. She quoted my User ID over the phone but I had never used the field file. HQ analysts like me almost never do. A CBSA officer had been arrested recently for “internal conspiracy” – Customs jargon for bad things done by employees with somebody else – and it was reported in the media. This kind of thing happens more often than Canadians realize so my first reaction was alarm. Had organized crime penetrated CBSA and used my User ID? I called the woman in Toronto back and reported it up the line in Ottawa. She called back saying it was a false alarm but her ‘explanation’ was nonsense.
   Taken together, I reported these things to my new manager, Scott. A new top-secret ‘intel’ unit had just been formed, called ‘Current Intelligence,’ one of the most secure at CBSA, and I was Scott’s first employee. We worked in the “Box,” a windowless secure room with the normal toys of a high-security area, such as a locked access, a separate commissionaire, safes, etc. I told him I thought I was under some form of investigation.
   Scott frowned in response. He disappeared soon after and was gone for several days for meetings with CSIS, among other things. He was aloof when he returned.
   “Did you get a letter pulling your security clearance?” he asked.
   “No,” I replied, surprised. “Have I done something wrong?”
   He never answered that question.
   I was worried. I knew I had done nothing wrong, but the public service is filled with personalities that shouldn’t be given responsibility to run a lemonade stand, let alone to control budgets and the futures of other people. Public servants also carry grudges. But it was on the street where my problems began.
   When I took the bus to work I was confronted by strangers glowering at me as if I spat on their shoes. “What the fuck?…” is about right for this. A couple of times someone would kick at my heels on the bus. Once I was body-checked and sent sprawling on the bus platform. A young ‘mother’ passed me along the sidewalk near the Billing Bridge bus mall one morning, then wheeled around a minute later, caught up with me and crashed her baby carriage into my legs. I guess there wasn’t a baby in there after all. Sure, some weird events episodes may happen to somebody, somewhere in Ottawa… on rare occasion. Maybe even in downtown Toronto. After thirty years living in Ottawa, never to me. I am a bespectacled geek. To me, reading the dictionary sounds like fun. At 6’ 1” and 210 lbs, I am big enough to deter the casual bullying, and I keep to myself, reading every morning on the bus, anxious not to miss my stop. My morning conundrum is whether to drop into Starbucks or not. My triple mocha with the whipped cream has 900 calories, after all.
   During my walks home strangers positioned themselves along my route down Bank Street every few blocks, often in the dead centre of the sidewalk, chain-smoking and gazing into the distance with a leer on their faces. These guys were rough-hewn – lotsa jeans, lotsa leather, needing haircuts – not one of us silly servants that we recognize instantly. After thirty years of living in or commuting through the Glebe, furthermore, you get acquainted with the regulars: the aging hippies, the panhandlers, the families of assistant Deputy Ministers and the students. These guys were new. Every once in a while one would peer up Bank Street, wondering what was taking me so long, and when I arrived they would pretend to do something normal. Even smoking a cigarette was, for them, a contrivance. Once I walked a complete circle around one but there was no response.
   Sometimes I would vary my routes home, even lose them for a few minutes, but they were quick to let me know when they were right back. An older gent wearing sneakers signaled this once by reaching out and waggling his hand at knee level like he were shaking a vaudevillian’s straw hat as he walked by. Hilarious, I suppose, and effective. I told my spouse (now wife) and she was as bewildered as me.
   I now live in Ottawa south. In the evening they would stalk me in the Independent Grocers at Alta Vista and Bank or in the Billings Bridge shopping mall, using as many as a half-dozen people at first. Their tactics were to obstruct my progress, or they might follow me in the aisle only a few inches behind as if trying to mimic me. When I turned to confront them they would scuttle off in the other direction, particularly the women. In the beginning, they didn’t bother to use a handbasket or a shopping cart. Later, they carried the handbasket but put nothing in them. Sometimes they looked ridiculous and that made me laugh. At other times I had to suppress an urge to launch my shopping cart at them.
   Once, late in the evening, I drove my car to the Glebe to buy a video card for my computer and caught them by surprise. A beat-up car that had been parked on an adjoining street raced to get ahead of me before the intersection. When he did, he slowed to 5 kph in the intersection and, when we turned left on the next street, he continued in this way in order to slow me down. Ultimately I passed him. When I arrived at the computer store they had posted a guy outside the door, hands in pockets, standing there late at night and doing nothing but staring at the moon. He was gone when I emerged a few minutes later. The point is, every day became a weird day.
   “Am I under investigation?” I asked Scott again.
   “Nope.”
   “No?”
   After a pause, Scott added, “You know, of all the people who complain about CSIS surveillance you’re the guy I feel most sorry for.”
   This statement was the only ‘support’ I ever received from CBSA management.
   Scott and I were friends and I was hurt he wouldn’t tell me what was going on. On the other hand, he was also a new manager and had just crossed the great class divide in the public service.
   Week after week this stuff continued.
   Despite Scott’s remark, I wasn’t convinced it was CSIS at first. I couldn’t understand why, for one thing. My security practices were good, provided I knew what they were. Customs has never been good at developing and communicating our security policies. I suffered a stroke in 2005 and had just returned, so I didn’t have a chance to get into trouble. (You have to do something wrong, don’t you?) But it was the people on the street that made me doubt CSIS. I had always bought the canard that CSIS surveillance was the best in the world, so I expected top-quality people as well. What I saw instead was an overweight matron crowding me to read my PIN at MusicWorld; or an old man without shoelaces or socks posturing as a computer buyer (that one made me laugh), or young and rough kids following me in the grocery store wearing black baseball caps. There were a surprising number of recent immigrants with halting English. Housewives, too.
   Who were these people?!
   I wouldn’t call the antics on the street ‘surveillance’ either. A long-haired fellow accosted me at the corner of Kent and Slater brandishing, of all things, two hairbrushes, one in each hand. He tried repeatedly to brush my fur hat until I fought him off, no “hidden observer” he. These isolated episodes grew in frequency and intensity where teams of five or six would cut me off during my grocery shopping, or in the library. I couldn’t leave work for lunch without getting The Treatment, including planting themselves before me, whipping out their cell phone to pretend to report my position (“Yes, he’s still walking down Bank St….”). One evening, I walked home on Bank Street and cried a tear or two from hurt feelings. What did I do to deserve this?! I lowered my face to wipe away a tear and, when I looked up, a woman’s face was pressed several inches from my own. Jesus Christ!… it was the attack of the personal-space invaders.
   The next day, Scott remarked, “I’m starting to worry about your health.”
   I had done nothing to provoke this remark from Scott. Their communications must be good to put those words in Scott’s mouth within 18 hours, not public-service speed at all. My Director, Craig Goodes, and my Director General, Caroline Melis, approached me separately to inquire into my well-being. All three of them knew what was going on, obviously, but no-one would explain why. And what was this anyway… a character test? I was still recovering from a stroke.
   In February, they replaced Scott.
   An ex-CSIS manager with ice-blue eyes and a baby face named Ken Lamontagne took his place. Lamontagne used to run informants in Montreal’s Chinatown and he had brought the stylishness of a Montrealer with him, wearing double-breasted suits that put us all to shame. He had brought the rules of work from CSIS with him, too. He turned out to be a womanizer at the workplace… death, if you’re a manager in the Ottawa public service, but CSIS has a different code of conduct carried over from their days as the RCMP. To them, Rank Means Everything. Looking back, Lamontagne’s arrival was a development to which I should have paid more attention, but I was entranced by the stalkers on the street. Some of them smelled. A couple were clearly from the local Mission downtown. The ‘toughies’ were juvenile delinquents. None of them were genuine CSIS officers, that much was obvious. They would stalk me for 4-5 days, taking most of the weekend off. A few weeks later they expanded it to include my place of work on 300 Slater Street, known as the Jean Emonds towers, which means they had access to the building. Among other things, it was CBSA’s Intelligence HQ.
   By March I had a theory.
   Although my overall health after my stroke was good, I had inherited several stomach ailments like diverticulosis and IBS that turned my stomach into a ball of fire when stress increased. In the evenings I was left in the foetal position, groaning from the pain because the GP who prescribed me a narcotic painkiller had just moved to southern Ontario. My new GP wouldn’t prescribe a narcotic. I am allergic to aspirin-related products, so I obtained pot (highly underrated as a painkiller) for my stomach from Patrick Eggert, a guy married to one of my wife’s friends, who did a bit of pushing on the side. When I met Scott, my recent manager, on the street, I told him what I’d done and asked if it was a problem.
   “Nah. That ain’t it,” he replied, referring to the reason for my harassment. “If you are smoking it at home…” He shrugged with a rolling of the eyes.
   I told my Director later on. He didn’t seem to care either. To their credit, it points to some tolerance within the public service in Ottawa. Marijuana belongs in the netherworld of offences where nobody takes it seriously except Customs (where it drives up our seizures-by-dollar-value, unless the RCMP is scheduled to burn the seizures and the jokes about camping overnight on a nearby hill will appear), and CSIS (where marijuana was like homosexuality: the culture is waiting for legalization, but CSIS has to ensure you are not susceptible to blackmail as homosexuals were in past decades). I have smelt marijuana on Customs employees. My manager-before-Scott was a noted alcoholic whose breath could start your barbecue when he forgot to chew his gum. Alcoholism is rampant in the enforcement agencies. Even CSIS has problem drinkers (I know of two). Marijuana has been subtly severed from the chemicals. Even CSIS adopts a forgiveness-for-past-sins approach for pot, but a zero-tolerance policy thereafter.
   I did manage to get a prescription for M-Eslon, a morphine painkiller I’ve taken for many years, from a medical clinic. I told my GP because I believed that you shouldn’t withhold information like that from your doctor. In response, she disowned me. The people stalking me, however, grew thick around the medical clinic and the pharmacy at the Independent Grocers in Alta Vista where I filled the prescription. CSIS even asked one of their ‘friends’ in Customs, Dave Beaton, to ‘innocently’ ask me through e-mail (which CSIS was monitoring) about M-Eslon even though I had spent 20 minutes conversing with him on the very subject the week before. Spying on workers is not restricted to CSIS. Many managers in the public service are brazen enough to coerce their employees to spy on their colleagues. Ken Lamontagne did this with everyone. He even asked me to spy on a student named Fez. I declined.
   I searched long and hard for another doctor in Ottawa, and found one on Bronson Avenue. This doctor was an elderly Polish émigré with a fascinating personal history… from the Second World War. He should have retired a decade ago, but the doctor shortage in Ontario was peaking and I was desperate for a doctor to monitor my blood viscosity after my stroke. CSIS decided this was the place to stage a drug sting. And so, with CSIS officers circling about me like vultures in the doctor’s office, they enlisted the cooperation of the doctor’s assistant and the good doctor to offer me excess morphine. I refused. I got the message, though. The poor surveillance, or whatever one calls those people stalking me, their preoccupation with narcotics and access to CBSA HQ all pointed to a CBSA investigation to me. I wrote an e-mail to the Director of Internal Affairs, Roger Lavergne, to explain my stomach history, my allergy to aspirin, my lengthy use of a narcotic, etc.
   Roger phoned me back. “You’re not under investigation.”
   Whatever. Despite the objections of English purists, the word ‘whatever’ is ideal for the public service. Once the big shapes are communicated – in this case, that I was most certainly under investigation – the rest is pure bullshit.
   My e-mail did produce a change however. For roughly eight days there were no more “stalking on steroids,” a term I used to describe a score of people following me at lunch, breaks and along my commutes to work. During my browsing on the internet I discovered there is another term for this activity. It is called “gangstalking,” coined by past targets. When Wikileaks divulged the contents of roughly 250,000 cables from the U.S. diplomatic sector, a cable quoting the now-former Director of CSIS, Jim Judd, described gangstalking as “vigorous harassment.”
   I didn’t know it existed.
   Jack Hooper, the former Deputy Director of Operations of CSIS, once told the Senate that “when prosecution is not viable… we have other techniques.” Please note the phrase, “when prosecution is not viable.” It means they don’t have evidence. Worse, CSIS officers are also vulnerable to “group think,” a by-product of a rigid hierarchy inherited from the RCMP. CSIS is not driven by analysis, but by operational types who think of themselves as analysts. Do you believe that Canada can depend on CSIS’ insight, experience and intelligence to identify the guilty? If you do, I recommend you join the public service. Pure bullshit seems to work.
   The ‘other techniques’ Hooper is referring to are central to CSIS activities. It means the target’s life will be ruined. Once, for example, there was a targeted communist professor who had problems in his personal relationship, so CSIS forged a letter on his girlfriend’s behalf alluding to an affair with somebody in England. It was torn to pieces and left conveniently in their bathroom wastebasket immediately after the girlfriend left for England for a conference. Great stuff, eh? From my vantage point for four years, CSIS seems to enjoy it.
   Gang-stalking is integral to a CSIS disrupt campaign. CSIS provides beat-up vehicles, radios and CSIS information to teams of unemployable and mostly young people, controlled by CSIS officers, to stalk the targets. They plant a small GPS device to the target’s vehicles and use software to chart the progress of the target’s vehicle on a map of the streets of Ottawa or Toronto. I have seen it. A monitor displaying the map is bolted to the dashboard on the passenger side of a van, and the van drives along with the target – along parallel streets or back alleys, mostly out of sight of the target. Out of curiosity, I drove into some of those alleys and found them there. If that’s not enough, they break into your house to plant eavesdropping devices and miniature cameras to learn of your plans before you leave your home. Their target doesn’t have a chance.
   In addition, CSIS has formed large teams of ‘friends’ (read: political friends) along the lines of Neighourhood Watch programs. Some are provided Blackberries for instant communication. Thus, there are at least three groups of people involved: CSIS officers, who act as team leaders and guide vehicles on the road, etc.; the ‘professional’ gangstalkers, mostly young people, even teenagers, who they bring in from other cities and lodge them in apartments close to the target; and the Neighbourhood Watch people, who are normal citizens living in the vicinity and unaware of the nature of the ‘problem’ that CSIS is seeking to resolve. Toss in the activities of Bell Canada, Canada Post and our municipalities – including their employees who are willing to borrow the vehicles of their employers on a moment’s notice – and you have Canada’s gang-stalking and anti-terrorist system all rolled into one. The logistics of running it are enormous, all paid for by the tripling of the CSIS budget over the past decade; money diverted from Canada’s health budget.
   Websites such as http://www.gangstalkingworld.com have arisen in Canada to comfort the victims. I encourage the reader to visit this site to see where Canada is going, and to understand the CSIS technique in case you are targeted. This could happen if you join a social-justice group, get political, whistle-blow on illegal activities within the government or look kindly on Muslims who are persecuted by the Gesta excuse me, I mean CSIS. There are excerpts in Dark Days, by Kerry Pither, illustrating these tactics against innocent Muslim Canadians, identical to those used against me. All the charges brought forward by Muslims are likely true. Canada isn’t exceptional, either. It is widespread in the United States, and a small-but-growing percentage of Americans have experienced gangstalking at some point in their lives according to one study. Police won’t help; they’re on their side. The media is oblivious.
   This is life under CSIS rule.
   And so, for roughly eight days in the spring of 2007, the behemoths standing in the centre of the sidewalks, arms folded, challenging me to pass… vanished. Chewed-over sunflower seeds were no longer spat at me in the Glebe. This brief hiatus, as I think back to it, was due to the realization by someone in CSIS that I was not a drug addict after all. How do I know this? Because, by April, any interest in my M-Eslon prescription ceased. It was replaced by aggressive flirtation by beautiful women. One woman, for example, who was standing in front of me at Starbucks in Chapters, South Keys turned and gave me a pregnant wink. Gee… me? The problem here is a three-headed lizard could have slithered behind this woman and she wouldn’t have known because her back was presented to me for the five seconds since I entered the store. Obviously, she was informed by radio or Blackberry that I was coming and raced to be there ahead of me. Most of the CSIS honey-trap approaches had the same awkward, who-the-fuck-are-you-kidding feel to them. They must have been designed by men.
   Once, a woman was walking between the bus-stops, as I often do when the bus service is slow, trying to catch up to me. When she did, she tried repeatedly to engage me in conversation about the bus service. I ignored her. After four or five failed attempts, she got fed up and somehow signaled for back-up because a car appeared suddenly, braking in front of her. She climbed in quickly and off they sped. The CSIS chauffeur service beats a tardy bus every time. On another occasion, a young Chinese girl did a bump-and-grind in front of my face on the #7 bus. A bit of a shock, actually, and when I looked into the eyes of the woman sitting beside me, she stood, wanting me to move to let her out. Her hard eyes told me that she was part of the CSIS ‘op’ too; i.e., she was saving her seat so the Chinese girl could sit next to me, which the girl did, pouting all the way home. CSIS operatives save seats on the bus or parking spaces regularly to facilitate an ‘accidentally on purpose’ meeting.
   On yet another occasion, a woman in high heels and a short dress was walking her dog down Clementine Blvd. But their timing was off and I was twenty paces behind and would soon turn on my street. No matter; she just reversed her direction and walked towards me. As I approached, she floated her eyes as if she was seconds away from an orgasm. Unfortunately for her, she also attracted a male driver who braked and… I didn’t stop to find out. When you are a balding, overweight 53-year-old as I am, you interpret these shenanigans as sarcasm. As for my spouse, she was sarcastic too.
   Then there were the sexual stare-athons aboard the #1 bus. Or the skank waiting for me at my place of work as I left the building, right after Lamontagne asked me pointedly when I was to going leave work. Or the woman who entered the roadhouse, ordered a drink while standing and placed it beside me, ignoring the long, empty bar that was available to her. Then she realized she was being too aggressive and moved her drink one stool away, and proceeded to grill me, if you’ll pardon the pun, on the lamb chop I had just eaten. It was supposed to be a pick-up line.
   After several episodes like this I was rolling my eyes and I reported it to Ken Lamontagne, my manager. To me, this was an escalation. To investigate anyone for possible drug addiction is a reasonable precaution if you’re in a highly-secure position, but to employ “honey traps,” a phrase from John le Carré’s spy novels, is an espionage practice. Put another way, to investigate anyone for potential drug addiction may mean the subject is drugs. If they use honey traps afterwards, the subject is you.
   In response to my very first report, Lamontagne told me I was delusional and pressed me to submit to a “Fitness to Work” assessment, which he recommended, said he, “as a friend.” I said no to my ‘friend.’ I was warned about how CSIS gets rid of public servants. They use gangstalking practices to prod a public servant to report it, and after an ex-CSIS manager assures you it isn’t possible, a tame psychologist will rule you ‘delusional.’ Your career is over, without a chance to work in the public service again. Even then I perceived it for what it was: the most naked threat I have ever received in my career.
   The over-arching question was why.
   It wasn’t until June 2007 that CSIS finally showed itself. They sent me an e-mail at work offering me a job as an intelligence officer, signed by “Natalie Gravelle” I believed the offer at first, although I don’t know if Natalie Gravelle really exists. By all means, write her at gravellen@smtp.gc.ca and see if she offers you a job. For authentication purposes, the server ‘smtp’ is apparently CSIS-owned and operated, as is, more obviously, the ‘gc’ suffix, which stands for the Government of Canada. I have corresponded several times to the address since then, and it was neither responded to nor returned with a ‘No Such Address’ server notice. I did experiment with other CSIS names for people I knew were assigned to CBSA, and their e-mail address was responded to with a ‘No Such Address.’ They must have fixed it by now.
   I showed this offer to Ken Lamontagne. As in: What is this, Ken? As in: Is it genuine and why are you not speaking to me first, as my manager? But Lamontagne only smirked. I printed it and showed it to my spouse, Betty Ann, who urged me to decline it. Too dangerous, she warned. Besides, CSIS has a nasty reputation as an employer. So I said no.
   Two days later, Ray Kaduck called. Ray is a tall, angular fellow with a biting wit who travelled frequently for CSIS and just received a plum assignment on a committee for past work well done. We met at Local Heroes.
   CSIS wanted me, said he, to penetrate the neo-Nazi movement.
   “What?!” I groaned.
   The CSIS ‘offer’ had a history behind it.
   I invite politicophiles to remember way back to the turmoil in the PC Party near the end of Brian Mulroney’s tenure in 1987-88. The PC party was fragmenting even then. The Bloc Quebecois and the Reform Party were aborning from the ashes. But before that, there were contending theories about what to do about the plummeting Tory brand. Can you remember the Christian Heritage Party or the Confederation of Regions Party?… the latter was briefly the official opposition in New Brunswick. I was heavily involved in this because I was the Legislative Assistant to Stan Graham, MP and the researcher for the Back Bench Committee, an informal group of Tory MPs who were a bit unhappy with Mulroney’s policies. I was so appalled with the way that Mulroney treated his caucus that some fellows and I created the Northern Foundation to organize the Blue Tories within the Federal Progressive Conservative riding associations; in other words, to reform the PC party from within.
   It didn’t work.
   What happened instead was this: in the aftermath of the Tory collapse, the Reform Party became the rallying point in English Canada. Unbeknownst to most Canadians, there were neo-Nazis in Canada who thought their time was also now. They apparently resolved to penetrate any conservative organization they could and, according to CSIS, neo-Nazis were at work penetrating the Reform Party and the Northern Foundation. In the latter case, the Foundation was penetrated by a neo-Nazi, a woman who, unbeknownst to us, was padding our mailing list with other neo-Nazis. It was solely my fault to invite her, but all I saw at the time was her industry. She was a widow with six children and, at first, hid her neo-Nazi sympathies very well. Over time she was exposed and since left the country – quite a story by itself, but it isn’t the story here. Read Warren Kinsella’s Web of Hate if you want to learn more.
   CSIS operates by soliciting assistance from the inside and are utterly reliant on their undeserved cachet with Canadians to obtain that assistance. In this case they asked an up-and-coming Reform Party politician for his help in ridding Canada and sensible people everywhere of this cancerous scourge. Apparently, he agreed.
   What I didn’t know in 1988 was that CSIS had targeted me.
   CSIS spent the 1990s using their ‘friends’ to spread the rumour that I was an anti-Semitic, anti-everything, short-mustached psychotic vegetarian with a girlfriend named Eva. It destroyed my career at Revenue Canada. I was investigated for two years by Internal Affairs in Revenue Canada for being a neo-Nazi, but I was cleared (see Evidence Directory #25a). Somebody was stationed outside my house at the time of the Oklahoma City bombing. Many directors couldn’t conceal their distaste of me as I passed them in the hall, some of whom I never met. Many of my successful job competitions suddenly developed irregularities, to the point where I was forced to relocate to Customs.
   CSIS got part of it right. I was a vegetarian for two years in the 1970s.
   So, was I a neo-Nazi? Nope. Was I even anti-Semitic? Nope. Did I deny the Holocaust, or use derogatory terms like the ‘n’ word, or believe in some form of genetic purification or think that Blacks are less intelligent than Whites? Never. In. My. Life. I came from a mostly-Jewish high school in Toronto where they taught me basketball and many other things besides, and I had a lot of fun. Even in Revenue Canada, several Jewish friends approached me over the years to mutter something like “You wouldn’t believe the bad things I’ve heard about you.” But never the Whites. Over time, the component of society that treated me the worst throughout my life was… the Whites. It sounds odd coming from a white guy, but to them I was an oddball. I have always known this. And the groups that treated me the best?… Blacks, Jews and Asians. Always. It’s another reason why I have such contempt for CSIS analysis. I never understood the anti-Semitic thing in the Middle East, but I do understand the damage done by Western Intelligence. Now, when I read the lunatic remarks from the current President of Iran whose name I can’t pronounce, I don’t read “Jew” at all.
   I read “Mossad.”
   We are paying the price from their unrestrained bullying.
   The Reform Party politician was good to his word and I became his target. He denounced me repeatedly throughout Eastern Ontario and Montreal as a neo-Nazi. I know this because people called and told me. I was perplexed because I thought we were on good terms. So when the Reform Party politician got a job as Deborah Grey’s assistant (Ms. Grey was the only Reform MP elected in 1988), I went to see him on Parliament Hill. Not only did he throw me out of Grey’s office, he had me banned from Parliament Hill. A Calgary MP saw my ‘Wanted’ poster inside the Commissionaires’ desk and passed the word along. The Reform Party politician did other things too, and let’s be honest, many Canadians would support his efforts to rid the Hill of neo-Nazis.
   He has done well working with CSIS.
   For one thing, he is now the Prime Minister of Canada.
   Life Under CSIS Rule
   Chapter II
   The ‘offer’ to penetrate the neo-Nazi movement as presented by Ray Kaduck was the most ridiculous I’ve ever received. Ray and I were sitting in Local Heroes, a popular roadhouse that caters to sports fans on south Bank, while he pitched the offer on CSIS’ behalf. I don’t know if he saw I was shaking my head in disgust. The ‘attraction’ for me was to spend quality time with neo-Nazis, and this was after I survived the CSIS slime-job in the 1990s and the associated health problems, which includes a suspected heart attack, serious stomach ailments and several stints of stress leave. Who could resist that gobsmacking offer! They even asked my manager, Ken Lamontagne, to investigate my lack of interest. I know this because he called me into his office and asked.
   This illustrates the gap I have witnessed about CSIS ruthlessness, on the one hand, and their inability to know why they’re being ruthless, on the other. Conversations with lawyers have revealed this observation as well, resulting in quips like “the ruthless Keystone Kops” and similar remarks. Here, CSIS seemed to have convinced itself that I would accept the offer, and asked some of their ‘friends’ to send me e-mails to convince me that neo-Nazis were a present danger, not the sparse collection of misfits they really were. Regardless of their thinking behind the offer, it stands as the total misunderstanding of the motive of the target (me). This is a CSIS hallmark. It is to Lamontagne’s credit that he understood, or so it seemed to me, that CSIS’ op against me was a little misdirected. Or maybe this was a good-cop, bad-cop routine. He also told me he resigned his original position in CSIS years ago because he needed to care for his son, Simon, in the aftermath of his divorce. I admired him for that. And by the way, the offer to work for CSIS was also bogus, which Lamontagne and several other CSIS people knew. They aimed to lure me from my job protection with CBSA, then I would be fired.
   This offer was so weird, in fact, it was the first time I seriously considered whether the Right Hon. Stephen Harper was the author of it.
   Twenty years previous, in 1988, Stephen Harper and I went to lunch at the Silver Fox Restaurant (now the Green Papaya) on Kent Street, about a half mile south of Parliament Hill, during which he offered me the job of being his campaign manager for his first federal campaign in Calgary West. I was honoured and I accepted. It would be my first campaign manager job at the federal level and I was heart-and-soul devoted to the success of the Reform Party, despite being the Legislative Assistant for Stan Graham, the Tory MP for Kootenay East – Revelstoke. It was the same LA position that Harper held under Jim Hawkes, the Tory MP in Calgary West, and the same riding he was about to challenge and to represent for many years afterwards.
   Already, Mulroney had serious problems with the Tory vote in English Canada – and more precisely, the support of Tory organizers like me – and though he won the 1988 election, he destroyed the federal Progressive Conservative Party in the process. Stan Graham was himself the Chairman of the Backbench Committee (BBC), for whom I was his only researcher. The BBC was a protest group of Members of Parliament within the Tory caucus, modeled on the Westminster precedent from 1922 in Britain, and numbering about three dozen. They were largely ineffectual over the years but had some small successes; most notably, the campaign within the caucus to defeat the planned outlawing of satellite dishes led by Alan Redway.
   In my opinion, this is exactly the way Parliament should operate, more like the American Senate than the collection of sycophants howling for junkets to New Zealand they have become. If Canadians really wanted to improve Parliament without the trouble of constitutional reform, they should press the official parties to rescind the Leaders’ power over the riding nominations papers. Granted, it would be messier, but democracy should be a messy affair. The media will have to hold their noses to tolerate MPs not like them. We’ll get some renegades and nutbars for sure, just as in the United States or the United Kingdom, but that should be the responsibility of the voters in the riding to correct, if needed. We’ll also get party leaders forced to reconcile their MPs’ concerns, and since their ridings are still tied to a geographical area, we would have legitimate representation within the House of Commons. The people opposed to such measures are those whose desires can be met through other means. Thus has our own class system been established.
   I had no idea at the time that CSIS had asked Harper to hire me, probably to lure me from my job with Stan Graham. It was stupid of me not to understand CSIS machinations, since Harper was so poor he couldn’t afford to hire me, let alone for work that he had no intention of me completing. He shared an apartment with his brother and only CSIS could have paid for my plane ticket. The Reform Party was also poor, but Harper relayed to me the news that Preston Manning has just landed a six-figure donation from some businessmen, which picked me up considerably.
   When I arrived at the Calgary airport, I was introduced to one of Harper’s closest friends, a balding, short man who was married with two young daughters. Harper told me that he was going to deduct $350/month from my salary to pay for my room, which was in his friend’s basement right beside his daughter’s playroom. I didn’t object, but I wasn’t happy about it. His friend lived outside the riding in the suburbs and, although I was offered the friend’s car to use if I needed to escape, it made me a bit queasy liberating his boat of a car in the evening so I only used it once.
   Harper knew, as did Preston Manning, that the Reform Party would win very few seats, if any, in the 1988 federal election. Manning himself didn’t want to win his riding in Yellowhead, where Joe Clark was an established MP and a former Prime Minister, because a victory would lock him in the House of Commons, enduring the trivialities of House procedure, the administration of his office and the flights back and forth from Ottawa. Manning was a revolutionary and he was from the West, and that was where his time would be spent most profitably. Harper told me these things, although it wasn’t a secret to most observers either. The margins won by the PCs in Alberta were only surpassed by the Trudeau Liberals in Quebec.
   Since Harper knew he would lose that election, his mantra was to not go into debt. Harper and I had a disagreement, though, about whether to only go through the motions of conducting an election, which was Harper’s view, or to put up some sort of fight, which was mine. Looking back, I was never the “campaign manager” and therefore had no real authority to press for active fundraising or ad campaigns, even if they were limited to putting lawn signs in unusual places. I was pushed aside, mainly by Harper’s friend, who was conducting the campaign indirectly and the $350/month he obtained for renting me his basement bedroom was how he got paid, courtesy of CSIS. Ultimately there was a showdown in the campaign office where Harper lost it, slamming the table insisting and shouting that he didn’t want to go into debt. I knew this. But without brochures and ads and events and fundraise to support them, you don’t have a campaign either, and I was agitating for activity in any direction. In the end, nothing happened. My activities were reduced to canvassing with Harper.
   There were a number of new subdivisions in Calgary West at the time, and I can remember trudging through them with Harper with the trademark cheap brochure for political newbies (transparent white paper, two colours, etc.), but the riding wasn’t low-rent. Big houses. Puny young trees. Their lawns, sidewalks and even the roads were still under construction, and there were a surprising number of already-successful new immigrants living there. I have canvassed with candidates before and you can learn a great deal about the person you are supporting. I have recently received a telephone call from a retiree in Calgary, for example, who opined that Stephen Harper was a hypocrite: in his Christianity and in his respectable demeanour that houses a take-no-prisoners ambition. I don’t believe that. During our walks, Harper seemed very genuine when he said that there is an order in the universe, and it wasn’t the byproduct of happenstance, meaning that he believed in God. I found this endearing. If people want salacious gossip on the Prime Minister, they are not going to get it here.
   On the other hand, to me he wanted to be PM even in 1988. It was evident he was going places and probably encouraged CSIS to recruit him, although I have my qualms about CSIS recruiting politicians as operatives because it places them in a conflict-of-interest situation. Their primary duty should be as an elected official, not James Bond. Still, Harper had patience. He waited for Jim Hawkes, who he dismissed as a ‘Dark Lord,’ a phrase that Harper shared with his brother who I met during the campaign, to fall from his “internal contradictions,” if you’ll pardon the Marxist turn of phrase, which Hawkes did along with the federal PC Party in 1992. It has since disappeared forever.
   I thought Harper was an intelligent opportunist as well. The resources of the National Citizen’s Coalition were put to investigate his candidacy for the leadership of the PC Party from the faltering hands of Joe Clark in the late 1990s just as the demand for merger on the political right was beginning to peak. The second phase would be to merge the PC Party with Reform, I can only imagine, and this outcome has since occurred, albeit following a different road map. In all, opportunism and patience seemed to me to be a good mix and the merger on the Right was inevitable. Nevertheless, I was angry at the way I was treated and resigned from his campaign. He phoned me just before I left, and we seemed to leave on good terms, which is as good as you can expect from a CSIS op.
   I had left his campaign for legitimate reasons: he ‘hired’ me under false pretences; namely, to run his campaign. He deducted part of my salary to lodge me in his friend’s basement during this campaign without consulting me. He called me an extremist repeatedly in that campaign when I had given him no cause to do so. We’re not talking about differences of opinion here, either. Any discussion that could have given rise to such claims simply didn’t come up… except on two occasions. Somehow the topic of abortion came up and Harper was shocked when I told him I was pro-choice and had been all my life. I can only theorize that, since I was under investigation by CSIS for being a neo-Nazi, they probably concluded that I must be pro-life – as neo-Nazis probably are, which may explain the bombing of Henry Morgantaler’s clinic – and passed such pearls of wisdom as ‘intelligence’ to Harper.
   On the second occasion where Harper might have a ‘difference of opinion,’ was an occasion where he seemed he was spending too much time listening to CSIS. This time, our conversation during our canvassing was about the overwhelming presence of liberal opinion within the national media. I told him I thought that conservatives, in order to gain power at the federal level, needed to ‘capture’ the media, by which I meant we needed to persuade the ‘intellectuals’ (this is Hayek talking here), or to set up an alternative media (Tory TV), or to buy them out (this is Conrad Black’s tactic) or to somehow dominate the media and get them to buy our vision. In 1988, this wasn’t happening. This is also a classic conservative reaction to the media generally. What Harper interpreted from my remarks was signaled by a “Whooooaaaa, are you ever extreme!” Namely, that I intended to kill them.
   I stared at him, shocked. If Harper misinterpreted such remarks regularly in his own Cabinet, the Cabinet wouldn’t function. I was an alleged neo-Nazi, don’t forget, so CSIS probably interpolated what real Nazis did in 1936… or some interpretation that fits their capabilities. To this day, I don’t hold Harper accountable for CSIS’ so-called Background on the Target (me) because I have sniffed CSIS intelligence before.
   It was after the election, however, that Harper’s behaviour verged on the incredible and, at the time, I attributed his viciousness to his personality. Nobody is that vicious, however. And so irrational! I have since realized that Harper was a CSIS operative years ago and his actions are attributable to CSIS directions (very CSIS), but don’t take my word for it. I have evidence to be presented later, but for now I offer the circumstances to the reader and let him or her reach their own conclusions. Remember that Harper had only met me two or three times before he offered me the job of campaign manager in his first campaign. He no way of knowing my organizational capabilities, presuming they even existed. There were no referrals. Would you, as a penniless, first-time candidate, pay to fly an unknown entity across the country to run your campaign? This is not only risky, but Harper generally is risk-averse, surely a touchstone in his own conservatism. Would you pay that person the balance of the campaign fee after he had resigned midway through? Harper did. No viciousness here, of course, but it is irrational, especially when you don’t have the money, unless the money is being provided from elsewhere.
   The 1988 election ended and Harper predictably lost, as did Preston Manning and the rest of the Reform candidates, except for Deborah Grey. Harper became Grey’s legislative assistant. Shortly after, I began to receive telephone calls from Kingston, Brockville, Montreal and other places reporting to me that Harper was “dissing” me, as the term goes, that I was an extremist of some sort. Always me; always Harper. I received a phone call from Link Byfield, a director of the Northern Foundation and the publisher of the Western Report, a conservative bible west of the Lakehead, also with news regarding Harper. I thought I had left his campaign on good terms, so I went to visit him in Deborah Grey’s office on Parliament Hill to resolve things.
   Harper was gone for a few minutes when I arrived so I sat to wait. He entered the office shortly after.
   “What are you doing here!” he demanded, only a few steps into the office.
   “I came to see you. Can we have a coffee?” There is a restaurant cafeteria a few floors over Grey’s office in the Confederation Building.
   He sat down. “How did you get in the building?” he demanded again, in a hostile tone and very loudly.
   I waved my still-valid pass to the House of Commons, a job I left for him. Already he had caught the attention of Deborah Grey, who I saw standing through the doorway into her office behind him, listening.
   He threw me out of her office. A few weeks later, Lee Richardson, still a MP from Calgary, happened to be sitting on the Commissionaire’s desk, and saw a ‘Wanted’ poster, if that’s the right term, with my ugly mug plastered on it. I had been declared persona non grata in the House of Commons.
   Only Harper could have done this.
   I had always been polite to Harper, and I had left his campaign for valid reasons, but this reaction is so extreme it can only be explained by his affiliation to CSIS. (I have since obtained a letter from CSIS declaring me a ‘subversive’ for possessing this information about Harper’s relationship to CSIS. (Evidence, 1a and 1b.). At the time, I was bewildered. The neo-Nazi woman in our midst, Anne Hartmann, who hadn’t been identified by us and excluded yet, was always pressing me to attack Harper through our publication, The Continuing Crisis and through rumour campaigns in which she was a self-identified expert. Whether the neo-Nazis had fingered Harper as a CSIS operative I have no idea. Sometimes they get it right.
   Concurrently, the most unflattering episode ever to involve CSIS with the Reform Party, Stephen Harper and Preston Manning unfolded. It involved the ‘perhaps-allegations’ that Preston Manning was secretly funded by South Africa, a phrase I use because, while it was never alleged directly (to my knowledge) that Preston was funded by the South African government, then an apartheid regime, it was certainly hinted at. Maurice Archdeacon, then the Chairman of the Security Intelligence Review Committee (SIRC) advised in the subcommittee minutes that the CSIS analyst involved should have subtitled the TARC 1 investigation as “unknown contributors to Preston Manning’s campaign.” It wasn’t even that.
   The investigation to which Mr. Archdeacon is referring is based on a joke, with tongue planted firmly in cheek, made by yours truly. The investigation was itself a joke. What is truly amazing is that CSIS still doesn’t know what happened, twenty years after the fact, and may be still investigating as I write this. Now they know. The answers were always available for the asking, but CSIS, as always, chooses the most expensive, error-ridden, ham-fisted, hiding-in-plain-sight method – that is to say, the bureaucratic method – known to Canada. They also get it wrong.
   And it does involve Stephen Harper. Shortly after the 1988 election, Harper approached the South African ambassador to Canada, Mr. Hendrik de Klerk, and allegedly warned him that “We know everything you are doing…” with respect to South Africa’s embassy’s relationship with myself. He named me specifically.
   “We know everything you are doing…?” Those were his words.
   First, who is ‘we’ in this context? Second, why would Stephen Harper speak to the South African ambassador at all? And why in such a threatening manner? He was a defeated candidate at the time without any official authority. Third, how would Harper know anything about the Northern Foundation’s acquaintance with the South African embassy, which was pretty scanty in the event? All these questions are answered by the simple truth that Stephen Harper worked for CSIS at the time.
   What actually happened was this. The Northern Foundation had just been born and fundraising was the key concern. The reason it was so key is because it was a kitchen-table operation from the beginning; a group of guys worried about their country’s future and thought that some organization at the riding level would be a good thing. The Vice-President at the time, Andrew Dynowski, chanced into a consultant cum lobbyist for the South African embassy whose name was obtained from an ancient “voter preferences” list from the Tory archives that are stored in the homes of organizers; which is to say, moi. Dynowski phoned. The consultant was in. He expressed interest in the Northern Foundation. Dynowski went to visit him.
   The South African consultant offered us a proposal: would we organize a debate on whether sanctions against apartheid South Africa were a good idea? This was 1988, remember. For us it couldn’t have been offered at a better time – not because the topic was part of our mandate, nor even on the top ten list of subjects of interest – nor was apartheid a secret love of anybody in our organization… and we hadn’t met Anne Hartmann yet. In 1988, apartheid was going down and everybody knew it. Everyone in our organization was a virulent opponent of communism, however, and reserves of strategic minerals such as chromium, titanium, molybdenum, zinc etc. that were vital for weapon systems were available only in South Africa – outside of the Soviet Union, that is – and therefore subordinated the liberation of black South Africans, who were led by the African National Congress, a Marxist organization, to the defeat of communism. Most educated conservatives knew this. It is no accident that President George Bush pere cut South Africa loose only after communism fell.
   It was in any embassy’s job description to improve its relationship with its host country, and South Africa’s embassy, as everybody also knew, was desperate for some positive public relations, and any positive public relations would do since Brian Mulroney and Joe Clark had decided that bashing South Africa was a sure vote-winner. We received some correspondence in Stan Graham’s office in 1988 in which Clark stated that apartheid was the primary evil in the world; a bit over the top in my opinion, but reflective of his thinking at the time.
   Most importantly, the fee to organize the debate included a sum for a computer and a laser printer which, in 1988, were very expensive and essential for getting the organization off the ground. The money didn’t even come from the embassy, but from a Canadian businessman. The debate came off, featuring William Rusher, the publisher for National Review magazine, the brainchild of William F. Buckley, and Gwynne Dyer, a noted CBC commentator. It went well. The South African regime collapsed a few years later, apparently not to be rescued by the outcome of the debate.
   It was some conversation between the cracks that is significant.
   As I said, the policies and behaviour of the Mulroney government after 1984 had fractured the Tory base already. It was the pomposity of Joe Clark, however, that seemed to grate on the nerves of the party grassroots. The fact that he was the favourite of media elites and the growth of a class system in Canadian politics, a phenomenon that was identified later by the Spicer Commission, fed the fire of resentment. It reached the point where, after Preston Manning announced his candidacy to challenge Clark in the riding of Yellowhead, Tory grassroots organizers in Eastern Ontario were cheering loudly for Preston’s prospects, and many of these were on the mailing list of the Northern Foundation. Unfortunately, CSIS decided that being a smart ass is a national-security threat. I suggested to the fellows in the Foundation that “Hey, why don’t we ship these guys to Yellowhead to canvass for Preston? And why not get the South African embassy to pay for it? After all, Joe and the South African embassy hate each other?” Picture my eyebrows dancing.
   It caused a whole train to move.
   I knew beforehand that obtaining money from a foreign source to influence a domestic election is a no-no. On the other hand, it happens all the time, and I’ve always wondered how Brian Mulroney managed to obtain foreign money to win the PC leadership in 1983 without more criticism. I’ll let the reader conclude what happened during Mulroney’s tenure after that. So I did mention this to the consultant, mainly because my penchant at the time was to shock people. And I did. The consultant laughed. He knew it was a non-starter, too, and there it died. I forgot about it. My main preoccupation was the Meech Lake Accord.
   Enter Andrew Dynowski.
   Dynowski was always an iffy character. He is a tall, lanky man who couldn’t help grinning whenever the topic of conversation grew serious. He had, by this time, ran as a Social Credit candidate in the Carleton riding a few years back under the leadership of John Turmel, a renowned gambler and perennial political candidate in Ottawa, who was seen frequently wearing a construction hat and brandishing a picket sign protesting monetary policies and the banks. Suffice to say, Dynowski was made the Vice-president only because he happened to be there.
   One hot summer evening, Dynowski and I went to the Market, Ottawa’s nightclub district, for a few beers. We left early and I was in bed by 10 pm. At 3:00 am., I was awakened by a phone call. It was Dynowski.
   “If the police call, tell them I spent the night with you,” he announced.
   Well, he did, sort of. I asked him what was going on. He told me that he was awakened by a yappy dog from a house around the corner. He still lived with his mother and, wearing only a pair of shorts, went in search of the dog with a pair of vice-grips in one hand and a hammer or screwdriver in the other.
   “What were you going to do with the dog after you found it?” I asked apprehensively. He said he didn’t know.
   He never found the dog, likely because it was taken in as the result of the barking. He told me that there happened to be a Canada Post official who lived nearby, however, and this particular official was a former supervisor of Dynowski. Dynowski didn’t like him. There also happened to be a lawn ornament in the supervisor’s front lawn, something that looked like a horse jockey, according to Dynowski’s description, so he destroyed it. Then he left. A police cruiser drove by shortly after, likely in response to a phone call reporting some commotion, and the police stopped Dynowski for questioning on his way back home, still wearing only his shorts and carrying the tools in his hand. He told the police that he had spent all this time with me. They took his particulars and let him go. Then he called me.
   I hung up the phone that night thinking that we have to get rid of this guy. He was replaced by Anne Hartman, who had been given a glowing recommendation by a close American friend, and I never phoned Dynowski again. Other than my failure to contact him further, he had no other issue with me since I had paid him the same (small) amount of money that I received for the work done to date. I thought he was a malicious screw-up, but I didn’t tell him that.
   Somehow enraged, Dynowski went to CSIS to allege that the Northern Foundation was funneling South African money in significant amounts to Preston Manning’s campaign. Except for his name, this recounting of events can be confirmed on the internet. Dynowski went to the media with similar allegations and left a threatening phone message on my answering machine. “You’d better call me!…”
   It was somehow enough to motivate CSIS to launch a TARC level I investigation into Preston’s electoral campaign and generated sufficient attention to occupy the time of Security Intelligence Review Committee (SIRC) and a subcommittee on Parliament Hill. It was also sent to the Federal Cabinet. You c

6. 

   WOW SCARY!!!

7. 

   …this will take a few posts
   —————————
   It was also sent to the Federal Cabinet. You can tell you’re a pariah when a Minister glares at you when you meet him on the street. This happened to me several times.
   Think about the implications of one disgruntled individual’s impact on a national political party. You can read about some of them on the internet, but there has been significant discussion in the political backrooms and within CSIS as well.
   Since much of this activity predated the 1988 federal election, one must wonder how much of a role it played recruiting Stephen Harper to CSIS’ ranks and their subsequent decision to target me. After all, South Africa = neo-Nazi, right? One must also wonder whether Harper was instructed by CSIS to monitor Preston Manning himself, since Harper was the policy chief of the Reform Party at the time, and after all, who would know whether Preston really was receiving money from South Africa after Dynowski’s blustery entrance. CSIS could have asked me, since I was fairly close to a senior CSIS official named Allan Bird (I was his lecturer in an International Relations course at Carleton University) and had already provided CSIS with tidbits of information that came my way simply because I was (or so I thought) a loyal Canadian. I was even offered a job as a prospective “gangstalker” on Bird’s instruction, although I didn’t know what the job entailed at the time. This happened in 1984. By that point, too, I had already applied for a job at CSIS, being the naive fool that I am. The point is, I wasn’t a stranger.
   According to the dissenting report filed by Val Meredith, MP for the Reform Party, CSIS was also highly suspicious of Dynowski as a credible witness, and they were right to be. But they responded to it anyway! A great deal of time, effort and money was wasted. Reports were written. Policy changes were made regarding the efforts required to obtain TARC targeting authority and some heartache was surely inflicted on poor Preston Manning. Reports on the aftershocks in committee on Parliament Hill date as recently as 1995, seven years later, according to material obtainable over the internet. Most of the content above can be substantiated through the internet or through discussions with Val Meredith, Preston Manning, et. al.
   This is why CSIS is ‘the ruthless Keystone Kops.’
   And it gets worse.
   * * *
   For me, all this happened roughly 20 years ago.
   I like to believe that a sitting Prime Minister would not have the interest, inclination or time to stoop to interfere with a ‘target’ from twenty years previous. On the other hand, does not Stephen Harper have a reputation as a vindictive sort or no? A control freak maybe? After I recounted this story to an intelligent woman whose judgment I respect, she thought Harper was responsible for it too.
   Anyway, I said no (again) to CSIS’ offer to join their ranks.
   CSIS wouldn’t take no for an answer, apparently.
   Thus, the ongoing gangstalking campaign in June 2007 was tailored to make it seem as though I was being ‘escorted’ to my lunchtime swim, or for coffee, or during my walks home in order to persuade me that I really really wanted to be part of the CSIS team. And when you’re part of the team, these ‘escorts,’ according to Ray Kaduck, were part of their standard operating procedure; in this case, to protect me from neo-Nazis. I don’t see many neo-Nazis on the streets in Ottawa. Unless it is Hallowe’en, you won’t either. The ‘harassment’ crew was less visible. The ‘escorters’ now seemed to be civil servants from my building. Many of them – Marc-Rene Ouellette, Doug Jenkins, Daryl Stevenson or Tom Torosian come to mind – seemed to respond to CSIS direction much more quickly than from CBSA, their employer. CSIS had a separate office on 300 Slater St. just to monitor me. Over time, I recognized many of the occupants.
   “Why are they doing this?” I asked Lamontagne about CSIS.
   “Just ignore them. That’s my advice.”
   And for the most part, I ignored them.
   CSIS had set up a ‘static post’ in an apartment behind our house on 1174 Rockingham St. that overlooks our bedroom window, my office window and our backyard. The CSIS gangstalkers, and, one supposes, the CSIS officers themselves, used their own kids and friends of their kids to catcall and harass my wife. The sight of 14-year-old girls swinging their legs over the balcony was a scene right out of ‘Deliverance.’ The ‘residents’ there cut circles in our foliage to have unfettered line-of-sight. When I brought this subject to Ken Lamontagne, he replied, “They’re not supposed to do that.”
   CSIS does a lot of things they are not supposed to do.
   CSIS followed us to our cottage in PEI in the summer. On the way back, they even waited on the highway as we stopped for gas. One priceless moment occurred in Old Quebec City, our favourite place for my wife and me to spend a romantic night on our return trip to Ottawa. We walked the cobblestones to window-shop, to sight-see, stopping somewhere unique for dinner and, in the morning, to a funky café for cappuccino and croissants. I separated myself from my wife for a few minutes, venturing about 40 yards down an old alley to a small intersection. There three small cars raced in, one from each direction, and stopped in front of me, braking with flourish. The drivers of each car leapt out of their cars as though they were police officers penning in an escaped felon. It was a very well-executed maneuver, but there was no punch-line. I turned and rejoined my wife.
   By September, Lamontagne gave me an assignment, or more precisely, a ‘make-work’ assignment that public servants recognize instantly. Normally, a ‘make-work’ assignment is assigned to a guy they don’t like or want to lose, but haven’t figured out how to get rid of him yet. The assignment is to preoccupy him. Lamontagne worked to isolate me from my co-workers, apparently a mainstay of CSIS strategy. I was never informed of developments within the section. He even dis-invited me from attending section meetings of which I was a member. But I applied myself to my make-work assignment. Periodically, Lamontagne would march into the centre of our windowless secure room we call the ‘Box’ to verify that I was indeed working at my desk and return to his waiting telephone. Sometimes he would wander to my desk and announce in a loud voice for my colleagues’ benefit, “No-one is out to get you, Gareth!”
   Sometimes I read in the washroom. So CSIS put a camera in the stall right in front of me, perhaps to save them the bother of following me back and forth from the facilities. This was a top-secret operation supposedly, but much of my directorate knew a great deal already. I could see it on their faces. Top-Secret-cleared people gossip more, not less; particularly the smokers who have nothing to do during their smoke breaks except to gossip. One woman took up smoking just to be part of the gossip chain. Some people grimaced in front of me at the thought of what I was going through. In admiration of their humanity, I won’t name them here.
   For a long time I presumed that this obscene exercise was to judge my loyalty under stress. CSIS sent a number of their ‘friends’ to tell me they heard I was getting a wicked promotion. Lamontagne once said, very late in the game, “It looks like we can trust you after all.”
   Whatever.
   I realized I was waiting for the shoe to drop.
   It finally did in January 2008, an entire year after it began.

   Gareth Llewellyn and his lovely wife Betty Ann Bryanton
   ____________________________________________________________________________

   My wife and I were married in Antigua, West Indies in front of family and friends on January 15. The CSIS officers were obvious. They had a security guard positioned on a hill overlooking our suite. Several Canadians were sitting alone in the bar at all hours. One Canadian’s scowl could have poisoned their drinks as I bumped into him as he left the nearby men’s room. They followed me everywhere; watched everything I did. It’s interesting that you can recognize fellow Canadians in a foreign country. They even planted a honey trap on the day before my wedding. The guests returned to Canada on January 20th and my wife and I retreated to another resort on the island for our honeymoon.
   CSIS then returned to their harassment activities, positioning themselves close as to overhear our whispered intimacies under the moonlight, or to stalk my wife on the beach, or to engage in the art of coitus interruptus (really), which I imagine required that our honeymoon cabin was bugged. Leaving aside the sheer malice of gangstalking a man during his honeymoon, I draw the reader’s attention to it here for reasons to be discussed later. I also noticed that several of the Antiguan nationals were used in surveillance. By then I had had enough.
   I confronted one of the interlopers as he was sitting near the pool. “Let’s have a chat,” said I, nose-to-nose, leaning on the armrests.
   He instantly waved his arms to ward off any forthcoming blows. Backup was already coming, waved in by a female friend.
   The interloper mumbled something in a very British accent.
   Surprised, I asked, “Where are you from?”
   “London.” Not London, Ontario. He was still waving his arms.
   “You’re not Canadian?”
   “No.”
   I left him, reeling inside. What in the hell are Brits doing with me?! He slapped my back in gratitude as I left him.
   Antiguan nationals? Brits?
   Now, what do Canada, Antigua and Britain have in common? They are part of the Commonwealth, right? Now… who is missing? Hint: have you ever heard that the Caribbean is an “American lake?”
   The shoe fell with a thud.
   CSIS thought I was an American spy. There is a history behind that, too.
   Life Under CSIS Rule
   Chapter III
   It wasn’t a eureka-moment when I realized that CSIS thought I was an American spy, but percolated through my consciousness slowly, jostling for attention among my other concerns. I was in Antigua, an island I hadn’t seen since I was twelve when my parents were part of a CIDA program there, and I was still on my honeymoon, which should be really about your wife’s happiness and her memories, not yours. This is good, because my memory is how they stalked my wife on the beach. I was disgusted that anybody would gangstalk anyone on their honeymoon, and I sent an e-mail in response from Antigua to Ken Lamontagne, my manager in Canada, who behaved for months as if I was under consideration for some big promotion to CSIS, to please tell CSIS to go to hell. The Deputy Director of Operations at CSIS made this decision. His name is Luc Portelance, and now, all of things, he’s with CBSA, five rungs above me.
   It had crossed my mind before that CSIS might think I was an American spy, but I had dismissed it as ludicrous. Eighteen years ago, in 1990, a lot of my friends were from the British, American or Australian embassies. We played paintball with their families. The Cold War had just ended and we celebrated by drinking beer and talking politics at the original Mexicali Rosa’s in the Glebe. Two of them, Dr. John Whitehall of Australia, who worked for the Christian Anti-Communism Crusade (you had to have big personality to work for an organization with a name like that) and Tim, the personnel officer at the American embassy, were close friends. Tim gave me a tour of their embassy, and a glance inside told me why they needed a bigger one. It has since been built across the street from the Chateau Laurier hotel.
   One afternoon in my apartment on Lisgar Avenue, Tim dropped in for lunch. I liked him a great deal. He was ex-military, short and looked more like a librarian than Rambo; and very well-read. He could recognize the cut of the fatigues I wore playing paintball (Italian).
   At the end of our lunch, as Tim was moving to the door, he murmured something like, “Perhaps you can give us a hand?”
   At first, I didn’t understand what he meant. Then I did.
   He meant spying, but he didn’t use the ‘s’ word.
   In the early 1980s, at a time when the Soviet Union had just invaded Afghanistan. and at a time when the Falklands war had broken out and when I pinned up a Ronald Reagan poster in my graduate office to irritate my pretentious student-colleagues, I had sent my resume to the CIA in search of a job. I like to fight against tyrants. I had also sent my resume to National Defence and CSIS since I was nearing my graduation for a Masters of Arts at Carleton University. Tim’s question made me pause to understand the context.
   Tim didn’t mean foreign spying, as an officer, but spying on Canada, which I understood a few seconds later. I’m sure I fumbled the response out of shock (“Er, mmm, uumm,”), but I said no. I inserted a few gobblygook sentences to beg off, such as “It would be like corporations spying on each other.” Tim left, disappointed. He left Canada soon after.
   I digress to observe this about spying: it seems to be an atrocious job. Imagine the look in your wife’s/daughter’s/best friend’s eyes when they discover that you have betrayed them. Imagine the stress or your inability to enjoy life. Imagine a 14-year prison term. Spies are generally thought of as scum. Does anyone feel romantic or excited by this? The best they can hope for is to retire in obscurity in the host’s country, not yours. What inspires anybody to do that? It may explain a Russian who has witnessed the collapse of Soviet society and the privations of a totalitarian state, or an Iranian who has endured the death and torture of relatives, but it doesn’t apply to us. Robert Hanson and Aldrich Ames did it for money they say, but as Hegel once wrote, time is the real currency of human existence. Those two have fumbled one of the most fundamental questions of our lives.
   But here is the best part. Since CSIS thought I was a neo-Nazi – for no other reason than I invited Anne Hartmann to join the Northern Foundation – as well as a South African agent, after Dynowski went to CSIS to denounce me, CSIS was already bugging my apartment. And since they were bugging my apartment, they stumbled on Tim’s offer’s to spy for the United States. Maybe that’s why Tim left Canada so soon. In the span of two years I became a national-security threat in three different areas at the same time. Somebody call the Guinness Book of Records, for God’s sake! If you’re one of those persons who look at the glass half-full, you might think of this as a promotion of sorts. After Tim’s offer at least I’m flying with the Eagle instead of crawling with the cockroaches. If you’re one to look at the glass half-empty, you’re in for a career of hurt.
   At the time I was oblivious to all of it.
   I had my own plans in 1990, which, as curious as it sounds, had no bearing on my future now that CSIS had me in their cross hairs. I wanted to build a think tank in eastern Canada along the lines of the Fraser Institute – that would be my vocation – while my avocation was to write, and more precisely, to write spy fiction. This was the result of watching too many James Bond movies during my childhood. I was floored with the news that Tim was with the CIA – I thought he was a think-tank guy just like me, but he struck me as potentially helpful in both.
   I have no qualms admitting that the CIA struck me as a great source of funding for a think tank, either directly or from Americans to whom they might introduce me. In the 1950s, CIA funded Encounter magazine, possibly the most literary of the decade, in order to advance the argument that freedom and capitalism will produce great things, in the arts above all. If there are fundraisers out there who believe that donors don’t have secret agendas, they need to find another line of work. Scratch the paint away and analyze the funding in Canada for many magazines, think tanks, projects, etc. will reveal some questionable motivations. I really believe that culture is the product of leisure, which in turn is the product of wealth. More than that, I am pro-American. I admire their egalitarian culture (leaving aside their corporations); I’m happy we’re protected by the American empire. The separation of powers between the legislative and executive functions should be copied in Canada now that collegial parliament has been assassinated, and I wish we had an elected Senate. This doesn’t mean I wanted to spy against Canada, and when the offer came I refused.
   The most important thing, however, was my writing. Now that I knew that Tim was attached to the CIA, I thought I might glean a few spy factoids from him or from one of his colleagues. Such was not to be. We exchanged a few cards. Funding for a think tank was not forthcoming. In the late 1990s, I sent him a letter requesting to be introduced to a CIA-type in Taipei, where my second novel was to be located, but it came back to me, “addressee moved.” Or perhaps CSIS moved him for me. Ironically, CSIS has provided me with stupendous material for my writing by investigating me for roughly 20 years, but I never saw Tim again.
   Decades passed. People grew old and died. I forgot about it. But CSIS didn’t. Looking back, all the weird events that happened to me in the public service now have an explanation. After I won my first permanent job competition in Revenue Canada in 1992, CSIS solicited the assistance of a manager who barely knew me to torpedo my job by telling the competition committee that I had vandalized his office. Not only was I never informed of the accusation, the vandalism itself never occurred.
   On another occasion, at a time when my wife and I were looking for cottage property on the Quebec side, we got lost and doubled back. Along came a man following us in the middle of grassland and trees. There was not another human being in ten square miles except for his partner who was backing him up a half-mile behind. I had seen them together an hour before but thought nothing of it. In the early 2000s, CSIS followed me to a work conference in Chicago. There they were more obvious. During my work trips to the opposite ends of the country, in Vancouver and St. John’s, Newfoundland, I got mysterious phone calls at 5:00 a.m., likely to confirm whether I was really sleeping at my hotel room. These inexplicable incidents I had tucked in the back of my memory without a lesson or conclusion now made sense.
   But CSIS didn’t stop there. I was investigated by Internal Affairs in Revenue Canada for two years for being an alleged neo-Nazi. There were no grounds for this. I only discovered it after I was cleared. At work I was provided with a ‘God’ profile, an all-powerful access permission on the GST system, and one assumes that CSIS and Internal Affairs watched and waited to see if I was going to issue some cheques to myself courtesy of Her Majesty. I didn’t. I was a diligent civil servant, something CSIS reluctantly concedes in their reports of me I was able to obtain through the Privacy Act.
   Then I discovered that somebody had forged my signature on the corporate records for the Northern Foundation. This occurred many years after I had resigned. A signature analysis discovered the forgery, and the investigation recommended that my name be stricken from the records (see Evidence 25a). In fact, after repeated attempts to shut the Foundation down after the sole neo-Nazi fled the country, some mysterious force sees to it that the annual summaries keep arriving on my doorstep. Equally mysteriously, a rumour campaign arose – coincidentally, from associates of the manager who had initiated the vandalism episode, that I was a neo-Nazi. I was forced to leave Revenue for Customs in 2001. Ironically, I left a benign department like Revenue for Customs, where border and national security is part of the mandate. You can’t make this stuff up.
   Throughout the 1990s, CSIS assigned Graham Eglington to monitor me. Graham is a pixie of a man from Australia with strong ties to the Anglican Church and a lawyer with a stint with the Refugee Board (CSIS always has one of their own on the Refugee Board). Graham wore his long blond hair foppishly, and his immaculate manners and impish sense of humour were integrated in a charismatic way made famous by the better British actors. I liked him immensely. It was a good thing, too, otherwise I would never have put up with the “CSIS monthly check-up” – quite literally, a monthly phone call from Graham after his return from Australia, or Pretoria, or England, or even from North Carolina from one of his assignments to assure CSIS I hadn’t gone to the Dark Side. He wanted us to get together to provide him with hands-on for his report to CSIS HQ; i.e., my activities at work, my plans, etc. He also eyed my physical condition and the state of my house. Graham’s relationship with CSIS was so obvious that my wife and I both presumed that CSIS knew that we knew this. My only mistake was in presuming that CSIS thought I was some sort of recovering neo-Nazi, a howler that I endured with generous eye-rolling. The only people who ever suggested I was a neo-Nazi, after all, was CSIS.
   And then I would cook him dinner. In 2000, I happened to mention to Graham that I had a boarder in the basement. At that time, I’ve had boarders since 1996 in order to pay for my renovations. No big deal, right?
   Graham’s twitch was a marvel to behold – so violent, in fact, it provoked me to ask, “Didn’t I mention it you?”
   I guess I didn’t, because the very next day I was visited by a ‘potential renter’ – yet another guy with the CSIS glow about him, a white guy with a brown Afro and dressed like a jock. Sure enough he asked me after the house tour, “So, you’ve rented this for fours years?”
   I nodded. And he left.
   Now, ask yourself this: what possible interest would CSIS have of my basement rentals?
   Answer: because they are tracking my financial flows. This makes perfect sense if I am a suspected American spy because they want to know if I’m being paid by the CIA. So far, so good. In my case, I had undertaken to renovate my house basement and pay for it later using rent money from basement tenants, in order to turn the corner on home ownership. For CSIS, however, they theorized that my negative cash flow (roughly $500/mo. for my reno loans), must have been paid for by the CIA.
   Now, this is a great theory, but I had rented various rooms in my house for four years by that point. Four years! There were plenty of “For Rent” ads in the Ottawa Citizenduring that time. And who were the strange people living in my house all that time?… paramilitaries? For four years CSIS presumed I was being paid by the CIA, when evidence was everywhere that I was renting my basement. For four years. This is more than a mistake. The question about where else I might have received that money looms high on the decision tree, but for four years they never bothered to look. After this, you might think they must have corrected their error.
   When human beings develop their enmity based on a premise and the premise is proved wrong years later, the enmity doesn’t just disappear. As someone who is, in the opinion of CSIS, a neo-Nazi, an American spy, a South African “agent” of some sort, and currently a threat to national security, it’s now apparent that CSIS officers had been banging their rocks together for years murmuring to themselves, “This guy must be guilty of something!” How could anyone be investigated for all these things without something personal in their targeting? The end of my relationship with Graham happened after I told him about a tax-intelligence unit I was planning to propose. I volunteered this knowing full well this was a funnel to CSIS, but CSIS responded by bringing my computer down twice, costing me several hundred dollars each time. I told Graham off. CSIS shifted Graham’s assignment back to fundamentalist Christians. They don’t know it, but Christians are a national security risk.
   I received my Top Secret Special Access (TSSA) clearance in 2004. It’s not the highest clearance in Canada. Several departments like National Defence, the Communications Security Establishment and CSIS have segmented clearances to handle the most sensitive information, but TSSA is up there and provides access to some important material. The reader might wonder why I would be cleared that high if CSIS was investigating me as an American spy. Only two reasons come to mind: to entrap me or out of incompetence. For sceptics of CSIS and our national-security practices I am pleased to report that they did try to entrap me. CSIS asked Paul Zendrowski, my colleague at Customs who worked in the Customs Box at the time and therefore had access to top-secret information, to ask me to stand in for him for meetings at the PMO and other gatherings with CSIS bigwigs. On one occasion, Zendrowski took me aside to tell me that the Customs cameras in the wilderness of New Brunswick had pictures of a number of men with manpads (shoulder-launched surface-to-air missiles) hoofing it through the woods across the border into the United States.
   “Did they tell the Americans?” I had asked. He said he didn’t know.
   For an American spy, this sounds like juicy bait to me! I can only surmise that after these episodes I was monitored to see if I was sending the information about surface-to-air missiles back to the Americans. I wasn’t. If I was guilty, you’d know about it. The government has a standing policy to publicize, through press releases and other instruments from the communications shop, all successful apprehensions and prosecutions because Canadians need to know what a stupendous job their government is doing.
   Now, it isn’t the baited trap that bothers me. For once they’re doing their job. After I was found innocent, though, what happens then? Rescind my clearance? Interrogate me? Let me go? CSIS set up a series of operations to find me guilty of some misdemeanour to have my clearance suspended. That’s not their job, but they make it so under their ‘disrupt’ program. Their first opportunity arose six months later.
   In May 2005, I became the CBSA candidate for the Integrated Threat Assessment Centre (ITAC) at CSIS HQ, a group of officers and analysts who brought with them the concerns and, hopefully, some expertise from their home departments to assess new threats to Canada. I attended a pre-lie detector interview with Jim Wyatt, a CSIS officer who asked the questions. I volunteered the subject of the American approach to him, which was 15 years old by then. He treated it cavalierly as if he didn’t care. As my father-in-law has said, if I was going to spy I would have done it by now. Beforehand, however, while we were walking to the interview room, I suddenly recalled that I had a dozen or two low-level reports in my safe at home. Stupid me, I mentioned it to Wyatt.
   Allow me to pause to pass on a warning: never, never volunteer information to CSIS. No tips. No information to help Canada, regardless of your motives. Nothing. If you think you are on the same side, you’re not. CSIS thinks of itself as a secret brotherhood. You are not part of it. Even if you have been approached by Islamic jihadists to help them destroy Western civilization, don’t tell CSIS. They will conclude that you are responsible for it. Really. More importantly, CSIS will abandon you in an instant and feed you to the wolves when it suits them, even if you agreed to provide information on the target. This actually happened to a friend of mine who agreed to provide information about me. The internet is full of warnings of what will happen if you provide information to CSIS. Tell somebody else.
   To return, I kept a safe at home because of contractors that I hired to renovate my basement and later, in the 1990s before I met my spouse, because I kept boarders in my basement and I didn’t want them rooting through my papers. Some of the material was very old, like training modules that were slated for destruction, but since my career began in Revenue, not Customs, I needed to tool up to understand how Customs worked. Some material was related to assessments I had written; I had signed for a few CSIS documents for ongoing assessments; some documents were ancient and slated for shredding, but I found them interesting.
   Wyatt noted this and passed it on to Jim Hatchette, a CSIS lie-detector technician. The name ‘Hatchette’ couldn’t have been better chosen. A lie-detector test is an intimidation tool and Hatchette greeted me with hostility the moment I stepped into CSIS HQ. We didn’t even make it to the lie-detector test. He asked about some guy ‘Andrew…’ (he couldn’t remember his last name; he meant Dynowski). As the preliminaries began, Hatchette realized that the documents I kept at home were the opportunity CSIS was looking for to suspend my TSSA clearance. He kept leaving the office to run his fly-by-the-seat-of-his-pants scheme by his superior. The blow-by-blow summary of what happened can be found in Evidence 21. I was escorted home by a CSIS officer. A CBSA Internal Affairs officer named Tom Torosian was called. I should have told them to go jump in Dow’s Lake, but at the time I was full of goodwill towards the government and wanted to clear up any misunderstanding. Besides, who buys a home safe unless they take their work seriously? CSIS initiated another investigation into me, involving the union, lawyers, a crisis with my painkillers, a review of security procedures and the replacement of the CSIS liaison. When the smoke had cleared, I was cleared too (Evidence 10).
   Apparently, CSIS was upset.
   The next opportunity CSIS seized to suspend my clearance and have my name removed from the ITAC list took place in Paris in November of the same year. For my 50th birthday, my wife, Betty Ann, took me for my life’s dream: a week spent inside the Louvre. While there, we were in the Paris shopping district when a woman of Chinese extraction but with a noticeable Canadian accent pointedly approached us; which is to say, she selected us from a crowd of pedestrians.
   “Do you speak English?” she asked. We nodded.
   “I want to buy some wallets from the store there, but they won’t sell them to me because I’m Chinese.” The store she was nodding at was Louis Vuitton, a noted retailer of chic accessories with a line waiting to get in. She waved €350 in large bills, €100 and €50.
   Leave aside the question of a woman with a Canadian accent selecting us out of a crowd in central Paris… and leave aside the entrusting of that much money with a ‘total stranger;’ the statement that Louis Vuitton would refuse to sell wallets to a Chinese woman was the biggest load of hooey I have heard since, well, since the last time I spoke to someone from CSIS. In truth, Louis Vuitton would press for honorary French citizenship for every Chinese person in the world if they all bought one of their overpriced wallets. By chance (or not), I had just completed an assessment on counterfeit goods and I was interested in the mechanisms of an illegal scam, but know this: buying the genuine article is never the problem. Something here was clearly up. My wife was terrified that something bad was going on and said so. She was right.
   But I wanted to go on an intelligence-gathering mission, so I accepted her €350 and the two of us waited in the line to enter Louis Vuitton. Already, the security guys managing the line were giving us strange looks and had, in fact, been staring at us before when we speaking to the Chinese woman. When we entered, the store wasn’t crowded at all. A woman shadowed us inside the store, leaning her head to one side to overhear what my wife and I were saying. A suit was speaking into a small walkie-talkie and tried to mask it when he saw me watching him. Some kind of ‘op’ was in process and we were “hot.” Ask yourself this: what makes a pair of customers “hot” inside a high-end retail store? When there was no more to be learned I decided to leave the store. The Chinese woman approached us outside.
   “We changed our minds,” I told her, and handed the money back. Interestingly, she didn’t count it. She was irritated.
   We left her. Twenty paces later, another young woman with a Canadian accent, this time a Caucasian, approached us. “Do you speak English?”
   So, CSIS approached us twice out of a crowd. They were desperate, which makes sense, since they had wheedled a lot of ‘anti-terrorism’ funds for a full team’s luxuriant trip to Paris for a week and had lost their trip’s rationale in five minutes.
   “No,” I replied. We brushed past her.
   I never had any intention of buying the wallets. I was focussed on the merchandise, hoping to learn something about the counterfeiting process. As it turned out, a different process was going on. We were “hot” because the euro-dollars were counterfeit and I would have been arrested at the cash register if I tried to pass them. When I related this episode to my manager and my colleagues back in Ottawa, they were already shaking their heads. They wouldn’t have taken it that far, but I did learn something about a CSIS op. The store personnel were forewarned, for example, and CSIS sent in a couple of officers to “escort” us. I also learned how much CSIS hates me.
   I had a stroke a week later.
   * * *
   My wife and I returned to Canada after our honeymoon at the end of January, 2008. The flight back not only carried CBC’s Peter Mansbridge and his family, but an entire platoon of CSIS types who I’d watched watching me for the past week. How should you react when you discover that CSIS thinks you’re a spy and you’re not? Well, I complained, that’s what. That’s the Canadian way, and don’t sneer at that reaction because it beats being shot. It wasn’t the investigation that bothered me, as I’ve said, but the fact they appropriated the right to ruin my life when I was innocent. Who made them God? This is the essence of a ‘disrupt’ campaign.
   What happened next turned out to be pivotal. You are required, when you are about to complain to SIRC, to complain first to the Director of CSIS who, at the time, was Jim Judd, a former MP. CSIS has thirty days to respond, plenty of time to doctor or destroy any files, if required, and to research you in case other protective steps need to be taken before they tell you, politely, to f*** off. I used the time to prepare my formal complaint.
   When I realized CSIS thought I was an American spy, I sent a 17-page complaint to SIRC including a ‘Request to Correct the Record,’ which is an opportunity to correct where CSIS got it wrong (that’s why it’s 17 pages). I explained and described any Americans I may have met, which I could count on the fingers of one hand, including Tim.
   I also mentioned Stephen Harper. And why wouldn’t I? He was CSIS’ operative during their ‘investigations’ of me a neo-Nazi and a South African bagman. He was also an operative for longer that his involvement with me, something I’ve since learned from an unexpected source, but I’ll return to that later. Harper had ruined my reputation with the St. Lawrence Institute for the Advancement of Learning in Montreal, a think tank I had worked hard to build up for two years, by telephoning the directors and telling them I was a neo-Nazi. Ironically, he and CSIS forced me to remain in the public service.
   In a normal world, Lamontagne shouldn’t know about my SIRC complaint. I prepared it at home and didn’t tell him. But this is Spyworld, and in Spyworld they were monitoring my home computer with an EMG device. Computers emit electromagnetic radiation and somebody long ago invented a process to reconstruct the image you see on your monitor and therefore to read what you type. Sometimes CSIS would squiggle the noise lines on my computer monitor to remind me they were watching. But there is a limit to the distance they can detect the radiation, somewhere around 100 feet, which means that they will occupy a building nearby – in my case, at 1127 and 1133 Apolydor and 1174 Rockingham – to monitor your computer or you.
   If you think CSIS is monitoring you, one test is to watch for newcomers amongst your neighbours. A lot may depend on the sort of relationship you keep with your neighbours, and I’m pleased that the one or two neighbours I wanted to keep as friends had demurred when CSIS had asked for their assistance. Overall, though, the news is bad. When confronted by a pair of CSIS officers carrying a photo of you in a most unbecoming position and murmuring in mock gravitas about a (gasp) national security investigation, almost all of your neighbours will fold. My mother-in-law did. So did my wife’s best friend and one of my sisters. I feel betrayed by that because I knew you can decline to help when they ask. I know this because they once asked me. This will happen even if their operation is not about national security at all, but about what we public servants call CYA (Cover Your Ass). Most people have “no need to know” what is really going on.
   Lamontagne called me into his office one day while I was preparing my SIRC complaint. The door was closed. I sat down. He asked me an enigmatic question. It went something like, “Are you using Top Secret information?” or “We’re concerned you are using Top Secret Information.”
   This, from a guy claiming he had left CSIS years ago.
   Very surprised, I looked hard at him. “What Top Secret information?” I take real national security very seriously.
   Lamontagne didn’t respond. That was the end of the meeting.
   That exchange – or non-exchange, to be precise, transformed my life.
   Later, some of the CSIS personnel who were walking the halls in the Jean Emonds towers where I worked, some to expressly investigate me, turned their heads to suppress any expletives deleted as I walked by. Obviously, they were upset about something.
   Later still, after I sent in my complaint to SIRC, I walked by Lamontagne as he sat on a chair in the Box. He exclaimed, “Now you’ve done it!”
   Now, what I have done?
   Think about this. I wondered about it for awhile.
   At roughly the same time, CSIS demolished our back fence. The two residents at 1174 Rockingham Street made sure they were caught in the act, too. This is the ‘static post’ behind our house I referred to earlier in which the teams in the apartment(s) seemed to be rotated quarterly. This particular couple I had noticed many times before. They had followed me to a gas station the previous fall and, at the time, while I was getting coffee inside, they were arguing outside until I caught the woman’s eye. She was short with long brown hair and big, dark-framed glasses. Through the window, I made motions to inquire if they wanted coffee. I grinned. She froze for a long time and slowly shook her head. They were replaced during my ensuing trip.
   Now it was February, and the same woman sat in an idling pick-up truck with a snow blade attached, positioned to take another run at our fence. Her weedy boyfriend stood scratching at the ice with itty-bitty movements, apparently waiting for us to arrive. The fence posts were cleanly severed at the base, which we discovered three months later; the sort of damage only a snow blade could have caused. In February the snow and bushes held the fence up at a 45º angle. I called the landlord’s wife and learned that she had already been called by someone in the same building. The fence was “blown down by the wind,” reported the landlady, which she said she knew because another woman in the building simply felt the urge to report that a neighbour’s fence had been blown down by the wind. Whatever. The couple in the building moved out immediately. In the spring, when we were rebuilding the fence, I overheard the replacement gangstalker team, a young man and young woman, talking about the fence and about us. The woman asked him if he was around when the destruction of my fence occurred. He said no. Very clearly, the young woman said, “Well, they should just Suck. It. Up!”
   Charming people, the gangstalkers.
   I filed a vandalism complaint with the Ottawa Police (Case # 08-37348) and received four phone calls in the aftermath from three different women, allegedly from the police. One called herself Heather Lightfoot. All pressed the case aggressively that I needed psychiatric therapy for making the complaint.
   At work, meanwhile, my manager Ken Lamontagne charged me as “unfit to work” because I haven’t provided evidence of CSIS stalking. Therefore I was delusional. Therefore I must take a “Fitness to Work” test. I had long stopped reporting CSIS harassment to him; in fact, not since the previous year. His charge that I was “unfit to work,” in other words, came from the ether.
   An astute reader will realize that something new is going on here, something more involved than CSIS’ original plan to drive me out of the public service because of their suspicions I was an American spy. But I am a poor, dumb Celt who was experiencing what the Americans might call a shock-and-awe campaign in real time. I was too shocked and awed to do anything but stare, slack-jawed. In twenty years with the government, I’d never seen anything like it.
   Have you figured it out yet?
   Even then, Lamontagne was breaking all sorts of rules in the normal public service. He had never before asked for evidence of CSIS stalking. In fact, Lamontagne advised me how to deal with it. Managers are generally forbidden to escalate their responses to an employee without due process. For another thing, I had already shown him the e-mail from “Natalie Gravelle” offering me a job with CSIS. CSIS never offers you a job by e-mail. The copy I had printed for my wife has since been burgled from our home, however my wife had read it a gazillion times. Is my wife delusional too? She has also witnessed gangstalkers before, but Lamontagne had no interest in witnesses. He forbade my other colleagues to discuss it, and actually visited the employees who received an e-mail from me, and over whom he had no authority, to shut them up. This crude CSIS hatchette job, if you’ll permit another pun, was evident to everyone from the beginning. They were talking about it the smoking circles, joking. It had the willing participation of my Director, Craig Goodes, my Director General, Caroline Melis and a woman from Human Resources named Lauralee Larose, who evidently had connections with CSIS. My employer, CBSA, became an active participant in this scam.
   When the Gestapo comes to town, everyone in Ottawa ducks for cover.
   Lamontagne was also having an affair with one of his employees. He would lock themselves in his office for hours, in plain view of the others because his office had a glass plate forming part of the wall in the Box, to argue or to kiss and make up again. This is verboten in the public service and irritated our ex-military staff most of all. This speaks to the alien culture at CSIS, a carryover from their days in the RCMP which, as most Canadian now know, is run more like a vain dictatorship than a normal professional world. Lamontagne frequently left the Box to meet his confreres on the floor above, where CSIS had established a post, presumably to get instructions.
   Lamontagne pressed aggressively for a committee meeting to discuss my ‘insanity.’ Why now? one might ask. Nothing had changed in the day-to-day of my job. I wasn’tthat insane, either, because when the time constraints grew too pressing for the work flowing to senior management, Lamontagne would still redirect it to me. And why the rush? Lamontagne started sending a daily e-mail about it. Nobody believed I was delusional or insane, but it was foreordained by CSIS.
   I didn’t want to go to his insane meeting. They insisted. Lamontagne arranged for the president of my union local named Francine Stuart to represent me. She stood me up. Lamontagne arranged for another union rep, Robert LaFortune to represent me. LaFortune sent me an e-mail stating that my union would not represent me unless I attended that meeting. At the meeting, Lamontagne demanded a psychological examination of me by someone in Health Canada and circulated an 8-page rampage that some HR officials have advised may be actionable (see Evidence #30a through h). The HR/CSIS representative in the committee, Lauralee Larose, told me not to worry: I might be eligible for welfare.
   Some people might find Lamontagne’s behaviour unnerving after his commiseration about CSIS stalking and even providing me with advice, but now alleging I was delusional. Certain psychiatrists have reported that CSIS officers exhibit some behavioural symptoms akin to schizophrenia. For CSIS officers, this trait may be a good thing since they are tasked to adopt different roles or guises on short notice. In my last conversation with Lamontagne after his insane meeting, he giggled.
   After that, I dubbed Lamontagne, ‘Spyboy.’
   I charged Spyboy with harassment. For a long time CBSA management wouldn’t even move me away from Spyboy’s control, a direct abrogation of the union contract. In the end, they wouldn’t accept it.
   I complained to the Public Service Integrity Commission. They wouldn’t accept it because other processes, such as my harassment charge, were ongoing.
   I visited the Canadian Human Rights Commission, but their mandate focuses on sexual, racial, age and related grounds only and couldn’t help me.
   I wrote Stephen Rigby, now the President of CBSA, and hand-delivered it. I never heard back.
   I wrote my Minister, Stockwell Day, but the original letter never got there. I sent the same letter by e-mail and confirmed its receipt by telephone. I still haven’t heard and he has been removed from the portfolio. Since then, the portfolio of Public Security has been handed off several times.
   I wrote my MP, David McGuinty and hand-delivered it, and followed it up by no less than five subsequent visits. I haven’t yet received a written response.
   My director retired. Spyboy replaced him, which meant he still had control over me but at one remove. He appointed Maxine Archambault to run my unit. My relationship with her went from great to murderous overnight.
   Gangstalking increased, and CSIS has developed a series of ‘mini-ops’ to ostracize you. Once, a man and a woman left their elevator to encounter me in the lobby, as I was leaving mine. Coincidence? By this point, CSIS had “Eyes On” me 24/7, even to the washroom. The woman gestured crudely (“There he is. That’s the guy!… that’s him. Look, everybody, look!”) and her partner obliged by twirling to stare at me so awkwardly it resembled one of those double-takes from the silent era, to the point where he crouched because he was taller than me. CSIS officers overact a great deal.
   There is a Hollywood movie called The Truman Show, where Truman, the lead character played by Jim Carrey, believes he is leading his own normal life but the people he knows are actors, his home is a studio and his ‘life’ is in fact a reality show being watched on television. In May 2008, my life under CSIS rule felt just like that.
   Overnight, my situation at work became untenable
   And I didn’t know why.
   Life Under CSIS Rule
   Chapter IV
   If you feel comfortable in your own skin and have nothing to hide emotionally, you might not fear a trip to a psychologist. You should tremble, however, when CSIS is on the prowl. I was warned by one of my few remaining friends that CSIS had tame psychologists in Health Canada who would rule me ‘delusional’ for no reason other than a CSIS request. Apparently, CSIS does this all the time. In conjunction with the attack by Spyboy, my Director General, Caroline Melis, sent a 4-page letter to my GP to demand a psychological assessment in a couple of weeks, lying outrageously in the process (evidence #31). Normally, she was a jovial woman who I passed in the halls only once every couple of months. This time, when she didn’t get her psychological assessment, she telephoned my GP’s office and berated my doctor’s assistant.
   How can any public servant react to that?
   I opted to pay for my own psychologist, and had in fact resolved to obtain three assessments from three different doctors.
   Dr. Gilles Hebert was the first psychologist I met. His office is at the corner of Elgin and Somerset Streets, very close to downtown, while Dr. Hebert looks like a public servant himself: bespectacled, slim, modest and thoughtful in demeanour. During our first meeting, I provided him with documents and background about CSIS and I wrote a lengthy test the same day. The doctor, my wife and I met the following week. Hebert first remarked that my scores on the written test provided “a template for normalcy.” Great news, right?
   Then he said this: “I cannot believe that CSIS would hire anybody who would walk around without shoelaces in their shoes, therefore you must be delusional.” Those were his actual wordsverbatim.
   Dr. Hebert was referring to one of the gangstalkers I described earlier, an old man without shoelaces had appeared in a computer store asking about buying a computer which, at the time, made me laugh. I’m glad I didn’t mention the same old man didn’t wear socks either, or Hebert might have pushed for a lobotomy. The sad thing is, many gangstalkers are not fit for the workplace and one or two were from the Mission downtown, the point being that they’re certainly not CSIS officers. I’ve never maintained otherwise. A segment of the CSIS gangstalking corps are lonely old men. Several need active coaching.
   Once, in a Farm Boy near where I live, they used a tall, creaky old man who was clearly over 80 years old, with a cane and having difficulty remembering where he was at any given time. He was there to harass or obstruct me in some fashion, but had trouble recalling what he was tasked to do. He would stare at me, then lapse into thought. He moved very slowly towards me when he did remember, then paused. A stare, a pause. Something was up and I stopped to watch. A young man tasked to corral these people stepped in to repeat his instructions to the old man, which I overheard, but it was evident the old fellow couldn’t be used here. By this time I had taken my order from the deli counter and left, which needed to be pointed out to the old fellow, which I also overheard. I never saw him again.
   The gangstalkerworld.com website mentions that these people are not paid for this. To motivate them they are fed bullshit about the target; about national security certainly, and probably a story or two about necrophilia or eating babies or something equally shocking. Some murmured assurances in the old man’s ear that You Are Saving Canada, a pat on the ass and “Go get him, Tiger!” God, are we gullible.
   Ask yourself this: who would want to be a gangstalker?
   Answer: they are the same people William Shatner had in mind when he coined the immortal phrase, “Get a life!” There are a lot of losers in this crowd.
   But back to Hebert. He was clearly troubled making a stupid statement about the shoelaces. After all, who made Hebert an expert about who CSIS chose to hire or co-opt for their stalking campaign? On the other hand, Hebert was an intelligent man and may have deliberately chosen this ludicrous example to send me a signal. I looked at him incredulously. He averted his eyes. My wife started to cry. Then Hebert offered me his own way out. He said, “I recommend you don’t go forward with this assessment, and I shouldn’t write it.”
   I appreciated his message. So did my wife. CSIS will somehow influence this ‘assessment’ and rule me delusional. That knowledge cost me $1,000.
   I should have suspected this because a team of two CSIS officers, a man and a woman, left his office just before we walked in, and the shorter male fought the urge to suppress a grin as he passed by me. An astute reader might ask, how do I know that the couple was CSIS? The short answer is, I don’t. CSIS is very cocky, however, and they go to some lengths to indicate they are all over you and do a number of strange things to catch your attention, made up on the fly. The longer answer is, while they trying to sensitize you to their diffuse-and-disrupt campaign, you are also learning while the process is ongoing. There is a phrase called “night sight” which only means an acquired sensitivity to persons not being who they are pretending to be.
   If you don’t have contact with CSIS, it’s normal to presume that anybody you meet is not CSIS unless proved otherwise. They have roughly 2,600 actual staff, which is tiny in government-department terms, about the same size as Mossad, the Israeli intelligence service. But CSIS, like Mossad, has leverage much greater than their actual numbers, and here you must distinguish between “CSIS officers” or “case officers” of Mossad and their ‘friends.’ In By Way of Deception, a ground-breaking book about Mossad’s methods by Victor Ostrovsky, the author explains how sayanim, roughly translated as “Jewish helpers,” greatly multiply the effectiveness of Mossad by providing apartments, vehicles, bank loans or other favours even though they are not members of Mossad or even citizens of Israel. They are not paid for it, either, but will keep their mouths shut out of “loyalty to the cause.” CSIS has a similar network in place, obviously not linked by ties of religion, but the existence of the network becomes evident once you are a target.
   I was impressed with Dr. Hebert’s integrity, though, because he turned out to be the only psychologist who was troubled by CSIS pressure to doctor the results. My question at the time was, does CSIS just show up, flash their badge and plead for cooperation – Queen and Country and all that – or do they have something legal to back them up? I didn’t know. Since nobody would help me, I had to rely on my wits to learn through trial and error.
   The second psychologist was Dr. Peter MacLean, a man who for some reason reminded me of Borat. Our first meeting was to gather information and administer another test, but in the coming weeks MacLean put off the next meeting to the next week, and the next, and seemed reluctant to proceed. After a month or two, I gave up trying. By April, MacLean reversed himself and began leaving lengthy messages on our voice mail on a daily basis. My wife listened to all of them and deleted them, but something was clearly wrong (hint hint) with his new found aggression. I asked him to send me the bill for past work and that future business is ceased, but he persisted for about a week. He even offered to conduct his assessment over the phone (!). Then, three weeks of silence.
   Nothing was heard from him until a letter arrived. In it, Dr. MacLean said he wanted $900 and had completed an ‘assessment’ and sent it to my GP. It was immediately apparent it was another CSIS ploy, given there were no cancellation marks on the envelope. His letter to me was not on letterhead, very unusual for a psychologist with two offices, and I have since confirmed he does have letterhead (see Evidence #13c). The letter is dated May 16, 2008 but we received it on May 27, which means Canada Post took 11 days to deliver it two blocks. The text of the letter wasn’t professionally typed or spaced, and very shoddily written, but he does have his own secretary (see Evidence 13a). The envelope was not postmarked which likely means it was hand-delivered, and the envelope didn’t have a pre-printed return address, unusual for professionals (see Evidence 13b).
   Dr. MacLean used blackmailing language in the ensuing phone call by declaring that if I wanted to clear matters up I had to attend his office again, mainly to complete his so-called assessment, very likely according to a script provided by CSIS. He also left another message on my work voice mail but the last 20 seconds was overwritten by a strange mechanical staccato noise from an unknown source that I have never heard before. I didn’t have the technical means to retrieve that message, so I had to let it be deleted by the Bell Canada process, but it was clear that MacLean said something that CSIS didn’t want me to hear.
   In MacLean’s defence, I am compelled to note the following. First, MacLean seemed hesitant to be involved in March when I first approached him, and this I attribute to his professional scruples to not be involved with CSIS. Second, he must have said something on my voice mail that forced CSIS to overwrite it with the staccato noise I referred to earlier. This I attribute to his honesty. Finally, I berated him over his own voice mail for his unbelievable behaviour after the letter arrived and his resulting voice message betrayed a guilty tone, to which I attribute to his ethics after a dirty trick has been played, albeit with his connivance. Most Canadians will react similarly as Dr. MacLean when they are approached by CSIS, and CSIS, as I have discovered through the sheer number of approaches they had used against me, is very good at persuading people.
   I saw other psychologists, but these guys had been approached beforehand by CSIS and left clues for me to savour, prompting me to search elsewhere. Others smelled trouble and wouldn’t touch it.
   More importantly, I couldn’t understand why my lawyers wouldn’t support me. They provided me almost no information. The first lawyer I retained, J. Mitchell Rowe, had written a draft of my submission to SIRC that seemed to argue I was indeed delusional, which was CSIS’ goal. One sentence, “Gareth Llewellyn reports an unexplained person near a bus stop.” stopped me cold. Would a sentence like that persuade SIRC that my complaints were credible? That experience cost me $2,000 and I ceased any further contact with Rowe. He seemed to be kicking himself for not asking for a $5,000 retainer.
   My second lawyer was Dougald Brown, a tall grey-haired man working for Nelligan O’Brien Payne, a well-regarded legal firm in downtown Ottawa. For $1,500 Brown provided a letter to SIRC to support my complaint against CSIS, which I thought was good work. Two things occurred during my brief relationship with Brown that added complexity to my sordid war with CSIS.
   The first was CSIS penchant for stealing my documents. I had sent a request in the 1990s for CSIS information about me under the Privacy Act, but their reply has since disappeared from the filing cabinet in my basement. The e-mail from ‘Natalie Gravelle’ offering me a job with CSIS also disappeared. The letter from MacLean and other documents now became a liability to CSIS, to the point where it became a priority for them to steal the originals back. How do I know this? Because CSIS tried to pilfer them repeatedly throughout the following months and years, some attempts more outrageous than others.
   On one occasion, I returned home unexpectedly and found a white van parked in the middle of the street in front of my house. The driver had just left my home and stood in the street staring at it, kicking himself in frustration for failing to find my knapsack. By itself, the sight of young man parked in the middle of the street staring at my house is unusual. They had a ‘Weedman’ magnetized-decal plastered on the side. I called Weedman, and an ‘operator’ answered and said “one moment please.” There was a full minute delay as they briefed the so-called ‘receptionist’ about what to say to me. I was (almost) laughing when she took my call and said that, yes, there is a Weedman guy on my street. At 1138 Apolydor Ave.
   But there is no 1138 Apolydor Ave.
   As it happened, I had left my knapsack in my truck by accident. God (or Allah, if you prefer) had smiled on me.
   On another occasion, they sent a team in a ‘Young Drivers’ car to snatch my knapsack through the front door and make a run for it. They slowed up around the corner, waiting for the signal. I was at the side of the house at the time, obscured by the side fence. The signal must have been given, but I suddenly emerged causing the ‘Young Driver’ to brake suddenly at my driveway. I walked to the foot of my driveway and recognized the gangstalker in the passenger’s front seat from many previous incidents.
   On a third occasion, I was returning home from the grocery store in the summer and drove around the corner to see a man leaving my front door. He bounded across the lawn to a big red pickup parked haphazardly in front of my house. Starting it, he steered his truck and accelerated at me as I approached, narrowly missing me. He had a back-up for rescue, in case I apprehended him; a muscle-bound lad with no shirt and a tattoo around his arm, the very same guy who accompanied me to the grocery. He was on a bicycle and took a short cut to get there before me.
   On a fourth occasion, they used Dirty White Boy who pretended to be delivering pamphlets in the neighbourhood. This guy had dirty blonde hair, a pockmarked face and looked like he spent most of his life in bar fights. CSIS used him frequently in the early years against me. My wife was with me on this occasion, starting our car for some errands, and she was highly suspicious of him too. We returned to our house twice in the space of a few minutes, but he had vanished from the neighbourhood.
   On another occasion, I attended a house party at the home of my wife’s friend. I made the mistake of leaving my knapsack in the dining room when I went downstairs to visit the children in the rec-room. The wife of the friend’s contractor had destroyed the fastener on the file container inside my knapsack and ripped out the first page of a letter that CSIS had sent me, itself an important piece of evidence, before I returned upstairs.
   On yet another occasion, as my wife and I drove to Toronto, a couple pretended to sleep in the adjacent parked car while we were gassing up in a service station on the highway and parked the car for a pee break. They abruptly ‘woke up’ when it became apparent I wouldn’t leave my knapsack unattended.

8. 

   …cont
   ———————

   To protect the MacLean letter and envelope, I put it and a file of other evidence I wanted to safeguard in the keeping of Dougald Brown, my ‘lawyer.’. When I returned to Brown’s office to retrieve it, Brown’s aging, blonde secretary withheld it. I protested, telling her that the reason I left it there was to protect that letter. She relented and returned only with the letter, sans envelope. I demanded the return of the envelope. She refused, claiming she didn’t have it. (I always keep my letters in the envelope in which it was sent.) How could I drag it from her?… stage a scene in her office? There is no doubt in my mind she withheld that evidence on CSIS’ behalf. Later, the original letter has since disappeared from my safe in my home office. Despite the number of copies I’ve made, I suspect there is a legal wrangle to neutralize it as evidence, probably by claiming that I forged it. That legal firm still sends me a bill for a further $500, interest accruing, that I consider a fee to steal my evidence. I now keep my evidence in my knapsack that I keep on my shoulder everywhere.
   The second thing that complicated matters with Dougald Brown was a change in his demeanour. To test this, I sent him a letter remarking on Stephen Harper’s relationship with CSIS which, I reasoned, given that I knew he was a supporter of the NDP, might provoke a raised eyebrow at least. In response, Mr. Brown was stone cold, almost to the point of hostility. This tactic worked, which is to say, it demonstrated to me that CSIS had arrived. I recommend this ploy to readers who have detected CSIS “vigorous harassment” (how could you not!) because your solicitor-client or patient-doctor relationships are no longer as sacrosanct as you have been led to believe, for reasons I will explain later. I ceased doing business with Dougald Brown.
   By then I knew my chosen career was finished. Most of my prior training, including my post-graduate work, was dedicated to becoming an intelligence analyst, but you can’t do that in Canada if CSIS thinks you’re an American spy. The main route to a new job in the public service is through competition, but this process takes many months, even years, to complete. A “secondment,” on the other hand, is a temporary transfer, providing you can find a manager willing to sign you on. Nobody responded to my call letter except for a small, hollow-eyed man named Jim Wilson, who sent me an e-mail with the title, You. Tuck this in your memory because I will return to it later. Wilson was the manager of sufferance warehouses in the Trade directorate in Customs. Sounds boring, I know, but most public service jobs are administrative in nature with a system or two to support them. I thought CSIS would be happy with this.
   At the time the Commercial Border area in Customs was strangled by its own red tape. It had launched so many new initiatives that no-one understood their implications, least of all the senior managers. Now it was in chaos. By sheer coincidence, I had worked extensively in the business simplification process in GST in the 1990s (now called Business Number, or BN) and it was déja vu to see them stumbling toward the simplification of forms, new workflows, the closure and creation of new work units, all tied together by a new strategic vision. Customs is excruciatingly slow at reform, at least a decade behind Revenue. Even when I had my stroke in Intelligence, and had recovered and returned to work, absolutely nothing had changed in their reorganization to become an agency. I knew what had to be done in Customs Commercial mainly because I had participated in the same reform at Revenue, but any chance to bring my experience to bear was overwhelmed by “vigorous harassment,” the term the Director of CSIS used to describe the treatment CSIS used against terrorists.
   Does this mean that CSIS viewed me as a terrorist?
   I’ll answer this question a little later.
   The building where I was transferred was much closer to my home, so I could walk to work. Gangstalkers, in turn, shifted from the buses to the sidewalk. Once, they piled four of them inside a small car and parked them in front of me, just to stare. I pressed my face to the window and stared back. They took off. When I went to Starbucks, a guy stood staring at me while I was waiting in line, his chest practically pressed into my shoulder. On another occasion, they chose a woman to stalk me on the sidewalk before she pivoted and strode off. I decided to follow her. Gangstalkers are cowards, basically, and this woman somehow signalled for help on her Blackberry or whatever texting device she used. Help arrived a few minutes later when a big man approached with a scowl on his face. “Hello!” he yelled at me, probably to comfort the woman.
   This sort of thing happened every morning before I reported to work.
   Jim Wilson, my new manager, was aggressive getting me to come to his unit at first. After that, his behaviour was – how to put it exactly… peculiar. When officials began clamouring for signed secondment papers, Wilson insisted that Spyboy had signed them. He hadn’t (I will explain why this is important later). Wilson would also disappear without explanation; hours, afternoons, sometimes as long as a week. Generally, PS staff like to know where their managers are. Then I started to receive daily phone calls at my desk that I shouldn’t have received, some callers claiming to be as far away as Europe. These calls did not arrive at the telephone on my desk before I arrived, and when I asked Wilson repeatedly for directions on how to handle them, he never responded. Why? It turned out that these phone calls were designed by CSIS to produce a response in order to get me fired (they do that, you know). I saw women being ushered into Jim Wilson’s office, door shut, after which they emerged avoiding my eyes. By itself, this is irregular for women not working in his unit. It should provide a clue of Wilson’s role in all this.
   I also needed to get access to g: drive, the repository for basic documents for civil servants to access. Wilson never gave it to me, despite repeated demands from me and other staff who desperately needed the work done. That’s a big thing in the public service. Over a week or two it became evident that my computer was being monitored by an older woman with a cane at the far end of the hall. She was ensconced in an enclosed office with a sign that said “Please don’t open the door. Inhaler inside.” She reported back to Wilson. A number of strange people, clearly not civil servants, occupied vacant desks on the floor and started to cruise my desk. Every time I went to the washroom, they followed me in.
   Are you getting the picture yet?
   This is a good place to outline how CSIS operates against a target – again, not because I’m an authority, but only through my experience. Let me use Jim Wilson as an example. Imagine a case where a public servant thinks he is under CSIS investigation and he wants to move to a different job. He hears that there are ten managers out there looking for staff, and Jim Wilson is one of them. The public servant sends his resumé to all ten managers, but only hears back from Wilson. Later, after accepting Wilson’s offer, the public servant finds that there is something funny with Wilson and starts to imagine that he is somehow associated with CSIS. Now, if the public servant tells a colleague about this, the colleague will calculate in his mind that the odds of one manager (Wilson) belonging to CSIS when the public servant has contacted nine others are very remote. The chances that one manager out of ten will be somehow connected to CSIS are themselves very remote, certainly much more remote than one in ten. The colleague begins to think that the public servant is paranoid. CSIS loves that.
   But it doesn’t work that way. Most people don’t realize that the situation was manipulated from the very beginning.
   If the public servant was under investigation by CSIS, they will want him transferred to an area under their control. Let’s suppose, for the sake of argument, that Wilson was a former CSIS officer and, as we know from the past discussion, former CSIS officers will support their ‘brotherhood’ because that is the way they build these relationships (Fair warning: never hire anyone who once worked for CSIS). First, CSIS will stop your e-mails going to the other nine managers and tell Wilson they want him to take on this public servant. Note that Wilson sent me an e-mail in reply not with the heading “In response to your inquiry” or “staffing needs” or similar bureaucratese, but with the subject heading, You. This is highly reminiscent of political advertising, where they try to personalize their appeals. Remember Uncle Sam wants YOU for the U.S. Army!…?Remember the pointing finger?
   If none of the ten managers is suitable, CSIS will find you a referral to someone who is. This happened to me many times, not with the managers in the Public Service, but with lawyers. Remember that CSIS controls Bell Canada, and, just like my phone call to ‘Weedman,’ my phone call was redirected. I was ‘referred’ in the same fashion to CSIS lawyers, a subject I will return to later.
   The good Lord (or Allah, if you prefer) then smiled on me once more.
   CSIS makes mistakes. I had sent a number of requests for information under the Privacy Act, and their responses started to land on my doorstep. CSIS sent me a big box of redacted documents, but even here it was apparent that they view such releases as part of their operation against you. Some documents were fraudulent; that is, composed or structured entirely for my consumption as part of the Privacy Act release, and not original in their own right. Many released pages were satirical, such as photocopies of an envelope I had mailed to them, or a picture of myself from my ID pass. Some pages had only a paragraph or a sentence. For fun, I placed those pages that were censored completely in a separate pile – that is, totally blank pages – and it was an inch thick! My lawyer once told me this is more than those received for Muslim terrorists, who he also represented, and yet I don’t have a criminal record nor have I been charged under any national-security laws. It’s also a small fraction of what they actually have.
   I also received a letter that corroborated the things I’ve claimed; namely, I was under CSIS investigation. They couldn’t meet all my requests for information, they said, because I was a ‘subversive’ (now that’s romantic… you can call me Che). How can a public servant cleared to Top Secret Special Access also be a ‘subversive’? Surely that’s impossible, unless he is also under investigation. In another letter, they came very close to admitting my gangstalking charges, claiming it was “appropriate.” I was staggered that CSIS even obeyed the law. They don’t normally. They have realized their error and made changes in their policies, and have been trying to steal my documents ever since.
   The 12-watt lightbulb in my tiny brain flickered on. Spyboy had alleged, fervently and in writing, that I was delusional solely based on my reports of CSIS harassment. So had my Director General, Caroline Melis. Not only had they defamed me aggressively, it occurred to me that they may be guilty of fraud. I set to work on a grievance. I telephoned my union rep, Robert Lafortune, for assistance. He wouldn’t oblige. How CSIS suborned my union is an interesting subject to discuss later.
   CSIS discovered my grievance plan immediately. They resolved to get me back to Intelligence where they could disrupt me more intensively.
   But why on earth would CSIS want me back in Intelligence? They thought I was an American spy, right? This was the reason behind a whole year’s worth of harassment. The drug sting. The honey traps. Ruining my honeymoon. And they got me to leave voluntarily, the whole point of the harassment. I can only conclude that it was Spyboy’s decision, to protect himself. My then-lawyer Paul Slansky told me I had a good case to secure a conviction for fraud and criminal defamation, as well as for an assortment of grievances within the Public Service. CSIS realized that trouble was a’brewing, and fought back harder.
   First, the CSIS rumour machine kicked in. Many people in the directorate were informed that I was an American spy. I am talking about a hundred people or more here. I received snarly looks everywhere. A guy named Pundyk, a friend of a guy who took my job back in Current Intelligence, started cruising my desk every few minutes. I noticed immediately. He abandoned his own work hours to monitor my time of arrival and when I left work at day’s end, making a point of consulting his wristwatch for my benefit. I sent him an e-mail to chastise him for his childish behaviour. In response, Pundyk sent me a picture of an execution squad, a universally-recognized punishment for spies (evidence #12) under the heading, “my thoughts.”
   I petitioned the e-mails from the directorate through Access to Information (ATIP), but CSIS recovered its old law-bending ways and sent me nothing. They not only excluded the execution-squad e-mail, they made it look as if it never existed in the first place (evidence #14 & 12).
   Then Jim Wilson stopped giving me work. He had only one other employee in his unit, but she took a month off to move into her new house. I was the only one left. Still no work. I found some other work to do. Wilson snatched it back and gave it to somebody else outside the unit. The “somebody else” gave it back to me, because that was what I was tasked to do. Wilson was acting outside the normal rules already. Then he decided to give me a Performance Review for one month. Highly irregular. He didn’t bother to use the form, either, but a blank sheet of paper to tell me that he didn’t have enough work for me and, if he did, I was unqualified for it. That’s when I discovered the secondment was a fraud. Not only did Spyboy not sign the secondment papers, but Wilson’s secretary forged his initials (evidence #32). For grievances, I had more grounds than a circus fair.
   Outside the office, dozens of stalkers harassed me everywhere. At the Ottawa library, on a trade course, on the elevator. A fight almost started on the sidewalk when a guy from Internal Affairs thrust his bum into me like a hip check as I was walking by. Spyboy had commandeered the Internal Affairs staff for this. On the street, SUVs would brake an inch before hitting me. All of this happened at the same time as the Peter MacLean ‘op’ and execution-squad e-mail I have cited above, and the stress got to me. My apologies to the reader: I cried in Wilson’s office. He laughed at me.
   I may as well have been tied up, gagged and left writhing on the floor back in Intelligence. Two days later, they placed me until Marianne Bennett’s control in Intelligence. Naturally, she was reporting to Spyboy. I pressed for Leave under Income Averaging, a leave-without-pay I was entitled to take, to prepare my grievances. Spyboy denied them at first, using ineligible grounds. Ms. Bennett gave me documents to edit (are you ready for this?) that were already edited, translated, printed and mailed (evidence #15). This is how the public service really works when management is upset.
   I finally managed to take the summer off on unpaid leave to prepare my grievances. Spyboy tried to stop it, but failed. Instead, CSIS stalked me at my cottage in PEI. The stress got to me and a rash broke out on my skin. I started to drink, which is forbidden for me as a stroke victim, but somehow I prepared six grievances and filed them, including two against Caroline Melis and Spyboy for fraud and defamation (evidence #35 & 38).
   When I returned to work in September 2008, they put me under the control of Spyboy again. They’re not allowed to do that. They even pretended not to receive my grievances, a petty trick that I have evidence for as well. My heart rate went to the stroke zone again coupled with sky-high blood pressure, despite my meds. I went on disability that month. This pleased CBSA and CSIS enormously.
   Things then became sinister.
   I did some research on the internet about CSIS’ disrupt campaigns and their use of gangstalking. I stumbled onto two articles in Peterborough’s local weekly, This Week, describing an ordeal-by-gangstalkers suffered by a woman using the pseudonym ‘Anne.’ (May 19 2006; reporter: Lance Anderson, now a photographer; and Lois Tuffin, the editor-in-chief, under http://www.mykawartha.com , or see evidence #23a and b) ‘Anne’ was gangstalked in the same way as myself. The same young louts wearing black baseball caps. Small, beat-up cars with missing hubcaps. Same tactics, too. Now, I have the written evidence to prove I was investigated by CSIS. CSIS is widely-reputed to be ‘disrupting’ Canadian citizens; termed “vigorous harassment” by the Director of CSIS, Jim Judd. I have many pictures of gangstalkers in black baseball caps (see ‘About Gangstalkers’). In all, there is no question that the “gangstalking” we see on the internet is the brainchild of the Western security services. So, what did a young woman do in a small town like Peterborough to merit this kind of harassment?
   I went to Peterborough to find out.
   The answer, according to Lance Anderson, the man who wrote the article, is that she slept with somebody very important. “Not Stephen Harper,” said Anderson to me, “but somebody like him.” He doesn’t know who.
   But I do.
   ‘Anne,’ it seems, slept with a “famous” person who may have been a Prime Minister. Canadian media haven’t paid much attention to this article, but I was sure her story was true when she described the methods and tactics of her gangstalkers. Does it matter that one of our PMs slept around? Probably not, unless you like to pop the popcorn for an entertaining scandal. But let’s slow down and speak in whispers, shall we? Think deeply about Canada for a moment because we are at the tipping point… would this be a threat to national security?
   In a minority government, the discovery that a PM had an affair may provoke a non-confidence vote and we’re in an election. Given that we are in a ‘war’ in Afghanistan and with terrorists, have we, for the sake of argument, lost the decision-making capability? Most Canadians I know would roll their eyes. Many would ask “Has somebody phoned the Americans?” only partly in jest, or ask whether this is any different than the Bill Clinton/Monica Lewinsky scandal. After all, Clinton was the leader of the Free World. Or maybe it’s like Berlusconi in Italy, with nuances that a non-Italian will never understand. After some thought, most would recognize that the right to cast judgment on the offending PM has been taken away from them. By CSIS. They have decided that we, in a democracy, shouldn’t know about a philandering PM for national security reasons.1
   Is this bollocks, or what?
   The astute reader may realize by now that the CSIS attack against me really has shifted. If you did already, congratulations. I surely didn’t. Before, CSIS were content to ruin my life through gangstalking, relying on fear or a guilty conscience or something to provoke me to leave Ottawa. I was simply too dumb to understand. As you can see, the focus of the CSIS attack is to pin a delusional charge on me, or to obtain a ruling from anybody – the neighbour across the street, perhaps, or the dog from the next block, that I was psychotic or mentally unstable. Why?
   It wasn’t until my fifth lawyer in November 2008 that I received reliable information that my situation was a ‘national security’ issue supported by a warrant. I was shocked. Overall, this knowledge cost me roughly $4500. CSIS must have been roaring in the aisles by then.
   And the reason for all this harassment and lawbreaking?
   Stephen Harper. Because he worked for CSIS.
   Sometime during the spring of 2008, I went to see Mark Foss, a writer who used to be a close friend of mine but CSIS recruited him as an informer. When I confronted him, he had admitted it. To him I uttered the only threat I can ever remember making, and asked him to pass it on to Spyboy Inc. After I told Mark of Stephen Harper’s relationship with CSIS I added, “And if CSIS doesn’t leave me alone, I will reveal Harper’s relationship to the media in the next election…”
   “You do that,” responded Mark. “And you won’t work in this town again.” I guess he thought that my job was still viable.
   After every single mechanism of justice was denied to me, I realized I was staring at fascism in the face.2 There is a handwritten letter pinned up on the wall in Intelligence from a Filipino or Indonesian student who had applied for entry into Canada, and was investigated by CSIS as part of the procedure. The student’s letter contained major vitriol because of the way CSIS alienated his family, friends and neighbours, to the point where he threatened violence against CSIS for the rest of his life. So much for his lifelong educational plans. My colleague, the owner of the letter, broke out laughing as he watched me reading it. He said, “And you know, this guy [student] had been approved for entry. Now we’ve got him…”
   So… did we identify a secret enemy of Canada, or make one? I understood the student’s anger perfectly.
   Then CSIS tried to kill me.
   1 I draw the reader’s attention to the analysis provided by Mr. Rocco Galati, a famous Toronto lawyer, of several anti-terrorism bills (C36, C22, C35, C42), and in particular, the Security of Information Act, which I found at http://globalresearch.ca/articles/GAL201A.html . Read it carefully. Mr. Galati had his life threatened for defending alleged terrorists.
   2 Despite the trauma, which I couldn’t avoid anyway, it is a priceless lesson about what you truly believe. I now realize I have a big apology due to the political Left. To be a national-security hawk, as I was, means you trust in the LE agencies and the secret police. However, when you witness the speed in their slide towards fascism, corruption and incompetence, you change… particularly when it’s targeted at you. Ironically, it was CSIS alleging that I was the neo-Nazi years ago. So… Stanley Knowles, Ed Broadbent, Stephen Lewis, Jack Layton… I apologize!! They are what you say.
   _________________________
   Contact:
   Unfortunately, contacting the author is one of the most difficult tasks when you are under CSIS a ‘disrupt’ program.
   For this reason, I don’t receive telephone calls (at 613-731-1205) or e-mail (at phaedo@sympatico.ca). I have created a new e-mail address at garethllewellyn100@gmail.com . So far, I haven’t received a single e-mail or telephone regarding this matter since 2008, despite my efforts to communicate, which should demonstrate how thorough CSIS is. That said, this doesn’t prevent you from trying, so please do. I cannot predict the results.
   My wife and I live at:
   1129 Apolydor Avenue
   Ottawa Ontario K1H 8B1
   This is in Ottawa South, only a few yards west of Bank Street, and 4 blocks north of Heron Street, just south of the Billings Bridge Mall. For several years, CSIS monitored my front entrance from their post around the corner on Gillies Street, and monitored my backyard from their post in an apartment behind us on 1174 Rockingham. I hope you won’t be dissuaded by this, but contacting me is not illegal.
   My sister, Morgan Llewellyn, lives in Toronto at:
   72 Newmarket Ave
   Toronto, M4L 1V9
   (top floor)
   Her cell phone number is 647-520-8215. Her work number is 416-787-1661, ext. 210.
   She has been alerted to receive any visits or telephone calls regarding this matter.
   My wife, Betty Ann Bryanton, works for Revenue Canada at the Heron building near the intersection of Bronson Avenue and Heron Street, also in Ottawa South. Present yourself at the Commissionaires’ desk for a physical visit, which is accessible by the Data Road entrance. She may be phoned at work at: 613-948-9583.
   Gareth David Llewellyn
   1129 Apolydor Avenue
   Ottawa, Ontario K1H 8B1
   Home: (613) 731-1205
   Education
   High School     Secondary School Honours Graduation Diploma, A.Y. Jackson SS
   Bachelor of Arts    Political Science, Carleton University (1981)
   Master of Arts     Political Science, Carleton University (1984) Major Field:
   International Relations (National Security & Terrorism); Allied
   field: Political Theory
   Related Job History
   Intelligence Analyst (PM-05), Current Intelligence Section, Strategic Intelligence Division, Intelligence Branch, Canadian Border Services Agency
   November 2006 to September 2008
   Under the Manager of Current Intelligence Section, I prepared briefings on terrorism, organized crime, chemical-biological threats, illegal migrants, threats to infrastructure, Iraq and any other threats to national or border security to the Vice-President and President of CBSA. The clearance level ranged from Top Secret COMINT to Confidential.
   * * *
   Please note: I was absent from work between December 2005 to September 2006 due to lengthy illness. I am completely recovered.
   * * *
   Intelligence Analyst (PM-05), Intelligence Analysis Section, Analysis & Assessments Division, Enforcement Branch, Canadian Border Services Agency
   November 2003 to December 2005
   Under the Manager of the Intelligence Analysis Section, I write threat assessments on Terrorism, Chemical and Biological Weapons, Contraband Alcohol and Intellectual Property Rights. The clearance level for these assessments ranges from Protected A to Secret.
   Coordinator, Anti-Evasion (acting ES-05), Anti-Evasion Division, Investigations Directorate, Compliance Programs Branch, Headquarters, CCRA
   February, 2002 to November 2003
   Under the Director of Anti-Evasion, I consulted with branch specialists to develop CCRA’s strategic responses to tax evasion; in particular, GST fraud (multi-cell, car-flipping, fraud involving native groups, etc.), money laundering, telemarketing fraud, tobacco smuggling, tax havens and organized crime. The Anti-Evasion Division also serves as the secretariat to the Assistant Commissioner Steering Committee on Anti-Evasion.
   Intelligence Analyst (PM-04), Intelligence Analysis Section, Contraband & Intelligence Services Directorate (CISD), Customs Branch, Headquarters, CCRA
   September, 2001 to February, 2002
   Under the Manager of Intelligence Analysis, I developed risk assessments and trend analyses for contraband alcohol, jewellery, hazardous waste, proceeds of crime and endangered species (CITES).
   Program Officer (PM-04), Contraband Operations, Contraband & Intelligence Services Directorate (CISD), Customs Branch, Headquarters, CCRA
   February 2001 to August, 2001
   Under the Manager of Contraband Operations, I co-developed the Contraband Strategy 2001-2005, to provide senior management with strategic proposals for border enforcement and the prevention and detection of contraband smuggling; specifically, drugs, firearms, tobacco, pornography, embargoed goods and hazardous waste. In addition, I developed a business plan for the Marine Centre of Expertise in Halifax.
   Team Leader, (Acting PM-05), Policies and Procedures Unit, Business Registration, Business Returns and Payments Processing Directorate (BRPP), Assessment and Collections Branch, Headquarters, CCRA
   March 1999 to February 2001
   Under the Manager of Business Registration, and with a staff of 5-6 PM-04s, I led the following activities:
   Negotiated the creation and development of the Business Registration Monitoring program with Client Services Directorate (CSD)
   Led the Business Window and BNS monitoring team and defined performance measurement standards
   Developed the GST Enhanced Registration Review (GERR) project for detecting multi-cell fraud, including all aspects of project management (scope, vision, budget, proposal, O&M planning and training, etc.).
   Designed the project strategy, workflow and reports for the GERR pilot
   Managed the Business Number Services budget for fiscal 1999-2000
   Negotiated and relocated the Amalgamations workload from CSD to BNS
   Negotiated and developed Job Descriptions for BNS Clerk/Team Leader positions
   Redesigned and maintained the BN Policy & Procedures manual for 4 years
   Negotiated/instituted changes to many BN/GST elections, notices and applications
   Spoke at Tax Executive conferences on business processing issues
   Chairman, A/PM-04 board for Registration/Funds Management competition
   Developed training plans for Policies & Procedures staff
   Negotiated, developed, wrote and maintained all Business Number and GST Registration policies for the Business Window and Tax Centres nationally
   Presentations (usually on PowerPoint & PC Viewer) to senior management
   Analyzed, researched, evaluated, wrote proposals for and advised management on a variety of recommendations concerning all of the initiatives or changes listed above in the form of Briefing Notes, Issue Sheets, Position Papers, Requests for Legislative Change, Directives, Ministerial correspondence and memoranda.
   Project Officer (PM-04), Policies and Procedures, Business Registration
   February 1995 to March 1999
   Under the Team Leader, Policies and Procedures, I performed the following tasks:
   Author, 1998 BN Policies and Procedures Manual
   Author, 1999 Business Number Services Policies and Procedures Manual
   Manual severing according to ATIP policies and procedures
   Chair, Committee to Write the 1999 BN Policies and Procedures Manual
   Trained staff at the following BNS sites: Surrey, Sudbury, St. John’s
   Solicited legal opinions from Legal Services
   During this period I developed, wrote and maintained the following BN/GST policies: Amalgamations, GST effective date, GST closure requirements, bankruptcy and receivership, partnership-naming, access to information, trusts, document retention, non-resident registration and security, abolition of signature requirement, corporate registration, charity registration.
   Project Officer (PM-04), Policies and Procedures, GST Registration
   February 1993 to February 1995
   Under the Manager of GST Registration/Returns & Payments, I performed the following tasks:
   Developed policies/procedures for the GST Policy and Procedures Manual
   Developed the Registrant Identification Project (now NF/NR, located in Audit) for the identification of clients who should be registered for the GST
   Developed the Department’s response to the Canada Post Addressing Standards.
   Developed budgets for the GST Registration units in the District Offices
   Provided legal interpretations and answered Ministerial correspondence
   Policy Officer (PM-04), Policy and Legislation, GST/Excise
   November 1990 to February 1993
   Under the Manager of Administrative Provisions, General Tax Policy, I developed or participated in the GST Adjustment Form policy (GAF); GST policies for bankruptcies and receiverships, audit books & records requirements for non-residents, clearance certificates, appeals, penalty & interest, amendments and regulations to the Excise Tax Act; preparation of Briefing Notes for the Director General and ADM; legal review of the Income Tax Act, Financial Administration Act, Interpretations Act, Bankruptcy and Insolvency Act, Access to Information Act, Privacy Act, Canada Business Corporations Act, and other Acts.
   Technical Information Officer (IS-03), GST Excise, Policy and Legislation
   June 1990 to November 1990
   Responded to public inquiries; edited and wrote Excise memoranda and Technical Information Bulletins; wrote articles for the GST newsletter, Update.
   Other Work Experience
   Executive Assistant to Members of Parliament (1983 and 1987)
   Author, The Joy of Flex: A Thinking Man and Woman’s Guide to Bodybuilding
   Fundraiser/Ad Director, Operation Red Nose, Carleton University, 1986-87
   Executive Director, The St. Lawrence Institute for the Advancement of Learning
   Researcher, The Hark Research Group (1986)
   Editor, Ottawa Airport Business Plan, Airport Authority Group, 1989
   Lecturer, Carleton University Department of Political Science (International Relations)
   Bodybuilding/Fitness Instructor, Carleton University Department of Athletics
   Novelist (first unpublished novel entitled The Mushroom Grower)
   Extensive experience as project manager
   Related Job Skills:    Software training with MS Windows, Windows NT, Word, Excel, WordPerfect, Microsoft Outlook, MS Access, Internet Explorer, Trained in investigative use of internet. Typing: 80 wpm.
   Security Clearance:    Top Secret Special Access (TSSA), received November 2004
   (Please note that I have voluntarily resigned the ‘SA’ of this clearance in June 2008)
   ______________________
   Advice for CSIS victims:
   I don’t present myself as an expert on CSIS. In one way I am, however, since I have been investigated and harassed by CSIS for being an alleged neo-Nazi, a South African agent, an American spy and a subversive plotting against the Canadian state. Here are some tips that I offer in your search for justice:
   The police will not help you. They don’t care about your innocence, but will respond to CSIS. Your allies are essentially the media, the opposition parties and various organizations that confront CSIS tactics (e.g., Amnesty International, Wikileaks, etc).
   Do not lie. Your innocence is your most valuable commodity and they may try to frame you through ploys in order to corrupt you. Preserve it by refraining from exaggeration or by adding detail that doesn’t exist. Remember: CSIS is the bad guy. You are not, so don’t act that way.
   Gangstalkers are generally creeps. That’s good. They try to be as obnoxious as possible but it is also their weakness, because it serves to motivate you on a daily basis. They are not CSIS employees, but Canadian citizens from all walks of life. If you are a woman, you may in trouble because they may try to physically intimidate you (read ‘Anne’s story). If you can get access to pepper spray or mace, use it. Don’t use other weapons (knives, guns) because it will rebound on you. If you are a big, martially-trained man, don’t hesitate to protect yourself, but they will plant witnesses if you do. Gangstalking women are fair game. CSIS rules: they do whatever they can get away with.
   “Diffuse and disrupt’ is of CSIS coinage. This bureaucratic term refers to their ‘dirty tricks’ mandate, which they shouldn’t have and should be removed by the government. It is primarily a psychological attack; however, they will steal or destroy property if they think it contributes to their attack. Others have suffered through this, so take advantage of the lessons learned. The stories of myself, ‘Anne’ and others are available.
   Be prepared to lose big, relationship-wise. When CSIS is disrupting you, the normal response is to seek help: from your family, friends or even the police. However, the aim of CSIS is to isolate you – first of all, to convince others that you are ‘delusional,’ a regular ploy used by CSIS; and second, to plant rumours that you may be a real national security threat to your neighbours, friends, etc. Many friends or family members will prove disloyal when faced by CSIS because they are unfamiliar with national-security issues, and will defer to the badge because they haven’t seen corruption in action. This means you will have to make new friends. Bear up. Remember: this is not for you, but for the innocent Canadian that comes after you.
   CSIS will steal your evidence. Originals are important. Photocopy everything many times and keep the originals with you at all times. Don’t use a safety deposit box, a safe or a lawyer.
   Do not use payphones. CSIS directs their gangstalkers keep their eyes on payphone(s) you may use and report it instantly to their people within Bell. They are so quick that your phone call may be rerouted, and the person you thought you were calling will actually be an impostor. They keep a list on the likely phone numbers you will use, many by monitoring your computer, phone or other sources. Sometimes you will bump into payphones in surprising places that CSIS has overlooked (they may mistakes all the time). Take advantage of every opportunity. Always be adaptive and flexible; after all, you may meet political leaders or the media in a grocery line by chance. Exploit it.
   Do not use the fax unless you are convinced it is used surreptitiously. CSIS has the tech to ensure that your fax will arrive as blank pages, despite the ‘Receipt: OK’ you will receive on the sender’s side.
   If you are with the Public Service, watch out for corruption of your superiors. I received advice from colleagues and lawyers that explained the process this way: They report you as ‘delusional’ and refer you to a psychologist in Health Canada who, after a whisper in his/her ear, will confirm it. Your career is over and you will be placed on a disability pension. Don’t presume that your longstanding friendship with managers will last. It won’t.
   You score a goal against CSIS when you document and demonstrate how CSIS operates, and get it circulated, preferably with the media or on the internet. CSIS prefers the shadows; your job is to cast a spotlight on them. Be creative. This process may last years. Taking a picture of a CSIS officer in mid-pose (i.e., pretending to be someone else) is a hat-trick.
   Your best friend is a digital camera. Take pictures when you decide it might benefit you. It legal to take pictures of people or vehicles (right of free expression) and the police cannot seize your camera. However, the right to privacy provides the person whose picture was taken the right to sue, which will never happen. They may try to liberate the camera from you, a perfect scenario to use mace or pepper spray, since it wards off the act of theft. Taking pictures of CSIS officers is surprisingly easy. When the gangstalkers are ganging up on you, a CSIS officer will be operating in the periphery, so go and find him and take his picture. A hidden tape recorder may also aid you, but I haven’t used one. Installing a hidden camera in your home will reward you since you have pictures of people in your home. Any CSIS campaign to brand you ‘delusional’ (a regular practice, for obvious reasons) may be pre-empted, but it would be difficult to hide from CSIS who will put a camera in your home. So… do it now.
   The use of impostors is meat-and-potatoes for CSIS. I have encountered at least a half-dozen impostors posing as the media. Take pictures with a digital camera so these pictures can be used on the internet.
   A dedicated website to expose CSIS would be ideal. However, CSIS will react badly, probably to hack your website or even use the courts. If that happens, bring in the media. If you have dedicated friends with computer-geek skills, implore him or her to build you a website. Pictures of the bad guys online will annoy them. That’s good.
   Your task is to expose CSIS abuse, not to denounce national security. CSIS will plead they are just doing their job. Make the distinction.
   CSIS has access to a license-plate manufacturing facility which provides phoney plate numbers as well as licence plates from a foreign jurisdiction. I mention this to save the victim (you) the trouble of recording the numbers. Some gangstalkers still use their own vehicle. CSIS is very dependent on vehicles.
   Lastly, you cannot ‘win’ with CSIS in the big sense, so don’t make this as an objective. This sort of problem is endemic with most democracies. Try to resolve successfully your specific CSIS problem and a chance to record their actions and mistakes with the media and any other interested organizations. Reform is a long-term process. Good luck.
   _____________________
   at 6:20 PM
   Email This BlogThis! Share to Twitter Share to Facebook Share to Google Buzz
   Labels: Government Corruption, Inconvenient Truths, Organized Stalking, Stalkers, Stalking, WikiLeaks

   And yes it’s been sent out to quite a few. Lunchbox Taxpayer. Be brave, give me that Edmonton Sun feeling.
   ———————————————-
   Life Under CSIS Rule by Gareth Llewellyn
   Chapter I
   January 2007
   The nightmare began when I sat in Starbucks in the Ottawa Marriott Hotel.
   I was sipping my favourite triple-mocha when an auburn-haired lady entered, bee-lined to the table beside me, sat and stared at me. Coat on. No coffee. Her hands were folded in her lap. There was no intensity in her eyes, but she kept on staring. Naturally I was perplexed, but I ignored her and my gaze wandered to another table beside me where a game of musical chairs broke out. A man sitting at the table doing nothing but fiddling his thumbs, left his seat too quickly and was just-as-quickly replaced by another. Then a third. Not a coffee between them. It was a peculiar sight and I returned to work a few minutes later, mystified.
   Most people have weird days too. I suppose my situation was very like those manufactured situations in the old TV series Candid Camera, filming unsuspecting strangers to gauge their reaction. For me, this game played itself out the next day at Starbucks with different people, and intermittently after that. Nobody appeared to say, “Hey, this is a joke” or pointing out the hidden camera.
   At work, meanwhile, someone had used my computer overnight and left little traces behind, called ‘electronic footprints’ by the Information Technology (IT) people. I worked for the Canada Border Services Agency (CBSA) as an Intelligence Analyst in the Intelligence directorate. I was 53 years old with a Masters in International Relations (Terrorism) and had 20 years in the government, so I knew that the IT people accessed our computers regularly for upgrades and repairs; however this midnight visit looked suspiciously like an investigation. For one thing, why do it at midnight? If it wasn’t an investigation, on the other hand, it could be something far worse.
   Right about then, a woman from our Toronto office called to ask if I had used one of their work files. Customs, Revenue and most other departments divide Canada into districts (or “ports” in the case of Customs) who “own” a file based on the Canadian’s location, usually his or her address. She quoted my User ID over the phone but I had never used the field file. HQ analysts like me almost never do. A CBSA officer had been arrested recently for “internal conspiracy” – Customs jargon for bad things done by employees with somebody else – and it was reported in the media. This kind of thing happens more often than Canadians realize so my first reaction was alarm. Had organized crime penetrated CBSA and used my User ID? I called the woman in Toronto back and reported it up the line in Ottawa. She called back saying it was a false alarm but her ‘explanation’ was nonsense.
   Taken together, I reported these things to my new manager, Scott. A new top-secret ‘intel’ unit had just been formed, called ‘Current Intelligence,’ one of the most secure at CBSA, and I was Scott’s first employee. We worked in the “Box,” a windowless secure room with the normal toys of a high-security area, such as a locked access, a separate commissionaire, safes, etc. I told him I thought I was under some form of investigation.
   Scott frowned in response. He disappeared soon after and was gone for several days for meetings with CSIS, among other things. He was aloof when he returned.
   “Did you get a letter pulling your security clearance?” he asked.
   “No,” I replied, surprised. “Have I done something wrong?”
   He never answered that question.
   I was worried. I knew I had done nothing wrong, but the public service is filled with personalities that shouldn’t be given responsibility to run a lemonade stand, let alone to control budgets and the futures of other people. Public servants also carry grudges. But it was on the street where my problems began.
   When I took the bus to work I was confronted by strangers glowering at me as if I spat on their shoes. “What the fuck?…” is about right for this. A couple of times someone would kick at my heels on the bus. Once I was body-checked and sent sprawling on the bus platform. A young ‘mother’ passed me along the sidewalk near the Billing Bridge bus mall one morning, then wheeled around a minute later, caught up with me and crashed her baby carriage into my legs. I guess there wasn’t a baby in there after all. Sure, some weird events episodes may happen to somebody, somewhere in Ottawa… on rare occasion. Maybe even in downtown Toronto. After thirty years living in Ottawa, never to me. I am a bespectacled geek. To me, reading the dictionary sounds like fun. At 6’ 1” and 210 lbs, I am big enough to deter the casual bullying, and I keep to myself, reading every morning on the bus, anxious not to miss my stop. My morning conundrum is whether to drop into Starbucks or not. My triple mocha with the whipped cream has 900 calories, after all.
   During my walks home strangers positioned themselves along my route down Bank Street every few blocks, often in the dead centre of the sidewalk, chain-smoking and gazing into the distance with a leer on their faces. These guys were rough-hewn – lotsa jeans, lotsa leather, needing haircuts – not one of us silly servants that we recognize instantly. After thirty years of living in or commuting through the Glebe, furthermore, you get acquainted with the regulars: the aging hippies, the panhandlers, the families of assistant Deputy Ministers and the students. These guys were new. Every once in a while one would peer up Bank Street, wondering what was taking me so long, and when I arrived they would pretend to do something normal. Even smoking a cigarette was, for them, a contrivance. Once I walked a complete circle around one but there was no response.
   Sometimes I would vary my routes home, even lose them for a few minutes, but they were quick to let me know when they were right back. An older gent wearing sneakers signaled this once by reaching out and waggling his hand at knee level like he were shaking a vaudevillian’s straw hat as he walked by. Hilarious, I suppose, and effective. I told my spouse (now wife) and she was as bewildered as me.

9. 

   more…
   ————–

   I now live in Ottawa south. In the evening they would stalk me in the Independent Grocers at Alta Vista and Bank or in the Billings Bridge shopping mall, using as many as a half-dozen people at first. Their tactics were to obstruct my progress, or they might follow me in the aisle only a few inches behind as if trying to mimic me. When I turned to confront them they would scuttle off in the other direction, particularly the women. In the beginning, they didn’t bother to use a handbasket or a shopping cart. Later, they carried the handbasket but put nothing in them. Sometimes they looked ridiculous and that made me laugh. At other times I had to suppress an urge to launch my shopping cart at them.
   Once, late in the evening, I drove my car to the Glebe to buy a video card for my computer and caught them by surprise. A beat-up car that had been parked on an adjoining street raced to get ahead of me before the intersection. When he did, he slowed to 5 kph in the intersection and, when we turned left on the next street, he continued in this way in order to slow me down. Ultimately I passed him. When I arrived at the computer store they had posted a guy outside the door, hands in pockets, standing there late at night and doing nothing but staring at the moon. He was gone when I emerged a few minutes later. The point is, every day became a weird day.
   “Am I under investigation?” I asked Scott again.
   “Nope.”
   “No?”
   After a pause, Scott added, “You know, of all the people who complain about CSIS surveillance you’re the guy I feel most sorry for.”
   This statement was the only ‘support’ I ever received from CBSA management.
   Scott and I were friends and I was hurt he wouldn’t tell me what was going on. On the other hand, he was also a new manager and had just crossed the great class divide in the public service.
   Week after week this stuff continued.
   Despite Scott’s remark, I wasn’t convinced it was CSIS at first. I couldn’t understand why, for one thing. My security practices were good, provided I knew what they were. Customs has never been good at developing and communicating our security policies. I suffered a stroke in 2005 and had just returned, so I didn’t have a chance to get into trouble. (You have to do something wrong, don’t you?) But it was the people on the street that made me doubt CSIS. I had always bought the canard that CSIS surveillance was the best in the world, so I expected top-quality people as well. What I saw instead was an overweight matron crowding me to read my PIN at MusicWorld; or an old man without shoelaces or socks posturing as a computer buyer (that one made me laugh), or young and rough kids following me in the grocery store wearing black baseball caps. There were a surprising number of recent immigrants with halting English. Housewives, too.
   Who were these people?!
   I wouldn’t call the antics on the street ‘surveillance’ either. A long-haired fellow accosted me at the corner of Kent and Slater brandishing, of all things, two hairbrushes, one in each hand. He tried repeatedly to brush my fur hat until I fought him off, no “hidden observer” he. These isolated episodes grew in frequency and intensity where teams of five or six would cut me off during my grocery shopping, or in the library. I couldn’t leave work for lunch without getting The Treatment, including planting themselves before me, whipping out their cell phone to pretend to report my position (“Yes, he’s still walking down Bank St….”). One evening, I walked home on Bank Street and cried a tear or two from hurt feelings. What did I do to deserve this?! I lowered my face to wipe away a tear and, when I looked up, a woman’s face was pressed several inches from my own. Jesus Christ!… it was the attack of the personal-space invaders.
   The next day, Scott remarked, “I’m starting to worry about your health.”
   I had done nothing to provoke this remark from Scott. Their communications must be good to put those words in Scott’s mouth within 18 hours, not public-service speed at all. My Director, Craig Goodes, and my Director General, Caroline Melis, approached me separately to inquire into my well-being. All three of them knew what was going on, obviously, but no-one would explain why. And what was this anyway… a character test? I was still recovering from a stroke.
   In February, they replaced Scott.
   An ex-CSIS manager with ice-blue eyes and a baby face named Ken Lamontagne took his place. Lamontagne used to run informants in Montreal’s Chinatown and he had brought the stylishness of a Montrealer with him, wearing double-breasted suits that put us all to shame. He had brought the rules of work from CSIS with him, too. He turned out to be a womanizer at the workplace… death, if you’re a manager in the Ottawa public service, but CSIS has a different code of conduct carried over from their days as the RCMP. To them, Rank Means Everything. Looking back, Lamontagne’s arrival was a development to which I should have paid more attention, but I was entranced by the stalkers on the street. Some of them smelled. A couple were clearly from the local Mission downtown. The ‘toughies’ were juvenile delinquents. None of them were genuine CSIS officers, that much was obvious. They would stalk me for 4-5 days, taking most of the weekend off. A few weeks later they expanded it to include my place of work on 300 Slater Street, known as the Jean Emonds towers, which means they had access to the building. Among other things, it was CBSA’s Intelligence HQ.
   By March I had a theory.
   Although my overall health after my stroke was good, I had inherited several stomach ailments like diverticulosis and IBS that turned my stomach into a ball of fire when stress increased. In the evenings I was left in the foetal position, groaning from the pain because the GP who prescribed me a narcotic painkiller had just moved to southern Ontario. My new GP wouldn’t prescribe a narcotic. I am allergic to aspirin-related products, so I obtained pot (highly underrated as a painkiller) for my stomach from Patrick Eggert, a guy married to one of my wife’s friends, who did a bit of pushing on the side. When I met Scott, my recent manager, on the street, I told him what I’d done and asked if it was a problem.
   “Nah. That ain’t it,” he replied, referring to the reason for my harassment. “If you are smoking it at home…” He shrugged with a rolling of the eyes.
   I told my Director later on. He didn’t seem to care either. To their credit, it points to some tolerance within the public service in Ottawa. Marijuana belongs in the netherworld of offences where nobody takes it seriously except Customs (where it drives up our seizures-by-dollar-value, unless the RCMP is scheduled to burn the seizures and the jokes about camping overnight on a nearby hill will appear), and CSIS (where marijuana was like homosexuality: the culture is waiting for legalization, but CSIS has to ensure you are not susceptible to blackmail as homosexuals were in past decades). I have smelt marijuana on Customs employees. My manager-before-Scott was a noted alcoholic whose breath could start your barbecue when he forgot to chew his gum. Alcoholism is rampant in the enforcement agencies. Even CSIS has problem drinkers (I know of two). Marijuana has been subtly severed from the chemicals. Even CSIS adopts a forgiveness-for-past-sins approach for pot, but a zero-tolerance policy thereafter.
   I did manage to get a prescription for M-Eslon, a morphine painkiller I’ve taken for many years, from a medical clinic. I told my GP because I believed that you shouldn’t withhold information like that from your doctor. In response, she disowned me. The people stalking me, however, grew thick around the medical clinic and the pharmacy at the Independent Grocers in Alta Vista where I filled the prescription. CSIS even asked one of their ‘friends’ in Customs, Dave Beaton, to ‘innocently’ ask me through e-mail (which CSIS was monitoring) about M-Eslon even though I had spent 20 minutes conversing with him on the very subject the week before. Spying on workers is not restricted to CSIS. Many managers in the public service are brazen enough to coerce their employees to spy on their colleagues. Ken Lamontagne did this with everyone. He even asked me to spy on a student named Fez. I declined.
   I searched long and hard for another doctor in Ottawa, and found one on Bronson Avenue. This doctor was an elderly Polish émigré with a fascinating personal history… from the Second World War. He should have retired a decade ago, but the doctor shortage in Ontario was peaking and I was desperate for a doctor to monitor my blood viscosity after my stroke. CSIS decided this was the place to stage a drug sting. And so, with CSIS officers circling about me like vultures in the doctor’s office, they enlisted the cooperation of the doctor’s assistant and the good doctor to offer me excess morphine. I refused. I got the message, though. The poor surveillance, or whatever one calls those people stalking me, their preoccupation with narcotics and access to CBSA HQ all pointed to a CBSA investigation to me. I wrote an e-mail to the Director of Internal Affairs, Roger Lavergne, to explain my stomach history, my allergy to aspirin, my lengthy use of a narcotic, etc.
   Roger phoned me back. “You’re not under investigation.”
   Whatever. Despite the objections of English purists, the word ‘whatever’ is ideal for the public service. Once the big shapes are communicated – in this case, that I was most certainly under investigation – the rest is pure bullshit.
   My e-mail did produce a change however. For roughly eight days there were no more “stalking on steroids,” a term I used to describe a score of people following me at lunch, breaks and along my commutes to work. During my browsing on the internet I discovered there is another term for this activity. It is called “gangstalking,” coined by past targets. When Wikileaks divulged the contents of roughly 250,000 cables from the U.S. diplomatic sector, a cable quoting the now-former Director of CSIS, Jim Judd, described gangstalking as “vigorous harassment.”
   I didn’t know it existed.
   Jack Hooper, the former Deputy Director of Operations of CSIS, once told the Senate that “when prosecution is not viable… we have other techniques.” Please note the phrase, “when prosecution is not viable.” It means they don’t have evidence. Worse, CSIS officers are also vulnerable to “group think,” a by-product of a rigid hierarchy inherited from the RCMP. CSIS is not driven by analysis, but by operational types who think of themselves as analysts. Do you believe that Canada can depend on CSIS’ insight, experience and intelligence to identify the guilty? If you do, I recommend you join the public service. Pure bullshit seems to work.
   The ‘other techniques’ Hooper is referring to are central to CSIS activities. It means the target’s life will be ruined. Once, for example, there was a targeted communist professor who had problems in his personal relationship, so CSIS forged a letter on his girlfriend’s behalf alluding to an affair with somebody in England. It was torn to pieces and left conveniently in their bathroom wastebasket immediately after the girlfriend left for England for a conference. Great stuff, eh? From my vantage point for four years, CSIS seems to enjoy it.
   Gang-stalking is integral to a CSIS disrupt campaign. CSIS provides beat-up vehicles, radios and CSIS information to teams of unemployable and mostly young people, controlled by CSIS officers, to stalk the targets. They plant a small GPS device to the target’s vehicles and use software to chart the progress of the target’s vehicle on a map of the streets of Ottawa or Toronto. I have seen it. A monitor displaying the map is bolted to the dashboard on the passenger side of a van, and the van drives along with the target – along parallel streets or back alleys, mostly out of sight of the target. Out of curiosity, I drove into some of those alleys and found them there. If that’s not enough, they break into your house to plant eavesdropping devices and miniature cameras to learn of your plans before you leave your home. Their target doesn’t have a chance.
   In addition, CSIS has formed large teams of ‘friends’ (read: political friends) along the lines of Neighourhood Watch programs. Some are provided Blackberries for instant communication. Thus, there are at least three groups of people involved: CSIS officers, who act as team leaders and guide vehicles on the road, etc.; the ‘professional’ gangstalkers, mostly young people, even teenagers, who they bring in from other cities and lodge them in apartments close to the target; and the Neighbourhood Watch people, who are normal citizens living in the vicinity and unaware of the nature of the ‘problem’ that CSIS is seeking to resolve. Toss in the activities of Bell Canada, Canada Post and our municipalities – including their employees who are willing to borrow the vehicles of their employers on a moment’s notice – and you have Canada’s gang-stalking and anti-terrorist system all rolled into one. The logistics of running it are enormous, all paid for by the tripling of the CSIS budget over the past decade; money diverted from Canada’s health budget.
   Websites such as http://www.gangstalkingworld.com have arisen in Canada to comfort the victims. I encourage the reader to visit this site to see where Canada is going, and to understand the CSIS technique in case you are targeted. This could happen if you join a social-justice group, get political, whistle-blow on illegal activities within the government or look kindly on Muslims who are persecuted by the Gesta excuse me, I mean CSIS. There are excerpts in Dark Days, by Kerry Pither, illustrating these tactics against innocent Muslim Canadians, identical to those used against me. All the charges brought forward by Muslims are likely true. Canada isn’t exceptional, either. It is widespread in the United States, and a small-but-growing percentage of Americans have experienced gangstalking at some point in their lives according to one study. Police won’t help; they’re on their side. The media is oblivious.
   This is life under CSIS rule.
   And so, for roughly eight days in the spring of 2007, the behemoths standing in the centre of the sidewalks, arms folded, challenging me to pass… vanished. Chewed-over sunflower seeds were no longer spat at me in the Glebe. This brief hiatus, as I think back to it, was due to the realization by someone in CSIS that I was not a drug addict after all. How do I know this? Because, by April, any interest in my M-Eslon prescription ceased. It was replaced by aggressive flirtation by beautiful women. One woman, for example, who was standing in front of me at Starbucks in Chapters, South Keys turned and gave me a pregnant wink. Gee… me? The problem here is a three-headed lizard could have slithered behind this woman and she wouldn’t have known because her back was presented to me for the five seconds since I entered the store. Obviously, she was informed by radio or Blackberry that I was coming and raced to be there ahead of me. Most of the CSIS honey-trap approaches had the same awkward, who-the-fuck-are-you-kidding feel to them. They must have been designed by men.
   Once, a woman was walking between the bus-stops, as I often do when the bus service is slow, trying to catch up to me. When she did, she tried repeatedly to engage me in conversation about the bus service. I ignored her. After four or five failed attempts, she got fed up and somehow signaled for back-up because a car appeared suddenly, braking in front of her. She climbed in quickly and off they sped. The CSIS chauffeur service beats a tardy bus every time. On another occasion, a young Chinese girl did a bump-and-grind in front of my face on the #7 bus. A bit of a shock, actually, and when I looked into the eyes of the woman sitting beside me, she stood, wanting me to move to let her out. Her hard eyes told me that she was part of the CSIS ‘op’ too; i.e., she was saving her seat so the Chinese girl could sit next to me, which the girl did, pouting all the way home. CSIS operatives save seats on the bus or parking spaces regularly to facilitate an ‘accidentally on purpose’ meeting.
   On yet another occasion, a woman in high heels and a short dress was walking her dog down Clementine Blvd. But their timing was off and I was twenty paces behind and would soon turn on my street. No matter; she just reversed her direction and walked towards me. As I approached, she floated her eyes as if she was seconds away from an orgasm. Unfortunately for her, she also attracted a male driver who braked and… I didn’t stop to find out. When you are a balding, overweight 53-year-old as I am, you interpret these shenanigans as sarcasm. As for my spouse, she was sarcastic too.
   Then there were the sexual stare-athons aboard the #1 bus. Or the skank waiting for me at my place of work as I left the building, right after Lamontagne asked me pointedly when I was to going leave work. Or the woman who entered the roadhouse, ordered a drink while standing and placed it beside me, ignoring the long, empty bar that was available to her. Then she realized she was being too aggressive and moved her drink one stool away, and proceeded to grill me, if you’ll pardon the pun, on the lamb chop I had just eaten. It was supposed to be a pick-up line.
   After several episodes like this I was rolling my eyes and I reported it to Ken Lamontagne, my manager. To me, this was an escalation. To investigate anyone for possible drug addiction is a reasonable precaution if you’re in a highly-secure position, but to employ “honey traps,” a phrase from John le Carré’s spy novels, is an espionage practice. Put another way, to investigate anyone for potential drug addiction may mean the subject is drugs. If they use honey traps afterwards, the subject is you.
   In response to my very first report, Lamontagne told me I was delusional and pressed me to submit to a “Fitness to Work” assessment, which he recommended, said he, “as a friend.” I said no to my ‘friend.’ I was warned about how CSIS gets rid of public servants. They use gangstalking practices to prod a public servant to report it, and after an ex-CSIS manager assures you it isn’t possible, a tame psychologist will rule you ‘delusional.’ Your career is over, without a chance to work in the public service again. Even then I perceived it for what it was: the most naked threat I have ever received in my career.
   The over-arching question was why.
   It wasn’t until June 2007 that CSIS finally showed itself. They sent me an e-mail at work offering me a job as an intelligence officer, signed by “Natalie Gravelle” I believed the offer at first, although I don’t know if Natalie Gravelle really exists. By all means, write her at gravellen@smtp.gc.ca and see if she offers you a job. For authentication purposes, the server ‘smtp’ is apparently CSIS-owned and operated, as is, more obviously, the ‘gc’ suffix, which stands for the Government of Canada. I have corresponded several times to the address since then, and it was neither responded to nor returned with a ‘No Such Address’ server notice. I did experiment with other CSIS names for people I knew were assigned to CBSA, and their e-mail address was responded to with a ‘No Such Address.’ They must have fixed it by now.
   I showed this offer to Ken Lamontagne. As in: What is this, Ken? As in: Is it genuine and why are you not speaking to me first, as my manager? But Lamontagne only smirked. I printed it and showed it to my spouse, Betty Ann, who urged me to decline it. Too dangerous, she warned. Besides, CSIS has a nasty reputation as an employer. So I said no.
   Two days later, Ray Kaduck called. Ray is a tall, angular fellow with a biting wit who travelled frequently for CSIS and just received a plum assignment on a committee for past work well done. We met at Local Heroes.
   CSIS wanted me, said he, to penetrate the neo-Nazi movement.
   “What?!” I groaned.
   The CSIS ‘offer’ had a history behind it.
   I invite politicophiles to remember way back to the turmoil in the PC Party near the end of Brian Mulroney’s tenure in 1987-88. The PC party was fragmenting even then. The Bloc Quebecois and the Reform Party were aborning from the ashes. But before that, there were contending theories about what to do about the plummeting Tory brand. Can you remember the Christian Heritage Party or the Confederation of Regions Party?… the latter was briefly the official opposition in New Brunswick. I was heavily involved in this because I was the Legislative Assistant to Stan Graham, MP and the researcher for the Back Bench Committee, an informal group of Tory MPs who were a bit unhappy with Mulroney’s policies. I was so appalled with the way that Mulroney treated his caucus that some fellows and I created the Northern Foundation to organize the Blue Tories within the Federal Progressive Conservative riding associations; in other words, to reform the PC party from within.
   It didn’t work.
   What happened instead was this: in the aftermath of the Tory collapse, the Reform Party became the rallying point in English Canada. Unbeknownst to most Canadians, there were neo-Nazis in Canada who thought their time was also now. They apparently resolved to penetrate any conservative organization they could and, according to CSIS, neo-Nazis were at work penetrating the Reform Party and the Northern Foundation. In the latter case, the Foundation was penetrated by a neo-Nazi, a woman who, unbeknownst to us, was padding our mailing list with other neo-Nazis. It was solely my fault to invite her, but all I saw at the time was her industry. She was a widow with six children and, at first, hid her neo-Nazi sympathies very well. Over time she was exposed and since left the country – quite a story by itself, but it isn’t the story here. Read Warren Kinsella’s Web of Hate if you want to learn more.
   CSIS operates by soliciting assistance from the inside and are utterly reliant on their undeserved cachet with Canadians to obtain that assistance. In this case they asked an up-and-coming Reform Party politician for his help in ridding Canada and sensible people everywhere of this cancerous scourge. Apparently, he agreed.
   What I didn’t know in 1988 was that CSIS had targeted me.
   CSIS spent the 1990s using their ‘friends’ to spread the rumour that I was an anti-Semitic, anti-everything, short-mustached psychotic vegetarian with a girlfriend named Eva. It destroyed my career at Revenue Canada. I was investigated for two years by Internal Affairs in Revenue Canada for being a neo-Nazi, but I was cleared (see Evidence Directory #25a). Somebody was stationed outside my house at the time of the Oklahoma City bombing. Many directors couldn’t conceal their distaste of me as I passed them in the hall, some of whom I never met. Many of my successful job competitions suddenly developed irregularities, to the point where I was forced to relocate to Customs.
   CSIS got part of it right. I was a vegetarian for two years in the 1970s.
   So, was I a neo-Nazi? Nope. Was I even anti-Semitic? Nope. Did I deny the Holocaust, or use derogatory terms like the ‘n’ word, or believe in some form of genetic purification or think that Blacks are less intelligent than Whites? Never. In. My. Life. I came from a mostly-Jewish high school in Toronto where they taught me basketball and many other things besides, and I had a lot of fun. Even in Revenue Canada, several Jewish friends approached me over the years to mutter something like “You wouldn’t believe the bad things I’ve heard about you.” But never the Whites. Over time, the component of society that treated me the worst throughout my life was… the Whites. It sounds odd coming from a white guy, but to them I was an oddball. I have always known this. And the groups that treated me the best?… Blacks, Jews and Asians. Always. It’s another reason why I have such contempt for CSIS analysis. I never understood the anti-Semitic thing in the Middle East, but I do understand the damage done by Western Intelligence. Now, when I read the lunatic remarks from the current President of Iran whose name I can’t pronounce, I don’t read “Jew” at all.
   I read “Mossad.”
   We are paying the price from their unrestrained bullying.
   The Reform Party politician was good to his word and I became his target. He denounced me repeatedly throughout Eastern Ontario and Montreal as a neo-Nazi. I know this because people called and told me. I was perplexed because I thought we were on good terms. So when the Reform Party politician got a job as Deborah Grey’s assistant (Ms. Grey was the only Reform MP elected in 1988), I went to see him on Parliament Hill. Not only did he throw me out of Grey’s office, he had me banned from Parliament Hill. A Calgary MP saw my ‘Wanted’ poster inside the Commissionaires’ desk and passed the word along. The Reform Party politician did other things too, and let’s be honest, many Canadians would support his efforts to rid the Hill of neo-Nazis.
   He has done well working with CSIS.
   For one thing, he is now the Prime Minister of Canada.
   Life Under CSIS Rule
   Chapter II
   The ‘offer’ to penetrate the neo-Nazi movement as presented by Ray Kaduck was the most ridiculous I’ve ever received. Ray and I were sitting in Local Heroes, a popular roadhouse that caters to sports fans on south Bank, while he pitched the offer on CSIS’ behalf. I don’t know if he saw I was shaking my head in disgust. The ‘attraction’ for me was to spend quality time with neo-Nazis, and this was after I survived the CSIS slime-job in the 1990s and the associated health problems, which includes a suspected heart attack, serious stomach ailments and several stints of stress leave. Who could resist that gobsmacking offer! They even asked my manager, Ken Lamontagne, to investigate my lack of interest. I know this because he called me into his office and asked.
   This illustrates the gap I have witnessed about CSIS ruthlessness, on the one hand, and their inability to know why they’re being ruthless, on the other. Conversations with lawyers have revealed this observation as well, resulting in quips like “the ruthless Keystone Kops” and similar remarks. Here, CSIS seemed to have convinced itself that I would accept the offer, and asked some of their ‘friends’ to send me e-mails to convince me that neo-Nazis were a present danger, not the sparse collection of misfits they really were. Regardless of their thinking behind the offer, it stands as the total misunderstanding of the motive of the target (me). This is a CSIS hallmark. It is to Lamontagne’s credit that he understood, or so it seemed to me, that CSIS’ op against me was a little misdirected. Or maybe this was a good-cop, bad-cop routine. He also told me he resigned his original position in CSIS years ago because he needed to care for his son, Simon, in the aftermath of his divorce. I admired him for that. And by the way, the offer to work for CSIS was also bogus, which Lamontagne and several other CSIS people knew. They aimed to lure me from my job protection with CBSA, then I would be fired.
   This offer was so weird, in fact, it was the first time I seriously considered whether the Right Hon. Stephen Harper was the author of it.
   Twenty years previous, in 1988, Stephen Harper and I went to lunch at the Silver Fox Restaurant (now the Green Papaya) on Kent Street, about a half mile south of Parliament Hill, during which he offered me the job of being his campaign manager for his first federal campaign in Calgary West. I was honoured and I accepted. It would be my first campaign manager job at the federal level and I was heart-and-soul devoted to the success of the Reform Party, despite being the Legislative Assistant for Stan Graham, the Tory MP for Kootenay East – Revelstoke. It was the same LA position that Harper held under Jim Hawkes, the Tory MP in Calgary West, and the same riding he was about to challenge and to represent for many years afterwards.
   Already, Mulroney had serious problems with the Tory vote in English Canada – and more precisely, the support of Tory organizers like me – and though he won the 1988 election, he destroyed the federal Progressive Conservative Party in the process. Stan Graham was himself the Chairman of the Backbench Committee (BBC), for whom I was his only researcher. The BBC was a protest group of Members of Parliament within the Tory caucus, modeled on the Westminster precedent from 1922 in Britain, and numbering about three dozen. They were largely ineffectual over the years but had some small successes; most notably, the campaign within the caucus to defeat the planned outlawing of satellite dishes led by Alan Redway.
   In my opinion, this is exactly the way Parliament should operate, more like the American Senate than the collection of sycophants howling for junkets to New Zealand they have become. If Canadians really wanted to improve Parliament without the trouble of constitutional reform, they should press the official parties to rescind the Leaders’ power over the riding nominations papers. Granted, it would be messier, but democracy should be a messy affair. The media will have to hold their noses to tolerate MPs not like them. We’ll get some renegades and nutbars for sure, just as in the United States or the United Kingdom, but that should be the responsibility of the voters in the riding to correct, if needed. We’ll also get party leaders forced to reconcile their MPs’ concerns, and since their ridings are still tied to a geographical area, we would have legitimate representation within the House of Commons. The people opposed to such measures are those whose desires can be met through other means. Thus has our own class system been established.
   I had no idea at the time that CSIS had asked Harper to hire me, probably to lure me from my job with Stan Graham. It was stupid of me not to understand CSIS machinations, since Harper was so poor he couldn’t afford to hire me, let alone for work that he had no intention of me completing. He shared an apartment with his brother and only CSIS could have paid for my plane ticket. The Reform Party was also poor, but Harper relayed to me the news that Preston Manning has just landed a six-figure donation from some businessmen, which picked me up considerably.
   When I arrived at the Calgary airport, I was introduced to one of Harper’s closest friends, a balding, short man who was married with two young daughters. Harper told me that he was going to deduct $350/month from my salary to pay for my room, which was in his friend’s basement right beside his daughter’s playroom. I didn’t object, but I wasn’t happy about it. His friend lived outside the riding in the suburbs and, although I was offered the friend’s car to use if I needed to escape, it made me a bit queasy liberating his boat of a car in the evening so I only used it once.
   Harper knew, as did Preston Manning, that the Reform Party would win very few seats, if any, in the 1988 federal election. Manning himself didn’t want to win his riding in Yellowhead, where Joe Clark was an established MP and a former Prime Minister, because a victory would lock him in the House of Commons, enduring the trivialities of House procedure, the administration of his office and the flights back and forth from Ottawa. Manning was a revolutionary and he was from the West, and that was where his time would be spent most profitably. Harper told me these things, although it wasn’t a secret to most observers either. The margins won by the PCs in Alberta were only surpassed by the Trudeau Liberals in Quebec.
   Since Harper knew he would lose that election, his mantra was to not go into debt. Harper and I had a disagreement, though, about whether to only go through the motions of conducting an election, which was Harper’s view, or to put up some sort of fight, which was mine. Looking back, I was never the “campaign manager” and therefore had no real authority to press for active fundraising or ad campaigns, even if they were limited to putting lawn signs in unusual places. I was pushed aside, mainly by Harper’s friend, who was conducting the campaign indirectly and the $350/month he obtained for renting me his basement bedroom was how he got paid, courtesy of CSIS. Ultimately there was a showdown in the campaign office where Harper lost it, slamming the table insisting and shouting that he didn’t want to go into debt. I knew this. But without brochures and ads and events and fundraise to support them, you don’t have a campaign either, and I was agitating for activity in any direction. In the end, nothing happened. My activities were reduced to canvassing with Harper.
   There were a number of new subdivisions in Calgary West at the time, and I can remember trudging through them with Harper with the trademark cheap brochure for political newbies (transparent white paper, two colours, etc.), but the riding wasn’t low-rent. Big houses. Puny young trees. Their lawns, sidewalks and even the roads were still under construction, and there were a surprising number of already-successful new immigrants living there. I have canvassed with candidates before and you can learn a great deal about the person you are supporting. I have recently received a telephone call from a retiree in Calgary, for example, who opined that Stephen Harper was a hypocrite: in his Christianity and in his respectable demeanour that houses a take-no-prisoners ambition. I don’t believe that. During our walks, Harper seemed very genuine when he said that there is an order in the universe, and it wasn’t the byproduct of happenstance, meaning that he believed in God. I found this endearing. If people want salacious gossip on the Prime Minister, they are not going to get it here.
   On the other hand, to me he wanted to be PM even in 1988. It was evident he was going places and probably encouraged CSIS to recruit him, although I have my qualms about CSIS recruiting politicians as operatives because it places them in a conflict-of-interest situation. Their primary duty should be as an elected official, not James Bond. Still, Harper had patience. He waited for Jim Hawkes, who he dismissed as a ‘Dark Lord,’ a phrase that Harper shared with his brother who I met during the campaign, to fall from his “internal contradictions,” if you’ll pardon the Marxist turn of phrase, which Hawkes did along with the federal PC Party in 1992. It has since disappeared forever.
   I thought Harper was an intelligent opportunist as well. The resources of the National Citizen’s Coalition were put to investigate his candidacy for the leadership of the PC Party from the faltering hands of Joe Clark in the late 1990s just as the demand for merger on the political right was beginning to peak. The second phase would be to merge the PC Party with Reform, I can only imagine, and this outcome has since occurred, albeit following a different road map. In all, opportunism and patience seemed to me to be a good mix and the merger on the Right was inevitable. Nevertheless, I was angry at the way I was treated and resigned from his campaign. He phoned me just before I left, and we seemed to leave on good terms, which is as good as you can expect from a CSIS op.
   I had left his campaign for legitimate reasons: he ‘hired’ me under false pretences; namely, to run his campaign. He deducted part of my salary to lodge me in his friend’s basement during this campaign without consulting me. He called me an extremist repeatedly in that campaign when I had given him no cause to do so. We’re not talking about differences of opinion here, either. Any discussion that could have given rise to such claims simply didn’t come up… except on two occasions. Somehow the topic of abortion came up and Harper was shocked when I told him I was pro-choice and had been all my life. I can only theorize that, since I was under investigation by CSIS for being a neo-Nazi, they probably concluded that I must be pro-life – as neo-Nazis probably are, which may explain the bombing of Henry Morgantaler’s clinic – and passed such pearls of wisdom as ‘intelligence’ to Harper.
   On the second occasion where Harper might have a ‘difference of opinion,’ was an occasion where he seemed he was spending too much time listening to CSIS. This time, our conversation during our canvassing was about the overwhelming presence of liberal opinion within the national media. I told him I thought that conservatives, in order to gain power at the federal level, needed to ‘capture’ the media, by which I meant we needed to persuade the ‘intellectuals’ (this is Hayek talking here), or to set up an alternative media (Tory TV), or to buy them out (this is Conrad Black’s tactic) or to somehow dominate the media and get them to buy our vision. In 1988, this wasn’t happening. This is also a classic conservative reaction to the media generally. What Harper interpreted from my remarks was signaled by a “Whooooaaaa, are you ever extreme!” Namely, that I intended to kill them.
   I stared at him, shocked. If Harper misinterpreted such remarks regularly in his own Cabinet, the Cabinet wouldn’t function. I was an alleged neo-Nazi, don’t forget, so CSIS probably interpolated what real Nazis did in 1936… or some interpretation that fits their capabilities. To this day, I don’t hold Harper accountable for CSIS’ so-called Background on the Target (me) because I have sniffed CSIS intelligence before.
   It was after the election, however, that Harper’s behaviour verged on the incredible and, at the time, I attributed his viciousness to his personality. Nobody is that vicious, however. And so irrational! I have since realized that Harper was a CSIS operative years ago and his actions are attributable to CSIS directions (very CSIS), but don’t take my word for it. I have evidence to be presented later, but for now I offer the circumstances to the reader and let him or her reach their own conclusions. Remember that Harper had only met me two or three times before he offered me the job of campaign manager in his first campaign. He no way of knowing my organizational capabilities, presuming they even existed. There were no referrals. Would you, as a penniless, first-time candidate, pay to fly an unknown entity across the country to run your campaign? This is not only risky, but Harper generally is risk-averse, surely a touchstone in his own conservatism. Would you pay that person the balance of the campaign fee after he had resigned midway through? Harper did. No viciousness here, of course, but it is irrational, especially when you don’t have the money, unless the money is being provided from elsewhere.
   The 1988 election ended and Harper predictably lost, as did Preston Manning and the rest of the Reform candidates, except for Deborah Grey. Harper became Grey’s legislative assistant. Shortly after, I began to receive telephone calls from Kingston, Brockville, Montreal and other places reporting to me that Harper was “dissing” me, as the term goes, that I was an extremist of some sort. Always me; always Harper. I received a phone call from Link Byfield, a director of the Northern Foundation and the publisher of the Western Report, a conservative bible west of the Lakehead, also with news regarding Harper. I thought I had left his campaign on good terms, so I went to visit him in Deborah Grey’s office on Parliament Hill to resolve things.
   Harper was gone for a few minutes when I arrived so I sat to wait. He entered the office shortly after.
   “What are you doing here!” he demanded, only a few steps into the office.
   “I came to see you. Can we have a coffee?” There is a restaurant cafeteria a few floors over Grey’s office in the Confederation Building.
   He sat down. “How did you get in the building?” he demanded again, in a hostile tone and very loudly.
   I waved my still-valid pass to the House of Commons, a job I left for him. Already he had caught the attention of Deborah Grey, who I saw standing through the doorway into her office behind him, listening.
   He threw me out of her office. A few weeks later, Lee Richardson, still a MP from Calgary, happened to be sitting on the Commissionaire’s desk, and saw a ‘Wanted’ poster, if that’s the right term, with my ugly mug plastered on it. I had been declared persona non grata in the House of Commons.
   Only Harper could have done this.
   I had always been polite to Harper, and I had left his campaign for valid reasons, but this reaction is so extreme it can only be explained by his affiliation to CSIS. (I have since obtained a letter from CSIS declaring me a ‘subversive’ for possessing this information about Harper’s relationship to CSIS. (Evidence, 1a and 1b.). At the time, I was bewildered. The neo-Nazi woman in our midst, Anne Hartmann, who hadn’t been identified by us and excluded yet, was always pressing me to attack Harper through our publication, The Continuing Crisis and through rumour campaigns in which she was a self-identified expert. Whether the neo-Nazis had fingered Harper as a CSIS operative I have no idea. Sometimes they get it right.
   Concurrently, the most unflattering episode ever to involve CSIS with the Reform Party, Stephen Harper and Preston Manning unfolded. It involved the ‘perhaps-allegations’ that Preston Manning was secretly funded by South Africa, a phrase I use because, while it was never alleged directly (to my knowledge) that Preston was funded by the South African government, then an apartheid regime, it was certainly hinted at. Maurice Archdeacon, then the Chairman of the Security Intelligence Review Committee (SIRC) advised in the subcommittee minutes that the CSIS analyst involved should have subtitled the TARC 1 investigation as “unknown contributors to Preston Manning’s campaign.” It wasn’t even that.
   The investigation to which Mr. Archdeacon is referring is based on a joke, with tongue planted firmly in cheek, made by yours truly. The investigation was itself a joke. What is truly amazing is that CSIS still doesn’t know what happened, twenty years after the fact, and may be still investigating as I write this. Now they know. The answers were always available for the asking, but CSIS, as always, chooses the most expensive, error-ridden, ham-fisted, hiding-in-plain-sight method – that is to say, the bureaucratic method – known to Canada. They also get it wrong.
   And it does involve Stephen Harper. Shortly after the 1988 election, Harper approached the South African ambassador to Canada, Mr. Hendrik de Klerk, and allegedly warned him that “We know everything you are doing…” with respect to South Africa’s embassy’s relationship with myself. He named me specifically.
   “We know everything you are doing…?” Those were his words.
   First, who is ‘we’ in this context? Second, why would Stephen Harper speak to the South African ambassador at all? And why in such a threatening manner? He was a defeated candidate at the time without any official authority. Third, how would Harper know anything about the Northern Foundation’s acquaintance with the South African embassy, which was pretty scanty in the event? All these questions are answered by the simple truth that Stephen Harper worked for CSIS at the time.
   What actually happened was this. The Northern Foundation had just been born and fundraising was the key concern. The reason it was so key is because it was a kitchen-table operation from the beginning; a group of guys worried about their country’s future and thought that some organization at the riding level would be a good thing. The Vice-President at the time, Andrew Dynowski, chanced into a consultant cum lobbyist for the South African embassy whose name was obtained from an ancient “voter preferences” list from the Tory archives that are stored in the homes of organizers; which is to say, moi. Dynowski phoned. The consultant was in. He expressed interest in the Northern Foundation. Dynowski went to visit him.
   The South African consultant offered us a proposal: would we organize a debate on whether sanctions against apartheid South Africa were a good idea? This was 1988, remember. For us it couldn’t have been offered at a better time – not because the topic was part of our mandate, nor even on the top ten list of subjects of interest – nor was apartheid a secret love of anybody in our organization… and we hadn’t met Anne Hartmann yet. In 1988, apartheid was going down and everybody knew it. Everyone in our organization was a virulent opponent of communism, however, and reserves of strategic minerals such as chromium, titanium, molybdenum, zinc etc. that were vital for weapon systems were available only in South Africa – outside of the Soviet Union, that is – and therefore subordinated the liberation of black South Africans, who were led by the African National Congress, a Marxist organization, to the defeat of communism. Most educated conservatives knew this. It is no accident that President George Bush pere cut South Africa loose only after communism fell.
   It was in any embassy’s job description to improve its relationship with its host country, and South Africa’s embassy, as everybody also knew, was desperate for some positive public relations, and any positive public relations would do since Brian Mulroney and Joe Clark had decided that bashing South Africa was a sure vote-winner. We received some correspondence in Stan Graham’s office in 1988 in which Clark stated that apartheid was the primary evil in the world; a bit over the top in my opinion, but reflective of his thinking at the time.
   Most importantly, the fee to organize the debate included a sum for a computer and a laser printer which, in 1988, were very expensive and essential for getting the organization off the ground. The money didn’t even come from the embassy, but from a Canadian businessman. The debate came off, featuring William Rusher, the publisher for National Review magazine, the brainchild of William F. Buckley, and Gwynne Dyer, a noted CBC commentator. It went well. The South African regime collapsed a few years later, apparently not to be rescued by the outcome of the debate.
   It was some conversation between the cracks that is significant.
   As I said, the policies and behaviour of the Mulroney government after 1984 had fractured the Tory base already. It was the pomposity of Joe Clark, however, that seemed to grate on the nerves of the party grassroots. The fact that he was the favourite of media elites and the growth of a class system in Canadian politics, a phenomenon that was identified later by the Spicer Commission, fed the fire of resentment. It reached the point where, after Preston Manning announced his candidacy to challenge Clark in the riding of Yellowhead, Tory grassroots organizers in Eastern Ontario were cheering loudly for Preston’s prospects, and many of these were on the mailing list of the Northern Foundation. Unfortunately, CSIS decided that being a smart ass is a national-security threat. I suggested to the fellows in the Foundation that “Hey, why don’t we ship these guys to Yellowhead to canvass for Preston? And why not get the South African embassy to pay for it? After all, Joe and the South African embassy hate each other?” Picture my eyebrows dancing.
   It caused a whole train to move.
   I knew beforehand that obtaining money from a foreign source to influence a domestic election is a no-no. On the other hand, it happens all the time, and I’ve always wondered how Brian Mulroney managed to obtain foreign money to win the PC leadership in 1983 without more criticism. I’ll let the reader conclude what happened during Mulroney’s tenure after that. So I did mention this to the consultant, mainly because my penchant at the time was to shock people. And I did. The consultant laughed. He knew it was a non-starter, too, and there it died. I forgot about it. My main preoccupation was the Meech Lake Accord.
   Enter Andrew Dynowski.
   Dynowski was always an iffy character. He is a tall, lanky man who couldn’t help grinning whenever the topic of conversation grew serious. He had, by this time, ran as a Social Credit candidate in the Carleton riding a few years back under the leadership of John Turmel, a renowned gambler and perennial political candidate in Ottawa, who was seen frequently wearing a construction hat and brandishing a picket sign protesting monetary policies and the banks. Suffice to say, Dynowski was made the Vice-president only because he happened to be there.
   One hot summer evening, Dynowski and I went to the Market, Ottawa’s nightclub district, for a few beers. We left early and I was in bed by 10 pm. At 3:00 am., I was awakened by a phone call. It was Dynowski.
   “If the police call, tell them I spent the night with you,” he announced.
   Well, he did, sort of. I asked him what was going on. He told me that he was awakened by a yappy dog from a house around the corner. He still lived with his mother and, wearing only a pair of shorts, went in search of the dog with a pair of vice-grips in one hand and a hammer or screwdriver in the other.
   “What were you going to do with the dog after you found it?” I asked apprehensively. He said he didn’t know.
   He never found the dog, likely because it was taken in as the result of the barking. He told me that there happened to be a Canada Post official who lived nearby, however, and this particular official was a former supervisor of Dynowski. Dynowski didn’t like him. There also happened to be a lawn ornament in the supervisor’s front lawn, something that looked like a horse jockey, according to Dynowski’s description, so he destroyed it. Then he left. A police cruiser drove by shortly after, likely in response to a phone call reporting some commotion, and the police stopped Dynowski for questioning on his way back home, still wearing only his shorts and carrying the tools in his hand. He told the police that he had spent all this time with me. They took his particulars and let him go. Then he called me.
   I hung up the phone that night thinking that we have to get rid of this guy. He was replaced by Anne Hartman, who had been given a glowing recommendation by a close American friend, and I never phoned Dynowski again. Other than my failure to contact him further, he had no other issue with me since I had paid him the same (small) amount of money that I received for the work done to date. I thought he was a malicious screw-up, but I didn’t tell him that.
   Somehow enraged, Dynowski went to CSIS to allege that the Northern Foundation was funneling South African money in significant amounts to Preston Manning’s campaign. Except for his name, this recounting of events can be confirmed on the internet. Dynowski went to the media with similar allegations and left a threatening phone message on my answering machine. “You’d better call me!…”
   It was somehow enough to motivate CSIS to launch a TARC level I investigation into Preston’s electoral campaign and generated sufficient attention to occupy the time of Security Intelligence Review Committee (SIRC) and a subcommittee on Parliament Hill. It was also sent to the Federal Cabinet. You can tell you’re a pariah when a Minister glares at you when you meet him on the street. This happened to me several times.
   Think about the implications of one disgruntled individual’s impact on a national political party. You can read about some of them on the internet, but there has been significant discussion in the political backrooms and within CSIS as well.
   Since much of this activity predated the 1988 federal election, one must wonder how much of a role it played recruiting Stephen Harper to CSIS’ ranks and their subsequent decision to target me. After all, South Africa = neo-Nazi, right? One must also wonder whether Harper was instructed by CSIS to monitor Preston Manning himself, since Harper was the policy chief of the Reform Party at the time, and after all, who would know whether Preston really was receiving money from South Africa after Dynowski’s blustery entrance. CSIS could have asked me, since I was fairly close to a senior CSIS official named Allan Bird (I was his lecturer in an International Relations course at Carleton University) and had already provided CSIS with tidbits of information that came my way simply because I was (or so I thought) a loyal Canadian. I was even offered a job as a prospective “gangstalker” on Bird’s instruction, although I didn’t know what the job entailed at the time. This happened in 1984. By that point, too, I had already applied for a job at CSIS, being the naive fool that I am. The point is, I wasn’t a stranger.
   According to the dissenting report filed by Val Meredith, MP for the Reform Party, CSIS was also highly suspicious of Dynowski as a credible witness, and they were right to be. But they responded to it anyway! A great deal of time, effort and money was wasted. Reports were written. Policy changes were made regarding the efforts required to obtain TARC targeting authority and some heartache was surely inflicted on poor Preston Manning. Reports on the aftershocks in committee on Parliament Hill date as recently as 1995, seven years later, according to material obtainable over the internet. Most of the content above can be substantiated through the internet or through discussions with Val Meredith, Preston Manning, et. al.
   This is why CSIS is ‘the ruthless Keystone Kops.’
   And it gets worse.
   * * *
   For me, all this happened roughly 20 years ago.
   I like to believe that a sitting Prime Minister would not have the interest, inclination or time to stoop to interfere with a ‘target’ from twenty years previous. On the other hand, does not Stephen Harper have a reputation as a vindictive sort or no? A control freak maybe? After I recounted this story to an intelligent woman whose judgment I respect, she thought Harper was responsible for it too.
   Anyway, I said no (again) to CSIS’ offer to join their ranks.
   CSIS wouldn’t take no for an answer, apparently.
   Thus, the ongoing gangstalking campaign in June 2007 was tailored to make it seem as though I was being ‘escorted’ to my lunchtime swim, or for coffee, or during my walks home in order to persuade me that I really really wanted to be part of the CSIS team. And when you’re part of the team, these ‘escorts,’ according to Ray Kaduck, were part of their standard operating procedure; in this case, to protect me from neo-Nazis. I don’t see many neo-Nazis on the streets in Ottawa. Unless it is Hallowe’en, you won’t either. The ‘harassment’ crew was less visible. The ‘escorters’ now seemed to be civil servants from my building. Many of them – Marc-Rene Ouellette, Doug Jenkins, Daryl Stevenson or Tom Torosian come to mind – seemed to respond to CSIS direction much more quickly than from CBSA, their employer. CSIS had a separate office on 300 Slater St. just to monitor me. Over time, I recognized many of the occupants.
   “Why are they doing this?” I asked Lamontagne about CSIS.
   “Just ignore them. That’s my advice.”
   And for the most part, I ignored them.
   CSIS had set up a ‘static post’ in an apartment behind our house on 1174 Rockingham St. that overlooks our bedroom window, my office window and our backyard. The CSIS gangstalkers, and, one supposes, the CSIS officers themselves, used their own kids and friends of their kids to catcall and harass my wife. The sight of 14-year-old girls swinging their legs over the balcony was a scene right out of ‘Deliverance.’ The ‘residents’ there cut circles in our foliage to have unfettered line-of-sight. When I brought this subject to Ken Lamontagne, he replied, “They’re not supposed to do that.”
   CSIS does a lot of things they are not supposed to do.
   CSIS followed us to our cottage in PEI in the summer. On the way back, they even waited on the highway as we stopped for gas. One priceless moment occurred in Old Quebec City, our favourite place for my wife and me to spend a romantic night on our return trip to Ottawa. We walked the cobblestones to window-shop, to sight-see, stopping somewhere unique for dinner and, in the morning, to a funky café for cappuccino and croissants. I separated myself from my wife for a few minutes, venturing about 40 yards down an old alley to a small intersection. There three small cars raced in, one from each direction, and stopped in front of me, braking with flourish. The drivers of each car leapt out of their cars as though they were police officers penning in an escaped felon. It was a very well-executed maneuver, but there was no punch-line. I turned and rejoined my wife.
   By September, Lamontagne gave me an assignment, or more precisely, a ‘make-work’ assignment that public servants recognize instantly. Normally, a ‘make-work’ assignment is assigned to a guy they don’t like or want to lose, but haven’t figured out how to get rid of him yet. The assignment is to preoccupy him. Lamontagne worked to isolate me from my co-workers, apparently a mainstay of CSIS strategy. I was never informed of developments within the section. He even dis-invited me from attending section meetings of which I was a member. But I applied myself to my make-work assignment. Periodically, Lamontagne would march into the centre of our windowless secure room we call the ‘Box’ to verify that I was indeed working at my desk and return to his waiting telephone. Sometimes he would wander to my desk and announce in a loud voice for my colleagues’ benefit, “No-one is out to get you, Gareth!”
   Sometimes I read in the washroom. So CSIS put a camera in the stall right in front of me, perhaps to save them the bother of following me back and forth from the facilities. This was a top-secret operation supposedly, but much of my directorate knew a great deal already. I could see it on their faces. Top-Secret-cleared people gossip more, not less; particularly the smokers who have nothing to do during their smoke breaks except to gossip. One woman took up smoking just to be part of the gossip chain. Some people grimaced in front of me at the thought of what I was going through. In admiration of their humanity, I won’t name them here.
   For a long time I presumed that this obscene exercise was to judge my loyalty under stress. CSIS sent a number of their ‘friends’ to tell me they heard I was getting a wicked promotion. Lamontagne once said, very late in the game, “It looks like we can trust you after all.”
   Whatever.
   I realized I was waiting for the shoe to drop.
   It finally did in January 2008, an entire year after it began.

   Gareth Llewellyn and his lovely wife Betty Ann Bryanton
   ____________________________________________________________________________

   My wife and I were married in Antigua, West Indies in front of family and friends on January 15. The CSIS officers were obvious. They had a security guard positioned on a hill overlooking our suite. Several Canadians were sitting alone in the bar at all hours. One Canadian’s scowl could have poisoned their drinks as I bumped into him as he left the nearby men’s room. They followed me everywhere; watched everything I did. It’s interesting that you can recognize fellow Canadians in a foreign country. They even planted a honey trap on the day before my wedding. The guests returned to Canada on January 20th and my wife and I retreated to another resort on the island for our honeymoon.
   CSIS then returned to their harassment activities, positioning themselves close as to overhear our whispered intimacies under the moonlight, or to stalk my wife on the beach, or to engage in the art of coitus interruptus (really), which I imagine required that our honeymoon cabin was bugged. Leaving aside the sheer malice of gangstalking a man during his honeymoon, I draw the reader’s attention to it here for reasons to be discussed later. I also noticed that several of the Antiguan nationals were used in surveillance. By then I had had enough.
   I confronted one of the interlopers as he was sitting near the pool. “Let’s have a chat,” said I, nose-to-nose, leaning on the armrests.
   He instantly waved his arms to ward off any forthcoming blows. Backup was already coming, waved in by a female friend.
   The interloper mumbled something in a very British accent.
   Surprised, I asked, “Where are you from?”
   “London.” Not London, Ontario. He was still waving his arms.
   “You’re not Canadian?”
   “No.”
   I left him, reeling inside. What in the hell are Brits doing with me?! He slapped my back in gratitude as I left him.
   Antiguan nationals? Brits?
   Now, what do Canada, Antigua and Britain have in common? They are part of the Commonwealth, right? Now… who is missing? Hint: have you ever heard that the Caribbean is an “American lake?”
   The shoe fell with a thud.
   CSIS thought I was an American spy. There is a history behind that, too.
   Life Under CSIS Rule
   Chapter III
   It wasn’t a eureka-moment when I realized that CSIS thought I was an American spy, but percolated through my consciousness slowly, jostling for attention among my other concerns. I was in Antigua, an island I hadn’t seen since I was twelve when my parents were part of a CIDA program there, and I was still on my honeymoon, which should be really about your wife’s happiness and her memories, not yours. This is good, because my memory is how they stalked my wife on the beach. I was disgusted that anybody would gangstalk anyone on their honeymoon, and I sent an e-mail in response from Antigua to Ken Lamontagne, my manager in Canada, who behaved for months as if I was under consideration for some big promotion to CSIS, to please tell CSIS to go to hell. The Deputy Director of Operations at CSIS made this decision. His name is Luc Portelance, and now, all of things, he’s with CBSA, five rungs above me.
   It had crossed my mind before that CSIS might think I was an American spy, but I had dismissed it as ludicrous. Eighteen years ago, in 1990, a lot of my friends were from the British, American or Australian embassies. We played paintball with their families. The Cold War had just ended and we celebrated by drinking beer and talking politics at the original Mexicali Rosa’s in the Glebe. Two of them, Dr. John Whitehall of Australia, who worked for the Christian Anti-Communism Crusade (you had to have big personality to work for an organization with a name like that) and Tim, the personnel officer at the American embassy, were close friends. Tim gave me a tour of their embassy, and a glance inside t

10. 

    more…
    ————–
    This is life under CSIS rule.
    And so, for roughly eight days in the spring of 2007, the behemoths standing in the centre of the sidewalks, arms folded, challenging me to pass… vanished. Chewed-over sunflower seeds were no longer spat at me in the Glebe. This brief hiatus, as I think back to it, was due to the realization by someone in CSIS that I was not a drug addict after all. How do I know this? Because, by April, any interest in my M-Eslon prescription ceased. It was replaced by aggressive flirtation by beautiful women. One woman, for example, who was standing in front of me at Starbucks in Chapters, South Keys turned and gave me a pregnant wink. Gee… me? The problem here is a three-headed lizard could have slithered behind this woman and she wouldn’t have known because her back was presented to me for the five seconds since I entered the store. Obviously, she was informed by radio or Blackberry that I was coming and raced to be there ahead of me. Most of the CSIS honey-trap approaches had the same awkward, who-the-fuck-are-you-kidding feel to them. They must have been designed by men.
    Once, a woman was walking between the bus-stops, as I often do when the bus service is slow, trying to catch up to me. When she did, she tried repeatedly to engage me in conversation about the bus service. I ignored her. After four or five failed attempts, she got fed up and somehow signaled for back-up because a car appeared suddenly, braking in front of her. She climbed in quickly and off they sped. The CSIS chauffeur service beats a tardy bus every time. On another occasion, a young Chinese girl did a bump-and-grind in front of my face on the #7 bus. A bit of a shock, actually, and when I looked into the eyes of the woman sitting beside me, she stood, wanting me to move to let her out. Her hard eyes told me that she was part of the CSIS ‘op’ too; i.e., she was saving her seat so the Chinese girl could sit next to me, which the girl did, pouting all the way home. CSIS operatives save seats on the bus or parking spaces regularly to facilitate an ‘accidentally on purpose’ meeting.
    On yet another occasion, a woman in high heels and a short dress was walking her dog down Clementine Blvd. But their timing was off and I was twenty paces behind and would soon turn on my street. No matter; she just reversed her direction and walked towards me. As I approached, she floated her eyes as if she was seconds away from an orgasm. Unfortunately for her, she also attracted a male driver who braked and… I didn’t stop to find out. When you are a balding, overweight 53-year-old as I am, you interpret these shenanigans as sarcasm. As for my spouse, she was sarcastic too.
    Then there were the sexual stare-athons aboard the #1 bus. Or the skank waiting for me at my place of work as I left the building, right after Lamontagne asked me pointedly when I was to going leave work. Or the woman who entered the roadhouse, ordered a drink while standing and placed it beside me, ignoring the long, empty bar that was available to her. Then she realized she was being too aggressive and moved her drink one stool away, and proceeded to grill me, if you’ll pardon the pun, on the lamb chop I had just eaten. It was supposed to be a pick-up line.
    After several episodes like this I was rolling my eyes and I reported it to Ken Lamontagne, my manager. To me, this was an escalation. To investigate anyone for possible drug addiction is a reasonable precaution if you’re in a highly-secure position, but to employ “honey traps,” a phrase from John le Carré’s spy novels, is an espionage practice. Put another way, to investigate anyone for potential drug addiction may mean the subject is drugs. If they use honey traps afterwards, the subject is you.
    In response to my very first report, Lamontagne told me I was delusional and pressed me to submit to a “Fitness to Work” assessment, which he recommended, said he, “as a friend.” I said no to my ‘friend.’ I was warned about how CSIS gets rid of public servants. They use gangstalking practices to prod a public servant to report it, and after an ex-CSIS manager assures you it isn’t possible, a tame psychologist will rule you ‘delusional.’ Your career is over, without a chance to work in the public service again. Even then I perceived it for what it was: the most naked threat I have ever received in my career.
    The over-arching question was why.
    It wasn’t until June 2007 that CSIS finally showed itself. They sent me an e-mail at work offering me a job as an intelligence officer, signed by “Natalie Gravelle” I believed the offer at first, although I don’t know if Natalie Gravelle really exists. By all means, write her at gravellen@smtp.gc.ca and see if she offers you a job. For authentication purposes, the server ‘smtp’ is apparently CSIS-owned and operated, as is, more obviously, the ‘gc’ suffix, which stands for the Government of Canada. I have corresponded several times to the address since then, and it was neither responded to nor returned with a ‘No Such Address’ server notice. I did experiment with other CSIS names for people I knew were assigned to CBSA, and their e-mail address was responded to with a ‘No Such Address.’ They must have fixed it by now.
    I showed this offer to Ken Lamontagne. As in: What is this, Ken? As in: Is it genuine and why are you not speaking to me first, as my manager? But Lamontagne only smirked. I printed it and showed it to my spouse, Betty Ann, who urged me to decline it. Too dangerous, she warned. Besides, CSIS has a nasty reputation as an employer. So I said no.
    Two days later, Ray Kaduck called. Ray is a tall, angular fellow with a biting wit who travelled frequently for CSIS and just received a plum assignment on a committee for past work well done. We met at Local Heroes.
    CSIS wanted me, said he, to penetrate the neo-Nazi movement.
    “What?!” I groaned.
    The CSIS ‘offer’ had a history behind it.
    I invite politicophiles to remember way back to the turmoil in the PC Party near the end of Brian Mulroney’s tenure in 1987-88. The PC party was fragmenting even then. The Bloc Quebecois and the Reform Party were aborning from the ashes. But before that, there were contending theories about what to do about the plummeting Tory brand. Can you remember the Christian Heritage Party or the Confederation of Regions Party?… the latter was briefly the official opposition in New Brunswick. I was heavily involved in this because I was the Legislative Assistant to Stan Graham, MP and the researcher for the Back Bench Committee, an informal group of Tory MPs who were a bit unhappy with Mulroney’s policies. I was so appalled with the way that Mulroney treated his caucus that some fellows and I created the Northern Foundation to organize the Blue Tories within the Federal Progressive Conservative riding associations; in other words, to reform the PC party from within.
    It didn’t work.
    What happened instead was this: in the aftermath of the Tory collapse, the Reform Party became the rallying point in English Canada. Unbeknownst to most Canadians, there were neo-Nazis in Canada who thought their time was also now. They apparently resolved to penetrate any conservative organization they could and, according to CSIS, neo-Nazis were at work penetrating the Reform Party and the Northern Foundation. In the latter case, the Foundation was penetrated by a neo-Nazi, a woman who, unbeknownst to us, was padding our mailing list with other neo-Nazis. It was solely my fault to invite her, but all I saw at the time was her industry. She was a widow with six children and, at first, hid her neo-Nazi sympathies very well. Over time she was exposed and since left the country – quite a story by itself, but it isn’t the story here. Read Warren Kinsella’s Web of Hate if you want to learn more.
    CSIS operates by soliciting assistance from the inside and are utterly reliant on their undeserved cachet with Canadians to obtain that assistance. In this case they asked an up-and-coming Reform Party politician for his help in ridding Canada and sensible people everywhere of this cancerous scourge. Apparently, he agreed.
    What I didn’t know in 1988 was that CSIS had targeted me.
    CSIS spent the 1990s using their ‘friends’ to spread the rumour that I was an anti-Semitic, anti-everything, short-mustached psychotic vegetarian with a girlfriend named Eva. It destroyed my career at Revenue Canada. I was investigated for two years by Internal Affairs in Revenue Canada for being a neo-Nazi, but I was cleared (see Evidence Directory #25a). Somebody was stationed outside my house at the time of the Oklahoma City bombing. Many directors couldn’t conceal their distaste of me as I passed them in the hall, some of whom I never met. Many of my successful job competitions suddenly developed irregularities, to the point where I was forced to relocate to Customs.
    CSIS got part of it right. I was a vegetarian for two years in the 1970s.
    So, was I a neo-Nazi? Nope. Was I even anti-Semitic? Nope. Did I deny the Holocaust, or use derogatory terms like the ‘n’ word, or believe in some form of genetic purification or think that Blacks are less intelligent than Whites? Never. In. My. Life. I came from a mostly-Jewish high school in Toronto where they taught me basketball and many other things besides, and I had a lot of fun. Even in Revenue Canada, several Jewish friends approached me over the years to mutter something like “You wouldn’t believe the bad things I’ve heard about you.” But never the Whites. Over time, the component of society that treated me the worst throughout my life was… the Whites. It sounds odd coming from a white guy, but to them I was an oddball. I have always known this. And the groups that treated me the best?… Blacks, Jews and Asians. Always. It’s another reason why I have such contempt for CSIS analysis. I never understood the anti-Semitic thing in the Middle East, but I do understand the damage done by Western Intelligence. Now, when I read the lunatic remarks from the current President of Iran whose name I can’t pronounce, I don’t read “Jew” at all.
    I read “Mossad.”
    We are paying the price from their unrestrained bullying.
    The Reform Party politician was good to his word and I became his target. He denounced me repeatedly throughout Eastern Ontario and Montreal as a neo-Nazi. I know this because people called and told me. I was perplexed because I thought we were on good terms. So when the Reform Party politician got a job as Deborah Grey’s assistant (Ms. Grey was the only Reform MP elected in 1988), I went to see him on Parliament Hill. Not only did he throw me out of Grey’s office, he had me banned from Parliament Hill. A Calgary MP saw my ‘Wanted’ poster inside the Commissionaires’ desk and passed the word along. The Reform Party politician did other things too, and let’s be honest, many Canadians would support his efforts to rid the Hill of neo-Nazis.
    He has done well working with CSIS.
    For one thing, he is now the Prime Minister of Canada.
    Life Under CSIS Rule
    Chapter II
    The ‘offer’ to penetrate the neo-Nazi movement as presented by Ray Kaduck was the most ridiculous I’ve ever received. Ray and I were sitting in Local Heroes, a popular roadhouse that caters to sports fans on south Bank, while he pitched the offer on CSIS’ behalf. I don’t know if he saw I was shaking my head in disgust. The ‘attraction’ for me was to spend quality time with neo-Nazis, and this was after I survived the CSIS slime-job in the 1990s and the associated health problems, which includes a suspected heart attack, serious stomach ailments and several stints of stress leave. Who could resist that gobsmacking offer! They even asked my manager, Ken Lamontagne, to investigate my lack of interest. I know this because he called me into his office and asked.
    This illustrates the gap I have witnessed about CSIS ruthlessness, on the one hand, and their inability to know why they’re being ruthless, on the other. Conversations with lawyers have revealed this observation as well, resulting in quips like “the ruthless Keystone Kops” and similar remarks. Here, CSIS seemed to have convinced itself that I would accept the offer, and asked some of their ‘friends’ to send me e-mails to convince me that neo-Nazis were a present danger, not the sparse collection of misfits they really were. Regardless of their thinking behind the offer, it stands as the total misunderstanding of the motive of the target (me). This is a CSIS hallmark. It is to Lamontagne’s credit that he understood, or so it seemed to me, that CSIS’ op against me was a little misdirected. Or maybe this was a good-cop, bad-cop routine. He also told me he resigned his original position in CSIS years ago because he needed to care for his son, Simon, in the aftermath of his divorce. I admired him for that. And by the way, the offer to work for CSIS was also bogus, which Lamontagne and several other CSIS people knew. They aimed to lure me from my job protection with CBSA, then I would be fired.
    This offer was so weird, in fact, it was the first time I seriously considered whether the Right Hon. Stephen Harper was the author of it.
    Twenty years previous, in 1988, Stephen Harper and I went to lunch at the Silver Fox Restaurant (now the Green Papaya) on Kent Street, about a half mile south of Parliament Hill, during which he offered me the job of being his campaign manager for his first federal campaign in Calgary West. I was honoured and I accepted. It would be my first campaign manager job at the federal level and I was heart-and-soul devoted to the success of the Reform Party, despite being the Legislative Assistant for Stan Graham, the Tory MP for Kootenay East – Revelstoke. It was the same LA position that Harper held under Jim Hawkes, the Tory MP in Calgary West, and the same riding he was about to challenge and to represent for many years afterwards.
    Already, Mulroney had serious problems with the Tory vote in English Canada – and more precisely, the support of Tory organizers like me – and though he won the 1988 election, he destroyed the federal Progressive Conservative Party in the process. Stan Graham was himself the Chairman of the Backbench Committee (BBC), for whom I was his only researcher. The BBC was a protest group of Members of Parliament within the Tory caucus, modeled on the Westminster precedent from 1922 in Britain, and numbering about three dozen. They were largely ineffectual over the years but had some small successes; most notably, the campaign within the caucus to defeat the planned outlawing of satellite dishes led by Alan Redway.
    In my opinion, this is exactly the way Parliament should operate, more like the American Senate than the collection of sycophants howling for junkets to New Zealand they have become. If Canadians really wanted to improve Parliament without the trouble of constitutional reform, they should press the official parties to rescind the Leaders’ power over the riding nominations papers. Granted, it would be messier, but democracy should be a messy affair. The media will have to hold their noses to tolerate MPs not like them. We’ll get some renegades and nutbars for sure, just as in the United States or the United Kingdom, but that should be the responsibility of the voters in the riding to correct, if needed. We’ll also get party leaders forced to reconcile their MPs’ concerns, and since their ridings are still tied to a geographical area, we would have legitimate representation within the House of Commons. The people opposed to such measures are those whose desires can be met through other means. Thus has our own class system been established.
    I had no idea at the time that CSIS had asked Harper to hire me, probably to lure me from my job with Stan Graham. It was stupid of me not to understand CSIS machinations, since Harper was so poor he couldn’t afford to hire me, let alone for work that he had no intention of me completing. He shared an apartment with his brother and only CSIS could have paid for my plane ticket. The Reform Party was also poor, but Harper relayed to me the news that Preston Manning has just landed a six-figure donation from some businessmen, which picked me up considerably.
    When I arrived at the Calgary airport, I was introduced to one of Harper’s closest friends, a balding, short man who was married with two young daughters. Harper told me that he was going to deduct $350/month from my salary to pay for my room, which was in his friend’s basement right beside his daughter’s playroom. I didn’t object, but I wasn’t happy about it. His friend lived outside the riding in the suburbs and, although I was offered the friend’s car to use if I needed to escape, it made me a bit queasy liberating his boat of a car in the evening so I only used it once.
    Harper knew, as did Preston Manning, that the Reform Party would win very few seats, if any, in the 1988 federal election. Manning himself didn’t want to win his riding in Yellowhead, where Joe Clark was an established MP and a former Prime Minister, because a victory would lock him in the House of Commons, enduring the trivialities of House procedure, the administration of his office and the flights back and forth from Ottawa. Manning was a revolutionary and he was from the West, and that was where his time would be spent most profitably. Harper told me these things, although it wasn’t a secret to most observers either. The margins won by the PCs in Alberta were only surpassed by the Trudeau Liberals in Quebec.
    Since Harper knew he would lose that election, his mantra was to not go into debt. Harper and I had a disagreement, though, about whether to only go through the motions of conducting an election, which was Harper’s view, or to put up some sort of fight, which was mine. Looking back, I was never the “campaign manager” and therefore had no real authority to press for active fundraising or ad campaigns, even if they were limited to putting lawn signs in unusual places. I was pushed aside, mainly by Harper’s friend, who was conducting the campaign indirectly and the $350/month he obtained for renting me his basement bedroom was how he got paid, courtesy of CSIS. Ultimately there was a showdown in the campaign office where Harper lost it, slamming the table insisting and shouting that he didn’t want to go into debt. I knew this. But without brochures and ads and events and fundraise to support them, you don’t have a campaign either, and I was agitating for activity in any direction. In the end, nothing happened. My activities were reduced to canvassing with Harper.
    There were a number of new subdivisions in Calgary West at the time, and I can remember trudging through them with Harper with the trademark cheap brochure for political newbies (transparent white paper, two colours, etc.), but the riding wasn’t low-rent. Big houses. Puny young trees. Their lawns, sidewalks and even the roads were still under construction, and there were a surprising number of already-successful new immigrants living there. I have canvassed with candidates before and you can learn a great deal about the person you are supporting. I have recently received a telephone call from a retiree in Calgary, for example, who opined that Stephen Harper was a hypocrite: in his Christianity and in his respectable demeanour that houses a take-no-prisoners ambition. I don’t believe that. During our walks, Harper seemed very genuine when he said that there is an order in the universe, and it wasn’t the byproduct of happenstance, meaning that he believed in God. I found this endearing. If people want salacious gossip on the Prime Minister, they are not going to get it here.
    On the other hand, to me he wanted to be PM even in 1988. It was evident he was going places and probably encouraged CSIS to recruit him, although I have my qualms about CSIS recruiting politicians as operatives because it places them in a conflict-of-interest situation. Their primary duty should be as an elected official, not James Bond. Still, Harper had patience. He waited for Jim Hawkes, who he dismissed as a ‘Dark Lord,’ a phrase that Harper shared with his brother who I met during the campaign, to fall from his “internal contradictions,” if you’ll pardon the Marxist turn of phrase, which Hawkes did along with the federal PC Party in 1992. It has since disappeared forever.
    I thought Harper was an intelligent opportunist as well. The resources of the National Citizen’s Coalition were put to investigate his candidacy for the leadership of the PC Party from the faltering hands of Joe Clark in the late 1990s just as the demand for merger on the political right was beginning to peak. The second phase would be to merge the PC Party with Reform, I can only imagine, and this outcome has since occurred, albeit following a different road map. In all, opportunism and patience seemed to me to be a good mix and the merger on the Right was inevitable. Nevertheless, I was angry at the way I was treated and resigned from his campaign. He phoned me just before I left, and we seemed to leave on good terms, which is as good as you can expect from a CSIS op.
    I had left his campaign for legitimate reasons: he ‘hired’ me under false pretences; namely, to run his campaign. He deducted part of my salary to lodge me in his friend’s basement during this campaign without consulting me. He called me an extremist repeatedly in that campaign when I had given him no cause to do so. We’re not talking about differences of opinion here, either. Any discussion that could have given rise to such claims simply didn’t come up… except on two occasions. Somehow the topic of abortion came up and Harper was shocked when I told him I was pro-choice and had been all my life. I can only theorize that, since I was under investigation by CSIS for being a neo-Nazi, they probably concluded that I must be pro-life – as neo-Nazis probably are, which may explain the bombing of Henry Morgantaler’s clinic – and passed such pearls of wisdom as ‘intelligence’ to Harper.
    On the second occasion where Harper might have a ‘difference of opinion,’ was an occasion where he seemed he was spending too much time listening to CSIS. This time, our conversation during our canvassing was about the overwhelming presence of liberal opinion within the national media. I told him I thought that conservatives, in order to gain power at the federal level, needed to ‘capture’ the media, by which I meant we needed to persuade the ‘intellectuals’ (this is Hayek talking here), or to set up an alternative media (Tory TV), or to buy them out (this is Conrad Black’s tactic) or to somehow dominate the media and get them to buy our vision. In 1988, this wasn’t happening. This is also a classic conservative reaction to the media generally. What Harper interpreted from my remarks was signaled by a “Whooooaaaa, are you ever extreme!” Namely, that I intended to kill them.
    I stared at him, shocked. If Harper misinterpreted such remarks regularly in his own Cabinet, the Cabinet wouldn’t function. I was an alleged neo-Nazi, don’t forget, so CSIS probably interpolated what real Nazis did in 1936… or some interpretation that fits their capabilities. To this day, I don’t hold Harper accountable for CSIS’ so-called Background on the Target (me) because I have sniffed CSIS intelligence before.
    It was after the election, however, that Harper’s behaviour verged on the incredible and, at the time, I attributed his viciousness to his personality. Nobody is that vicious, however. And so irrational! I have since realized that Harper was a CSIS operative years ago and his actions are attributable to CSIS directions (very CSIS), but don’t take my word for it. I have evidence to be presented later, but for now I offer the circumstances to the reader and let him or her reach their own conclusions. Remember that Harper had only met me two or three times before he offered me the job of campaign manager in his first campaign. He no way of knowing my organizational capabilities, presuming they even existed. There were no referrals. Would you, as a penniless, first-time candidate, pay to fly an unknown entity across the country to run your campaign? This is not only risky, but Harper generally is risk-averse, surely a touchstone in his own conservatism. Would you pay that person the balance of the campaign fee after he had resigned midway through? Harper did. No viciousness here, of course, but it is irrational, especially when you don’t have the money, unless the money is being provided from elsewhere.
    The 1988 election ended and Harper predictably lost, as did Preston Manning and the rest of the Reform candidates, except for Deborah Grey. Harper became Grey’s legislative assistant. Shortly after, I began to receive telephone calls from Kingston, Brockville, Montreal and other places reporting to me that Harper was “dissing” me, as the term goes, that I was an extremist of some sort. Always me; always Harper. I received a phone call from Link Byfield, a director of the Northern Foundation and the publisher of the Western Report, a conservative bible west of the Lakehead, also with news regarding Harper. I thought I had left his campaign on good terms, so I went to visit him in Deborah Grey’s office on Parliament Hill to resolve things.
    Harper was gone for a few minutes when I arrived so I sat to wait. He entered the office shortly after.
    “What are you doing here!” he demanded, only a few steps into the office.
    “I came to see you. Can we have a coffee?” There is a restaurant cafeteria a few floors over Grey’s office in the Confederation Building.
    He sat down. “How did you get in the building?” he demanded again, in a hostile tone and very loudly.
    I waved my still-valid pass to the House of Commons, a job I left for him. Already he had caught the attention of Deborah Grey, who I saw standing through the doorway into her office behind him, listening.
    He threw me out of her office. A few weeks later, Lee Richardson, still a MP from Calgary, happened to be sitting on the Commissionaire’s desk, and saw a ‘Wanted’ poster, if that’s the right term, with my ugly mug plastered on it. I had been declared persona non grata in the House of Commons.
    Only Harper could have done this.
    I had always been polite to Harper, and I had left his campaign for valid reasons, but this reaction is so extreme it can only be explained by his affiliation to CSIS. (I have since obtained a letter from CSIS declaring me a ‘subversive’ for possessing this information about Harper’s relationship to CSIS. (Evidence, 1a and 1b.). At the time, I was bewildered. The neo-Nazi woman in our midst, Anne Hartmann, who hadn’t been identified by us and excluded yet, was always pressing me to attack Harper through our publication, The Continuing Crisis and through rumour campaigns in which she was a self-identified expert. Whether the neo-Nazis had fingered Harper as a CSIS operative I have no idea. Sometimes they get it right.
    Concurrently, the most unflattering episode ever to involve CSIS with the Reform Party, Stephen Harper and Preston Manning unfolded. It involved the ‘perhaps-allegations’ that Preston Manning was secretly funded by South Africa, a phrase I use because, while it was never alleged directly (to my knowledge) that Preston was funded by the South African government, then an apartheid regime, it was certainly hinted at. Maurice Archdeacon, then the Chairman of the Security Intelligence Review Committee (SIRC) advised in the subcommittee minutes that the CSIS analyst involved should have subtitled the TARC 1 investigation as “unknown contributors to Preston Manning’s campaign.” It wasn’t even that.
    The investigation to which Mr. Archdeacon is referring is based on a joke, with tongue planted firmly in cheek, made by yours truly. The investigation was itself a joke. What is truly amazing is that CSIS still doesn’t know what happened, twenty years after the fact, and may be still investigating as I write this. Now they know. The answers were always available for the asking, but CSIS, as always, chooses the most expensive, error-ridden, ham-fisted, hiding-in-plain-sight method – that is to say, the bureaucratic method – known to Canada. They also get it wrong.
    And it does involve Stephen Harper. Shortly after the 1988 election, Harper approached the South African ambassador to Canada, Mr. Hendrik de Klerk, and allegedly warned him that “We know everything you are doing…” with respect to South Africa’s embassy’s relationship with myself. He named me specifically.
    “We know everything you are doing…?” Those were his words.
    First, who is ‘we’ in this context? Second, why would Stephen Harper speak to the South African ambassador at all? And why in such a threatening manner? He was a defeated candidate at the time without any official authority. Third, how would Harper know anything about the Northern Foundation’s acquaintance with the South African embassy, which was pretty scanty in the event? All these questions are answered by the simple truth that Stephen Harper worked for CSIS at the time.
    What actually happened was this. The Northern Foundation had just been born and fundraising was the key concern. The reason it was so key is because it was a kitchen-table operation from the beginning; a group of guys worried about their country’s future and thought that some organization at the riding level would be a good thing. The Vice-President at the time, Andrew Dynowski, chanced into a consultant cum lobbyist for the South African embassy whose name was obtained from an ancient “voter preferences” list from the Tory archives that are stored in the homes of organizers; which is to say, moi. Dynowski phoned. The consultant was in. He expressed interest in the Northern Foundation. Dynowski went to visit him.
    The South African consultant offered us a proposal: would we organize a debate on whether sanctions against apartheid South Africa were a good idea? This was 1988, remember. For us it couldn’t have been offered at a better time – not because the topic was part of our mandate, nor even on the top ten list of subjects of interest – nor was apartheid a secret love of anybody in our organization… and we hadn’t met Anne Hartmann yet. In 1988, apartheid was going down and everybody knew it. Everyone in our organization was a virulent opponent of communism, however, and reserves of strategic minerals such as chromium, titanium, molybdenum, zinc etc. that were vital for weapon systems were available only in South Africa – outside of the Soviet Union, that is – and therefore subordinated the liberation of black South Africans, who were led by the African National Congress, a Marxist organization, to the defeat of communism. Most educated conservatives knew this. It is no accident that President George Bush pere cut South Africa loose only after communism fell.
    It was in any embassy’s job description to improve its relationship with its host country, and South Africa’s embassy, as everybody also knew, was desperate for some positive public relations, and any positive public relations would do since Brian Mulroney and Joe Clark had decided that bashing South Africa was a sure vote-winner. We received some correspondence in Stan Graham’s office in 1988 in which Clark stated that apartheid was the primary evil in the world; a bit over the top in my opinion, but reflective of his thinking at the time.
    Most importantly, the fee to organize the debate included a sum for a computer and a laser printer which, in 1988, were very expensive and essential for getting the organization off the ground. The money didn’t even come from the embassy, but from a Canadian businessman. The debate came off, featuring William Rusher, the publisher for National Review magazine, the brainchild of William F. Buckley, and Gwynne Dyer, a noted CBC commentator. It went well. The South African regime collapsed a few years later, apparently not to be rescued by the outcome of the debate.
    It was some conversation between the cracks that is significant.
    As I said, the policies and behaviour of the Mulroney government after 1984 had fractured the Tory base already. It was the pomposity of Joe Clark, however, that seemed to grate on the nerves of the party grassroots. The fact that he was the favourite of media elites and the growth of a class system in Canadian politics, a phenomenon that was identified later by the Spicer Commission, fed the fire of resentment. It reached the point where, after Preston Manning announced his candidacy to challenge Clark in the riding of Yellowhead, Tory grassroots organizers in Eastern Ontario were cheering loudly for Preston’s prospects, and many of these were on the mailing list of the Northern Foundation. Unfortunately, CSIS decided that being a smart ass is a national-security threat. I suggested to the fellows in the Foundation that “Hey, why don’t we ship these guys to Yellowhead to canvass for Preston? And why not get the South African embassy to pay for it? After all, Joe and the South African embassy hate each other?” Picture my eyebrows dancing.
    It caused a whole train to move.
    I knew beforehand that obtaining money from a foreign source to influence a domestic election is a no-no. On the other hand, it happens all the time, and I’ve always wondered how Brian Mulroney managed to obtain foreign money to win the PC leadership in 1983 without more criticism. I’ll let the reader conclude what happened during Mulroney’s tenure after that. So I did mention this to the consultant, mainly because my penchant at the time was to shock people. And I did. The consultant laughed. He knew it was a non-starter, too, and there it died. I forgot about it. My main preoccupation was the Meech Lake Accord.
    Enter Andrew Dynowski.
    Dynowski was always an iffy character. He is a tall, lanky man who couldn’t help grinning whenever the topic of conversation grew serious. He had, by this time, ran as a Social Credit candidate in the Carleton riding a few years back under the leadership of John Turmel, a renowned gambler and perennial political candidate in Ottawa, who was seen frequently wearing a construction hat and brandishing a picket sign protesting monetary policies and the banks. Suffice to say, Dynowski was made the Vice-president only because he happened to be there.
    One hot summer evening, Dynowski and I went to the Market, Ottawa’s nightclub district, for a few beers. We left early and I was in bed by 10 pm. At 3:00 am., I was awakened by a phone call. It was Dynowski.
    “If the police call, tell them I spent the night with you,” he announced.
    Well, he did, sort of. I asked him what was going on. He told me that he was awakened by a yappy dog from a house around the corner. He still lived with his mother and, wearing only a pair of shorts, went in search of the dog with a pair of vice-grips in one hand and a hammer or screwdriver in the other.
    “What were you going to do with the dog after you found it?” I asked apprehensively. He said he didn’t know.
    He never found the dog, likely because it was taken in as the result of the barking. He told me that there happened to be a Canada Post official who lived nearby, however, and this particular official was a former supervisor of Dynowski. Dynowski didn’t like him. There also happened to be a lawn ornament in the supervisor’s front lawn, something that looked like a horse jockey, according to Dynowski’s description, so he destroyed it. Then he left. A police cruiser drove by shortly after, likely in response to a phone call reporting some commotion, and the police stopped Dynowski for questioning on his way back home, still wearing only his shorts and carrying the tools in his hand. He told the police that he had spent all this time with me. They took his particulars and let him go. Then he called me.
    I hung up the phone that night thinking that we have to get rid of this guy. He was replaced by Anne Hartman, who had been given a glowing recommendation by a close American friend, and I never phoned Dynowski again. Other than my failure to contact him further, he had no other issue with me since I had paid him the same (small) amount of money that I received for the work done to date. I thought he was a malicious screw-up, but I didn’t tell him that.
    Somehow enraged, Dynowski went to CSIS to allege that the Northern Foundation was funneling South African money in significant amounts to Preston Manning’s campaign. Except for his name, this recounting of events can be confirmed on the internet. Dynowski went to the media with similar allegations and left a threatening phone message on my answering machine. “You’d better call me!…”
    It was somehow enough to motivate CSIS to launch a TARC level I investigation into Preston’s electoral campaign and generated sufficient attention to occupy the time of Security Intelligence Review Committee (SIRC) and a subcommittee on Parliament Hill. It was also sent to the Federal Cabinet. You can tell you’re a pariah when a Minister glares at you when you meet him on the street. This happened to me several times.
    Think about the implications of one disgruntled individual’s impact on a national political party. You can read about some of them on the internet, but there has been significant discussion in the political backrooms and within CSIS as well.
    Since much of this activity predated the 1988 federal election, one must wonder how much of a role it played recruiting Stephen Harper to CSIS’ ranks and their subsequent decision to target me. After all, South Africa = neo-Nazi, right? One must also wonder whether Harper was instructed by CSIS to monitor Preston Manning himself, since Harper was the policy chief of the Reform Party at the time, and after all, who would know whether Preston really was receiving money from South Africa after Dynowski’s blustery entrance. CSIS could have asked me, since I was fairly close to a senior CSIS official named Allan Bird (I was his lecturer in an International Relations course at Carleton University) and had already provided CSIS with tidbits of information that came my way simply because I was (or so I thought) a loyal Canadian. I was even offered a job as a prospective “gangstalker” on Bird’s instruction, although I didn’t know what the job entailed at the time. This happened in 1984. By that point, too, I had already applied for a job at CSIS, being the naive fool that I am. The point is, I wasn’t a stranger.
    According to the dissenting report filed by Val Meredith, MP for the Reform Party, CSIS was also highly suspicious of Dynowski as a credible witness, and they were right to be. But they responded to it anyway! A great deal of time, effort and money was wasted. Reports were written. Policy changes were made regarding the efforts required to obtain TARC targeting authority and some heartache was surely inflicted on poor Preston Manning. Reports on the aftershocks in committee on Parliament Hill date as recently as 1995, seven years later, according to material obtainable over the internet. Most of the content above can be substantiated through the internet or through discussions with Val Meredith, Preston Manning, et. al.
    This is why CSIS is ‘the ruthless Keystone Kops.’
    And it gets worse.
    * * *
    For me, all this happened roughly 20 years ago.
    I like to believe that a sitting Prime Minister would not have the interest, inclination or time to stoop to interfere with a ‘target’ from twenty years previous. On the other hand, does not Stephen Harper have a reputation as a vindictive sort or no? A control freak maybe? After I recounted this story to an intelligent woman whose judgment I respect, she thought Harper was responsible for it too.
    Anyway, I said no (again) to CSIS’ offer to join their ranks.
    CSIS wouldn’t take no for an answer, apparently.
    Thus, the ongoing gangstalking campaign in June 2007 was tailored to make it seem as though I was being ‘escorted’ to my lunchtime swim, or for coffee, or during my walks home in order to persuade me that I really really wanted to be part of the CSIS team. And when you’re part of the team, these ‘escorts,’ according to Ray Kaduck, were part of their standard operating procedure; in this case, to protect me from neo-Nazis. I don’t see many neo-Nazis on the streets in Ottawa. Unless it is Hallowe’en, you won’t either. The ‘harassment’ crew was less visible. The ‘escorters’ now seemed to be civil servants from my building. Many of them – Marc-Rene Ouellette, Doug Jenkins, Daryl Stevenson or Tom Torosian come to mind – seemed to respond to CSIS direction much more quickly than from CBSA, their employer. CSIS had a separate office on 300 Slater St. just to monitor me. Over time, I recognized many of the occupants.
    “Why are they doing this?” I asked Lamontagne about CSIS.
    “Just ignore them. That’s my advice.”
    And for the most part, I ignored them.
    CSIS had set up a ‘static post’ in an apartment behind our house on 1174 Rockingham St. that overlooks our bedroom window, my office window and our backyard. The CSIS gangstalkers, and, one supposes, the CSIS officers themselves, used their own kids and friends of their kids to catcall and harass my wife. The sight of 14-year-old girls swinging their legs over the balcony was a scene right out of ‘Deliverance.’ The ‘residents’ there cut circles in our foliage to have unfettered line-of-sight. When I brought this subject to Ken Lamontagne, he replied, “They’re not supposed to do that.”
    CSIS does a lot of things they are not supposed to do.
    CSIS followed us to our cottage in PEI in the summer. On the way back, they even waited on the highway as we stopped for gas. One priceless moment occurred in Old Quebec City, our favourite place for my wife and me to spend a romantic night on our return trip to Ottawa. We walked the cobblestones to window-shop, to sight-see, stopping somewhere unique for dinner and, in the morning, to a funky café for cappuccino and croissants. I separated myself from my wife for a few minutes, venturing about 40 yards down an old alley to a small intersection. There three small cars raced in, one from each direction, and stopped in front of me, braking with flourish. The drivers of each car leapt out of their cars as though they were police officers penning in an escaped felon. It was a very well-executed maneuver, but there was no punch-line. I turned and rejoined my wife.
    By September, Lamontagne gave me an assignment, or more precisely, a ‘make-work’ assignment that public servants recognize instantly. Normally, a ‘make-work’ assignment is assigned to a guy they don’t like or want to lose, but haven’t figured out how to get rid of him yet. The assignment is to preoccupy him. Lamontagne worked to isolate me from my co-workers, apparently a mainstay of CSIS strategy. I was never informed of developments within the section. He even dis-invited me from attending section meetings of which I was a member. But I applied myself to my make-work assignment. Periodically, Lamontagne would march into the centre of our windowless secure room we call the ‘Box’ to verify that I was indeed working at my desk and return to his waiting telephone. Sometimes he would wander to my desk and announce in a loud voice for my colleagues’ benefit, “No-one is out to get you, Gareth!”
    Sometimes I read in the washroom. So CSIS put a camera in the stall right in front of me, perhaps to save them the bother of following me back and forth from the facilities. This was a top-secret operation supposedly, but much of my directorate knew a great deal already. I could see it on their faces. Top-Secret-cleared people gossip more, not less; particularly the smokers who have nothing to do during their smoke breaks except to gossip. One woman took up smoking just to be part of the gossip chain. Some people grimaced in front of me at the thought of what I was going through. In admiration of their humanity, I won’t name them here.
    For a long time I presumed that this obscene exercise was to judge my loyalty under stress. CSIS sent a number of their ‘friends’ to tell me they heard I was getting a wicked promotion. Lamontagne once said, very late in the game, “It looks like we can trust you after all.”
    Whatever.
    I realized I was waiting for the shoe to drop.
    It finally did in January 2008, an entire year after it began.

    Gareth Llewellyn and his lovely wife Betty Ann Bryanton
    ____________________________________________________________________________

    My wife and I were married in Antigua, West Indies in front of family and friends on January 15. The CSIS officers were obvious. They had a security guard positioned on a hill overlooking our suite. Several Canadians were sitting alone in the bar at all hours. One Canadian’s scowl could have poisoned their drinks as I bumped into him as he left the nearby men’s room. They followed me everywhere; watched everything I did. It’s interesting that you can recognize fellow Canadians in a foreign country. They even planted a honey trap on the day before my wedding. The guests returned to Canada on January 20th and my wife and I retreated to another resort on the island for our honeymoon.
    CSIS then returned to their harassment activities, positioning themselves close as to overhear our whispered intimacies under the moonlight, or to stalk my wife on the beach, or to engage in the art of coitus interruptus (really), which I imagine required that our honeymoon cabin was bugged. Leaving aside the sheer malice of gangstalking a man during his honeymoon, I draw the reader’s attention to it here for reasons to be discussed later. I also noticed that several of the Antiguan nationals were used in surveillance. By then I had had enough.
    I confronted one of the interlopers as he was sitting near the pool. “Let’s have a chat,” said I, nose-to-nose, leaning on the armrests.
    He instantly waved his arms to ward off any forthcoming blows. Backup was already coming, waved in by a female friend.
    The interloper mumbled something in a very British accent.
    Surprised, I asked, “Where are you from?”
    “London.” Not London, Ontario. He was still waving his arms.
    “You’re not Canadian?”
    “No.”
    I left him, reeling inside. What in the hell are Brits doing with me?! He slapped my back in gratitude as I left him.
    Antiguan nationals? Brits?
    Now, what do Canada, Antigua and Britain have in common? They are part of the Commonwealth, right? Now… who is missing? Hint: have you ever heard that the Caribbean is an “American lake?”
    The shoe fell with a thud.
    CSIS thought I was an American spy. There is a history behind that, too.
    Life Under CSIS Rule
    Chapter III
    It wasn’t a eureka-moment when I realized that CSIS thought I was an American spy, but percolated through my consciousness slowly, jostling for attention among my other concerns. I was in Antigua, an island I hadn’t seen since I was twelve when my parents were part of a CIDA program there, and I was still on my honeymoon, which should be really about your wife’s happiness and her memories, not yours. This is good, because my memory is how they stalked my wife on the beach. I was disgusted that anybody would gangstalk anyone on their honeymoon, and I sent an e-mail in response from Antigua to Ken Lamontagne, my manager in Canada, who behaved for months as if I was under consideration for some big promotion to CSIS, to please tell CSIS to go to hell. The Deputy Director of Operations at CSIS made this decision. His name is Luc Portelance, and now, all of things, he’s with CBSA, five rungs above me.
    It had crossed my mind before that CSIS might think I was an American spy, but I had dismissed it as ludicrous. Eighteen years ago, in 1990, a lot of my friends were from the British, American or Australian embassies. We played paintball with their families. The Cold War had just ended and we celebrated by drinking beer and talking politics at the original Mexicali Rosa’s in the Glebe. Two of them, Dr. John Whitehall of Australia, who worked for the Christian Anti-Communism Crusade (you had to have big personality to work for an organization with a name like that) and Tim, the personnel officer at the American embassy, were close friends. Tim gave me a tour of their embassy, and a glance inside told me why they needed a bigger one. It has since been built across the street from the Chateau Laurier hotel.
    One afternoon in my apartment on Lisgar Avenue, Tim dropped in for lunch. I liked him a great deal. He was ex-military, short and looked more like a librarian than Rambo; and very well-read. He could recognize the cut of the fatigues I wore playing paintball (Italian).
    At the end of our lunch, as Tim was moving to the door, he murmured something like, “Perhaps you can give us a hand?”
    At first, I didn’t understand what he meant. Then I did.
    He meant spying, but he didn’t use the ‘s’ word.
    In the early 1980s, at a time when the Soviet Union had just invaded Afghanistan. and at a time when the Falklands war had broken out and when I pinned up a Ronald Reagan poster in my graduate office to irritate my pretentious student-colleagues, I had sent my resume to the CIA in search of a job. I like to fight against tyrants. I had also sent my resume to National Defence and CSIS since I was nearing my graduation for a Masters of Arts at Carleton University. Tim’s question made me pause to understand the context.
    Tim didn’t mean foreign spying, as an officer, but spying on Canada, which I understood a few seconds later. I’m sure I fumbled the response out of shock (“Er, mmm, uumm,”), but I said no. I inserted a few gobblygook sentences to beg off, such as “It would be like corporations spying on each other.” Tim left, disappointed. He left Canada soon after.
    I digress to observe this about spying: it seems to be an atrocious job. Imagine the look in your wife’s/daughter’s/best friend’s eyes when they discover that you have betrayed them. Imagine the stress or your inability to enjoy life. Imagine a 14-year prison term. Spies are generally thought of as scum. Does anyone feel romantic or excited by this? The best they can hope for is to retire in obscurity in the host’s country, not yours. What inspires anybody to do that? It may explain a Russian who has witnessed the collapse of Soviet society and the privations of a totalitarian state, or an Iranian who has endured the death and torture of relatives, but it doesn’t apply to us. Robert Hanson and Aldrich Ames did it for money they say, but as Hegel once wrote, time is the real currency of human existence. Those two have fumbled one of the most fundamental questions of our lives.
    But here is the best part. Since CSIS thought I was a neo-Nazi – for no other reason than I invited Anne Hartmann to join the Northern Foundation – as well as a South African agent, after Dynowski went to CSIS to denounce me, CSIS was already bugging my apartment. And since they were bugging my apartment, they stumbled on Tim’s offer’s to spy for the United States. Maybe that’s why Tim left Canada so soon. In the span of two years I became a national-security threat in three different areas at the same time. Somebody call the Guinness Book of Records, for God’s sake! If you’re one of those persons who look at the glass half-full, you might think of this as a promotion of sorts. After Tim’s offer at least I’m flying with the Eagle instead of crawling with the cockroaches. If you’re one to look at the glass half-empty, you’re in for a career of hurt.
    At the time I was oblivious to all of it.
    I had my own plans in 1990, which, as curious as it sounds, had no bearing on my future now that CSIS had me in their cross hairs. I wanted to build a think tank in eastern Canada along the lines of the Fraser Institute – that would be my vocation – while my avocation was to write, and more precisely, to write spy fiction. This was the result of watching too many James Bond movies during my childhood. I was floored with the news that Tim was with the CIA – I thought he was a think-tank guy just like me, but he struck me as potentially helpful in both.
    I have no qualms admitting that the CIA struck me as a great source of funding for a think tank, either directly or from Americans to whom they might introduce me. In the 1950s, CIA funded Encounter magazine, possibly the most literary of the decade, in order to advance the argument that freedom and capitalism will produce great things, in the arts above all. If there are fundraisers out there who believe that donors don’t have secret agendas, they need to find another line of work. Scratch the paint away and analyze the funding in Canada for many magazines, think tanks, projects, etc. will reveal some questionable motivations. I really believe that culture is the product of leisure, which in turn is the product of wealth. More than that, I am pro-American. I admire their egalitarian culture (leaving aside their corporations); I’m happy we’re protected by the American empire. The separation of powers between the legislative and executive functions should be copied in Canada now that collegial parliament has been assassinated, and I wish we had an elected Senate. This doesn’t mean I wanted to spy against Canada, and when the offer came I refused.
    The most important thing, however, was my writing. Now that I knew that Tim was attached to the CIA, I thought I might glean a few spy factoids from him or from one of his colleagues. Such was not to be. We exchanged a few cards. Funding for a think tank was not forthcoming. In the late 1990s, I sent him a letter requesting to be introduced to a CIA-type in Taipei, where my second novel was to be located, but it came back to me, “addressee moved.” Or perhaps CSIS moved him for me. Ironically, CSIS has provided me with stupendous material for my writing by investigating me for roughly 20 years, but I never saw Tim again.
    Decades passed. People grew old and died. I forgot about it. But CSIS didn’t. Looking back, all the weird events that happened to me in the public service now have an explanation. After I won my first permanent job competition in Revenue Canada in 1992, CSIS solicited the assistance of a manager who barely knew me to torpedo my job by telling the competition committee that I had vandalized his office. Not only was I never informed of the accusation, the vandalism itself never occurred.
    On another occasion, at a time when my wife and I were looking for cottage property on the Quebec side, we got lost and doubled back. Along came a man following us in the middle of grassland and trees. There was not another human being in ten square miles except for his partner who was backing him up a half-mile behind. I had seen them together an hour before but thought nothing of it. In the early 2000s, CSIS followed me to a work conference in Chicago. There they were more obvious. During my work trips to the opposite ends of the country, in Vancouver and St. John’s, Newfoundland, I got mysterious phone calls at 5:00 a.m., likely to confirm whether I was really sleeping at my hotel room. These inexplicable incidents I had tucked in the back of my memory without a lesson or conclusion now made sense.
    But CSIS didn’t stop there. I was investigated by Internal Affairs in Revenue Canada for two years for being an alleged neo-Nazi. There were no grounds for this. I only discovered it after I was cleared. At work I was provided with a ‘God’ profile, an all-powerful access permission on the GST system, and one assumes that CSIS and Internal Affairs watched and waited to see if I was going to issue some cheques to myself courtesy of Her Majesty. I didn’t. I was a diligent civil servant, something CSIS reluctantly concedes in their reports of me I was able to obtain through the Privacy Act.
    Then I discovered that somebody had forged my signature on the corporate records for the Northern Foundation. This occurred many years after I had resigned. A signature analysis discovered the forgery, and the investigation recommended that my name be stricken from the records (see Evidence 25a). In fact, after repeated attempts to shut the Foundation down after the sole neo-Nazi fled the country, some mysterious force sees to it that the annual summaries keep arriving on my doorstep. Equally mysteriously, a rumour campaign arose – coincidentally, from associates of the manager who had initiated the vandalism episode, that I was a neo-Nazi. I was forced to leave Revenue for Customs in 2001. Ironically, I left a benign department like Revenue for Customs, where border and national security is part of the mandate. You can’t make this stuff up.
    Throughout the 1990s, CSIS assigned Graham Eglington to monitor me. Graham is a pixie of a man from Australia with strong ties to the Anglican Church and a lawyer with a stint with the Refugee Board (CSIS always has one of their own on the Refugee Board). Graham wore his long blond hair foppishly, and his immaculate manners and impish sense of humour were integrated in a charismatic way made famous by the better British actors. I liked him immensely. It was a good thing, too, otherwise I would never have put up with the “CSIS monthly check-up” – quite literally, a monthly phone call from Graham after his return from Australia, or Pretoria, or England, or even from North Carolina from one of his assignments to assure CSIS I hadn’t gone to the Dark Side. He wanted us to get together to provide him with hands-on for his report to CSIS HQ; i.e., my activities at work, my plans, etc. He also eyed my physical condition and the state of my house. Graham’s relationship with CSIS was so obvious that my wife and I both presumed that CSIS knew that we knew this. My only mistake was in presuming that CSIS thought I was some sort of recovering neo-Nazi, a howler that I endured with generous eye-rolling. The only people who ever suggested I was a neo-Nazi, after all, was CSIS.
    And then I would cook him dinner. In 2000, I happened to mention to Graham that I had a boarder in the basement. At that time, I’ve had boarders since 1996 in order to pay for my renovations. No big deal, right?
    Graham’s twitch was a marvel to behold – so violent, in fact, it provoked me to ask, “Didn’t I mention it you?”
    I guess I didn’t, because the very next day I was visited by a ‘potential renter’ – yet another guy with the CSIS glow about him, a white guy with a brown Afro and dressed like a jock. Sure enough he asked me after the house tour, “So, you’ve rented this for fours years?”
    I nodded. And he left.
    Now, ask yourself this: what possible interest would CSIS have of my basement rentals?
    Answer: because they are tracking my financial flows. This makes perfect sense if I am a suspected American spy because they want to know if I’m being paid by the CIA. So far, so good. In my case, I had undertaken to renovate my house basement and pay for it later using rent money from basement tenants, in order to turn the corner on home ownership. For CSIS, however, they theorized that my negative cash flow (roughly $500/mo. for my reno loans), must have been paid for by the CIA.
    Now, this is a great theory, but I had rented various rooms in my house for four years by that point. Four years! There were plenty of “For Rent” ads in the Ottawa Citizenduring that time. And who were the strange people living in my house all that time?… paramilitaries? For four years CSIS presumed I was being paid by the CIA, when evidence was everywhere that I was renting my basement. For four years. This is more than a mistake. The question about where else I might have received that money looms high on the decision tree, but for four years they never bothered to look. After this, you might think they must have corrected their error.
    When human beings develop their enmity based on a premise and the premise is proved wrong years later, the enmity doesn’t just disappear. As someone who is, in the opinion of CSIS, a neo-Nazi, an American spy, a South African “agent” of some sort, and currently a threat to national security, it’s now apparent that CSIS officers had been banging their rocks together for years murmuring to themselves, “This guy must be guilty of something!” How could anyone be investigated for all these things without something personal in their targeting? The end of my relationship with Graham happened after I told him about a tax-intelligence unit I was planning to propose. I volunteered this knowing full well this was a funnel to CSIS, but CSIS responded by bringing my computer down twice, costing me several hundred dollars each time. I told Graham off. CSIS shifted Graham’s assignment back to fundamentalist Christians. They don’t know it, but Christians are a national security risk.
    I received my Top Secret Special Access (TSSA) clearance in 2004. It’s not the highest clearance in Canada. Several departments like National Defence, the Communications Security Establishment and CSIS have segmented clearances to handle the most sensitive information, but TSSA is up there and provides access to some important material. The reader might wonder why I would be cleared that high if CSIS was investigating me as an American spy. Only two reasons come to mind: to entrap me or out of incompetence. For sceptics of CSIS and our national-security practices I am pleased to report that they did try to entrap me. CSIS asked Paul Zendrowski, my colleague at Customs who worked in the Customs Box at the time and therefore had access to top-secret information, to ask me to stand in for him for meetings at the PMO and other gatherings with CSIS bigwigs. On one occasion, Zendrowski took me aside to tell me that the Customs cameras in the wilderness of New Brunswick had pictures of a number of men with manpads (shoulder-launched surface-to-air missiles) hoofing it through the woods across the border into the United States.
    “Did they tell the Americans?” I had asked. He said he didn’t know.
    For an American spy, this sounds like juicy bait to me! I can only surmise that after these episodes I was monitored to see if I was sending the information about surface-to-air missiles back to the Americans. I wasn’t. If I was guilty, you’d know about it. The government has a standing policy to publicize, through press releases and other instruments from the communications shop, all successful apprehensions and prosecutions because Canadians need to know what a stupendous job their government is doing.
    Now, it isn’t the baited trap that bothers me. For once they’re doing their job. After I was found innocent, though, what happens then? R

11. 

    more…
    —-

    Allow me to pause to pass on a warning: never, never volunteer information to CSIS. No tips. No information to help Canada, regardless of your motives. Nothing. If you think you are on the same side, you’re not. CSIS thinks of itself as a secret brotherhood. You are not part of it. Even if you have been approached by Islamic jihadists to help them destroy Western civilization, don’t tell CSIS. They will conclude that you are responsible for it. Really. More importantly, CSIS will abandon you in an instant and feed you to the wolves when it suits them, even if you agreed to provide information on the target. This actually happened to a friend of mine who agreed to provide information about me. The internet is full of warnings of what will happen if you provide information to CSIS. Tell somebody else.
    To return, I kept a safe at home because of contractors that I hired to renovate my basement and later, in the 1990s before I met my spouse, because I kept boarders in my basement and I didn’t want them rooting through my papers. Some of the material was very old, like training modules that were slated for destruction, but since my career began in Revenue, not Customs, I needed to tool up to understand how Customs worked. Some material was related to assessments I had written; I had signed for a few CSIS documents for ongoing assessments; some documents were ancient and slated for shredding, but I found them interesting.
    Wyatt noted this and passed it on to Jim Hatchette, a CSIS lie-detector technician. The name ‘Hatchette’ couldn’t have been better chosen. A lie-detector test is an intimidation tool and Hatchette greeted me with hostility the moment I stepped into CSIS HQ. We didn’t even make it to the lie-detector test. He asked about some guy ‘Andrew…’ (he couldn’t remember his last name; he meant Dynowski). As the preliminaries began, Hatchette realized that the documents I kept at home were the opportunity CSIS was looking for to suspend my TSSA clearance. He kept leaving the office to run his fly-by-the-seat-of-his-pants scheme by his superior. The blow-by-blow summary of what happened can be found in Evidence 21. I was escorted home by a CSIS officer. A CBSA Internal Affairs officer named Tom Torosian was called. I should have told them to go jump in Dow’s Lake, but at the time I was full of goodwill towards the government and wanted to clear up any misunderstanding. Besides, who buys a home safe unless they take their work seriously? CSIS initiated another investigation into me, involving the union, lawyers, a crisis with my painkillers, a review of security procedures and the replacement of the CSIS liaison. When the smoke had cleared, I was cleared too (Evidence 10).
    Apparently, CSIS was upset.
    The next opportunity CSIS seized to suspend my clearance and have my name removed from the ITAC list took place in Paris in November of the same year. For my 50th birthday, my wife, Betty Ann, took me for my life’s dream: a week spent inside the Louvre. While there, we were in the Paris shopping district when a woman of Chinese extraction but with a noticeable Canadian accent pointedly approached us; which is to say, she selected us from a crowd of pedestrians.
    “Do you speak English?” she asked. We nodded.
    “I want to buy some wallets from the store there, but they won’t sell them to me because I’m Chinese.” The store she was nodding at was Louis Vuitton, a noted retailer of chic accessories with a line waiting to get in. She waved €350 in large bills, €100 and €50.
    Leave aside the question of a woman with a Canadian accent selecting us out of a crowd in central Paris… and leave aside the entrusting of that much money with a ‘total stranger;’ the statement that Louis Vuitton would refuse to sell wallets to a Chinese woman was the biggest load of hooey I have heard since, well, since the last time I spoke to someone from CSIS. In truth, Louis Vuitton would press for honorary French citizenship for every Chinese person in the world if they all bought one of their overpriced wallets. By chance (or not), I had just completed an assessment on counterfeit goods and I was interested in the mechanisms of an illegal scam, but know this: buying the genuine article is never the problem. Something here was clearly up. My wife was terrified that something bad was going on and said so. She was right.
    But I wanted to go on an intelligence-gathering mission, so I accepted her €350 and the two of us waited in the line to enter Louis Vuitton. Already, the security guys managing the line were giving us strange looks and had, in fact, been staring at us before when we speaking to the Chinese woman. When we entered, the store wasn’t crowded at all. A woman shadowed us inside the store, leaning her head to one side to overhear what my wife and I were saying. A suit was speaking into a small walkie-talkie and tried to mask it when he saw me watching him. Some kind of ‘op’ was in process and we were “hot.” Ask yourself this: what makes a pair of customers “hot” inside a high-end retail store? When there was no more to be learned I decided to leave the store. The Chinese woman approached us outside.
    “We changed our minds,” I told her, and handed the money back. Interestingly, she didn’t count it. She was irritated.
    We left her. Twenty paces later, another young woman with a Canadian accent, this time a Caucasian, approached us. “Do you speak English?”
    So, CSIS approached us twice out of a crowd. They were desperate, which makes sense, since they had wheedled a lot of ‘anti-terrorism’ funds for a full team’s luxuriant trip to Paris for a week and had lost their trip’s rationale in five minutes.
    “No,” I replied. We brushed past her.
    I never had any intention of buying the wallets. I was focussed on the merchandise, hoping to learn something about the counterfeiting process. As it turned out, a different process was going on. We were “hot” because the euro-dollars were counterfeit and I would have been arrested at the cash register if I tried to pass them. When I related this episode to my manager and my colleagues back in Ottawa, they were already shaking their heads. They wouldn’t have taken it that far, but I did learn something about a CSIS op. The store personnel were forewarned, for example, and CSIS sent in a couple of officers to “escort” us. I also learned how much CSIS hates me.
    I had a stroke a week later.
    * * *
    My wife and I returned to Canada after our honeymoon at the end of January, 2008. The flight back not only carried CBC’s Peter Mansbridge and his family, but an entire platoon of CSIS types who I’d watched watching me for the past week. How should you react when you discover that CSIS thinks you’re a spy and you’re not? Well, I complained, that’s what. That’s the Canadian way, and don’t sneer at that reaction because it beats being shot. It wasn’t the investigation that bothered me, as I’ve said, but the fact they appropriated the right to ruin my life when I was innocent. Who made them God? This is the essence of a ‘disrupt’ campaign.
    What happened next turned out to be pivotal. You are required, when you are about to complain to SIRC, to complain first to the Director of CSIS who, at the time, was Jim Judd, a former MP. CSIS has thirty days to respond, plenty of time to doctor or destroy any files, if required, and to research you in case other protective steps need to be taken before they tell you, politely, to f*** off. I used the time to prepare my formal complaint.
    When I realized CSIS thought I was an American spy, I sent a 17-page complaint to SIRC including a ‘Request to Correct the Record,’ which is an opportunity to correct where CSIS got it wrong (that’s why it’s 17 pages). I explained and described any Americans I may have met, which I could count on the fingers of one hand, including Tim.
    I also mentioned Stephen Harper. And why wouldn’t I? He was CSIS’ operative during their ‘investigations’ of me a neo-Nazi and a South African bagman. He was also an operative for longer that his involvement with me, something I’ve since learned from an unexpected source, but I’ll return to that later. Harper had ruined my reputation with the St. Lawrence Institute for the Advancement of Learning in Montreal, a think tank I had worked hard to build up for two years, by telephoning the directors and telling them I was a neo-Nazi. Ironically, he and CSIS forced me to remain in the public service.
    In a normal world, Lamontagne shouldn’t know about my SIRC complaint. I prepared it at home and didn’t tell him. But this is Spyworld, and in Spyworld they were monitoring my home computer with an EMG device. Computers emit electromagnetic radiation and somebody long ago invented a process to reconstruct the image you see on your monitor and therefore to read what you type. Sometimes CSIS would squiggle the noise lines on my computer monitor to remind me they were watching. But there is a limit to the distance they can detect the radiation, somewhere around 100 feet, which means that they will occupy a building nearby – in my case, at 1127 and 1133 Apolydor and 1174 Rockingham – to monitor your computer or you.
    If you think CSIS is monitoring you, one test is to watch for newcomers amongst your neighbours. A lot may depend on the sort of relationship you keep with your neighbours, and I’m pleased that the one or two neighbours I wanted to keep as friends had demurred when CSIS had asked for their assistance. Overall, though, the news is bad. When confronted by a pair of CSIS officers carrying a photo of you in a most unbecoming position and murmuring in mock gravitas about a (gasp) national security investigation, almost all of your neighbours will fold. My mother-in-law did. So did my wife’s best friend and one of my sisters. I feel betrayed by that because I knew you can decline to help when they ask. I know this because they once asked me. This will happen even if their operation is not about national security at all, but about what we public servants call CYA (Cover Your Ass). Most people have “no need to know” what is really going on.
    Lamontagne called me into his office one day while I was preparing my SIRC complaint. The door was closed. I sat down. He asked me an enigmatic question. It went something like, “Are you using Top Secret information?” or “We’re concerned you are using Top Secret Information.”
    This, from a guy claiming he had left CSIS years ago.
    Very surprised, I looked hard at him. “What Top Secret information?” I take real national security very seriously.
    Lamontagne didn’t respond. That was the end of the meeting.
    That exchange – or non-exchange, to be precise, transformed my life.
    Later, some of the CSIS personnel who were walking the halls in the Jean Emonds towers where I worked, some to expressly investigate me, turned their heads to suppress any expletives deleted as I walked by. Obviously, they were upset about something.
    Later still, after I sent in my complaint to SIRC, I walked by Lamontagne as he sat on a chair in the Box. He exclaimed, “Now you’ve done it!”
    Now, what I have done?
    Think about this. I wondered about it for awhile.
    At roughly the same time, CSIS demolished our back fence. The two residents at 1174 Rockingham Street made sure they were caught in the act, too. This is the ‘static post’ behind our house I referred to earlier in which the teams in the apartment(s) seemed to be rotated quarterly. This particular couple I had noticed many times before. They had followed me to a gas station the previous fall and, at the time, while I was getting coffee inside, they were arguing outside until I caught the woman’s eye. She was short with long brown hair and big, dark-framed glasses. Through the window, I made motions to inquire if they wanted coffee. I grinned. She froze for a long time and slowly shook her head. They were replaced during my ensuing trip.
    Now it was February, and the same woman sat in an idling pick-up truck with a snow blade attached, positioned to take another run at our fence. Her weedy boyfriend stood scratching at the ice with itty-bitty movements, apparently waiting for us to arrive. The fence posts were cleanly severed at the base, which we discovered three months later; the sort of damage only a snow blade could have caused. In February the snow and bushes held the fence up at a 45º angle. I called the landlord’s wife and learned that she had already been called by someone in the same building. The fence was “blown down by the wind,” reported the landlady, which she said she knew because another woman in the building simply felt the urge to report that a neighbour’s fence had been blown down by the wind. Whatever. The couple in the building moved out immediately. In the spring, when we were rebuilding the fence, I overheard the replacement gangstalker team, a young man and young woman, talking about the fence and about us. The woman asked him if he was around when the destruction of my fence occurred. He said no. Very clearly, the young woman said, “Well, they should just Suck. It. Up!”
    Charming people, the gangstalkers.
    I filed a vandalism complaint with the Ottawa Police (Case # 08-37348) and received four phone calls in the aftermath from three different women, allegedly from the police. One called herself Heather Lightfoot. All pressed the case aggressively that I needed psychiatric therapy for making the complaint.
    At work, meanwhile, my manager Ken Lamontagne charged me as “unfit to work” because I haven’t provided evidence of CSIS stalking. Therefore I was delusional. Therefore I must take a “Fitness to Work” test. I had long stopped reporting CSIS harassment to him; in fact, not since the previous year. His charge that I was “unfit to work,” in other words, came from the ether.
    An astute reader will realize that something new is going on here, something more involved than CSIS’ original plan to drive me out of the public service because of their suspicions I was an American spy. But I am a poor, dumb Celt who was experiencing what the Americans might call a shock-and-awe campaign in real time. I was too shocked and awed to do anything but stare, slack-jawed. In twenty years with the government, I’d never seen anything like it.
    Have you figured it out yet?
    Even then, Lamontagne was breaking all sorts of rules in the normal public service. He had never before asked for evidence of CSIS stalking. In fact, Lamontagne advised me how to deal with it. Managers are generally forbidden to escalate their responses to an employee without due process. For another thing, I had already shown him the e-mail from “Natalie Gravelle” offering me a job with CSIS. CSIS never offers you a job by e-mail. The copy I had printed for my wife has since been burgled from our home, however my wife had read it a gazillion times. Is my wife delusional too? She has also witnessed gangstalkers before, but Lamontagne had no interest in witnesses. He forbade my other colleagues to discuss it, and actually visited the employees who received an e-mail from me, and over whom he had no authority, to shut them up. This crude CSIS hatchette job, if you’ll permit another pun, was evident to everyone from the beginning. They were talking about it the smoking circles, joking. It had the willing participation of my Director, Craig Goodes, my Director General, Caroline Melis and a woman from Human Resources named Lauralee Larose, who evidently had connections with CSIS. My employer, CBSA, became an active participant in this scam.
    When the Gestapo comes to town, everyone in Ottawa ducks for cover.
    Lamontagne was also having an affair with one of his employees. He would lock themselves in his office for hours, in plain view of the others because his office had a glass plate forming part of the wall in the Box, to argue or to kiss and make up again. This is verboten in the public service and irritated our ex-military staff most of all. This speaks to the alien culture at CSIS, a carryover from their days in the RCMP which, as most Canadian now know, is run more like a vain dictatorship than a normal professional world. Lamontagne frequently left the Box to meet his confreres on the floor above, where CSIS had established a post, presumably to get instructions.
    Lamontagne pressed aggressively for a committee meeting to discuss my ‘insanity.’ Why now? one might ask. Nothing had changed in the day-to-day of my job. I wasn’tthat insane, either, because when the time constraints grew too pressing for the work flowing to senior management, Lamontagne would still redirect it to me. And why the rush? Lamontagne started sending a daily e-mail about it. Nobody believed I was delusional or insane, but it was foreordained by CSIS.
    I didn’t want to go to his insane meeting. They insisted. Lamontagne arranged for the president of my union local named Francine Stuart to represent me. She stood me up. Lamontagne arranged for another union rep, Robert LaFortune to represent me. LaFortune sent me an e-mail stating that my union would not represent me unless I attended that meeting. At the meeting, Lamontagne demanded a psychological examination of me by someone in Health Canada and circulated an 8-page rampage that some HR officials have advised may be actionable (see Evidence #30a through h). The HR/CSIS representative in the committee, Lauralee Larose, told me not to worry: I might be eligible for welfare.
    Some people might find Lamontagne’s behaviour unnerving after his commiseration about CSIS stalking and even providing me with advice, but now alleging I was delusional. Certain psychiatrists have reported that CSIS officers exhibit some behavioural symptoms akin to schizophrenia. For CSIS officers, this trait may be a good thing since they are tasked to adopt different roles or guises on short notice. In my last conversation with Lamontagne after his insane meeting, he giggled.
    After that, I dubbed Lamontagne, ‘Spyboy.’
    I charged Spyboy with harassment. For a long time CBSA management wouldn’t even move me away from Spyboy’s control, a direct abrogation of the union contract. In the end, they wouldn’t accept it.
    I complained to the Public Service Integrity Commission. They wouldn’t accept it because other processes, such as my harassment charge, were ongoing.
    I visited the Canadian Human Rights Commission, but their mandate focuses on sexual, racial, age and related grounds only and couldn’t help me.
    I wrote Stephen Rigby, now the President of CBSA, and hand-delivered it. I never heard back.
    I wrote my Minister, Stockwell Day, but the original letter never got there. I sent the same letter by e-mail and confirmed its receipt by telephone. I still haven’t heard and he has been removed from the portfolio. Since then, the portfolio of Public Security has been handed off several times.
    I wrote my MP, David McGuinty and hand-delivered it, and followed it up by no less than five subsequent visits. I haven’t yet received a written response.
    My director retired. Spyboy replaced him, which meant he still had control over me but at one remove. He appointed Maxine Archambault to run my unit. My relationship with her went from great to murderous overnight.
    Gangstalking increased, and CSIS has developed a series of ‘mini-ops’ to ostracize you. Once, a man and a woman left their elevator to encounter me in the lobby, as I was leaving mine. Coincidence? By this point, CSIS had “Eyes On” me 24/7, even to the washroom. The woman gestured crudely (“There he is. That’s the guy!… that’s him. Look, everybody, look!”) and her partner obliged by twirling to stare at me so awkwardly it resembled one of those double-takes from the silent era, to the point where he crouched because he was taller than me. CSIS officers overact a great deal.
    There is a Hollywood movie called The Truman Show, where Truman, the lead character played by Jim Carrey, believes he is leading his own normal life but the people he knows are actors, his home is a studio and his ‘life’ is in fact a reality show being watched on television. In May 2008, my life under CSIS rule felt just like that.
    Overnight, my situation at work became untenable
    And I didn’t know why.
    Life Under CSIS Rule
    Chapter IV
    If you feel comfortable in your own skin and have nothing to hide emotionally, you might not fear a trip to a psychologist. You should tremble, however, when CSIS is on the prowl. I was warned by one of my few remaining friends that CSIS had tame psychologists in Health Canada who would rule me ‘delusional’ for no reason other than a CSIS request. Apparently, CSIS does this all the time. In conjunction with the attack by Spyboy, my Director General, Caroline Melis, sent a 4-page letter to my GP to demand a psychological assessment in a couple of weeks, lying outrageously in the process (evidence #31). Normally, she was a jovial woman who I passed in the halls only once every couple of months. This time, when she didn’t get her psychological assessment, she telephoned my GP’s office and berated my doctor’s assistant.
    How can any public servant react to that?
    I opted to pay for my own psychologist, and had in fact resolved to obtain three assessments from three different doctors.
    Dr. Gilles Hebert was the first psychologist I met. His office is at the corner of Elgin and Somerset Streets, very close to downtown, while Dr. Hebert looks like a public servant himself: bespectacled, slim, modest and thoughtful in demeanour. During our first meeting, I provided him with documents and background about CSIS and I wrote a lengthy test the same day. The doctor, my wife and I met the following week. Hebert first remarked that my scores on the written test provided “a template for normalcy.” Great news, right?
    Then he said this: “I cannot believe that CSIS would hire anybody who would walk around without shoelaces in their shoes, therefore you must be delusional.” Those were his actual wordsverbatim.
    Dr. Hebert was referring to one of the gangstalkers I described earlier, an old man without shoelaces had appeared in a computer store asking about buying a computer which, at the time, made me laugh. I’m glad I didn’t mention the same old man didn’t wear socks either, or Hebert might have pushed for a lobotomy. The sad thing is, many gangstalkers are not fit for the workplace and one or two were from the Mission downtown, the point being that they’re certainly not CSIS officers. I’ve never maintained otherwise. A segment of the CSIS gangstalking corps are lonely old men. Several need active coaching.
    Once, in a Farm Boy near where I live, they used a tall, creaky old man who was clearly over 80 years old, with a cane and having difficulty remembering where he was at any given time. He was there to harass or obstruct me in some fashion, but had trouble recalling what he was tasked to do. He would stare at me, then lapse into thought. He moved very slowly towards me when he did remember, then paused. A stare, a pause. Something was up and I stopped to watch. A young man tasked to corral these people stepped in to repeat his instructions to the old man, which I overheard, but it was evident the old fellow couldn’t be used here. By this time I had taken my order from the deli counter and left, which needed to be pointed out to the old fellow, which I also overheard. I never saw him again.
    The gangstalkerworld.com website mentions that these people are not paid for this. To motivate them they are fed bullshit about the target; about national security certainly, and probably a story or two about necrophilia or eating babies or something equally shocking. Some murmured assurances in the old man’s ear that You Are Saving Canada, a pat on the ass and “Go get him, Tiger!” God, are we gullible.
    Ask yourself this: who would want to be a gangstalker?
    Answer: they are the same people William Shatner had in mind when he coined the immortal phrase, “Get a life!” There are a lot of losers in this crowd.
    But back to Hebert. He was clearly troubled making a stupid statement about the shoelaces. After all, who made Hebert an expert about who CSIS chose to hire or co-opt for their stalking campaign? On the other hand, Hebert was an intelligent man and may have deliberately chosen this ludicrous example to send me a signal. I looked at him incredulously. He averted his eyes. My wife started to cry. Then Hebert offered me his own way out. He said, “I recommend you don’t go forward with this assessment, and I shouldn’t write it.”
    I appreciated his message. So did my wife. CSIS will somehow influence this ‘assessment’ and rule me delusional. That knowledge cost me $1,000.
    I should have suspected this because a team of two CSIS officers, a man and a woman, left his office just before we walked in, and the shorter male fought the urge to suppress a grin as he passed by me. An astute reader might ask, how do I know that the couple was CSIS? The short answer is, I don’t. CSIS is very cocky, however, and they go to some lengths to indicate they are all over you and do a number of strange things to catch your attention, made up on the fly. The longer answer is, while they trying to sensitize you to their diffuse-and-disrupt campaign, you are also learning while the process is ongoing. There is a phrase called “night sight” which only means an acquired sensitivity to persons not being who they are pretending to be.
    If you don’t have contact with CSIS, it’s normal to presume that anybody you meet is not CSIS unless proved otherwise. They have roughly 2,600 actual staff, which is tiny in government-department terms, about the same size as Mossad, the Israeli intelligence service. But CSIS, like Mossad, has leverage much greater than their actual numbers, and here you must distinguish between “CSIS officers” or “case officers” of Mossad and their ‘friends.’ In By Way of Deception, a ground-breaking book about Mossad’s methods by Victor Ostrovsky, the author explains how sayanim, roughly translated as “Jewish helpers,” greatly multiply the effectiveness of Mossad by providing apartments, vehicles, bank loans or other favours even though they are not members of Mossad or even citizens of Israel. They are not paid for it, either, but will keep their mouths shut out of “loyalty to the cause.” CSIS has a similar network in place, obviously not linked by ties of religion, but the existence of the network becomes evident once you are a target.
    I was impressed with Dr. Hebert’s integrity, though, because he turned out to be the only psychologist who was troubled by CSIS pressure to doctor the results. My question at the time was, does CSIS just show up, flash their badge and plead for cooperation – Queen and Country and all that – or do they have something legal to back them up? I didn’t know. Since nobody would help me, I had to rely on my wits to learn through trial and error.
    The second psychologist was Dr. Peter MacLean, a man who for some reason reminded me of Borat. Our first meeting was to gather information and administer another test, but in the coming weeks MacLean put off the next meeting to the next week, and the next, and seemed reluctant to proceed. After a month or two, I gave up trying. By April, MacLean reversed himself and began leaving lengthy messages on our voice mail on a daily basis. My wife listened to all of them and deleted them, but something was clearly wrong (hint hint) with his new found aggression. I asked him to send me the bill for past work and that future business is ceased, but he persisted for about a week. He even offered to conduct his assessment over the phone (!). Then, three weeks of silence.
    Nothing was heard from him until a letter arrived. In it, Dr. MacLean said he wanted $900 and had completed an ‘assessment’ and sent it to my GP. It was immediately apparent it was another CSIS ploy, given there were no cancellation marks on the envelope. His letter to me was not on letterhead, very unusual for a psychologist with two offices, and I have since confirmed he does have letterhead (see Evidence #13c). The letter is dated May 16, 2008 but we received it on May 27, which means Canada Post took 11 days to deliver it two blocks. The text of the letter wasn’t professionally typed or spaced, and very shoddily written, but he does have his own secretary (see Evidence 13a). The envelope was not postmarked which likely means it was hand-delivered, and the envelope didn’t have a pre-printed return address, unusual for professionals (see Evidence 13b).
    Dr. MacLean used blackmailing language in the ensuing phone call by declaring that if I wanted to clear matters up I had to attend his office again, mainly to complete his so-called assessment, very likely according to a script provided by CSIS. He also left another message on my work voice mail but the last 20 seconds was overwritten by a strange mechanical staccato noise from an unknown source that I have never heard before. I didn’t have the technical means to retrieve that message, so I had to let it be deleted by the Bell Canada process, but it was clear that MacLean said something that CSIS didn’t want me to hear.
    In MacLean’s defence, I am compelled to note the following. First, MacLean seemed hesitant to be involved in March when I first approached him, and this I attribute to his professional scruples to not be involved with CSIS. Second, he must have said something on my voice mail that forced CSIS to overwrite it with the staccato noise I referred to earlier. This I attribute to his honesty. Finally, I berated him over his own voice mail for his unbelievable behaviour after the letter arrived and his resulting voice message betrayed a guilty tone, to which I attribute to his ethics after a dirty trick has been played, albeit with his connivance. Most Canadians will react similarly as Dr. MacLean when they are approached by CSIS, and CSIS, as I have discovered through the sheer number of approaches they had used against me, is very good at persuading people.
    I saw other psychologists, but these guys had been approached beforehand by CSIS and left clues for me to savour, prompting me to search elsewhere. Others smelled trouble and wouldn’t touch it.
    More importantly, I couldn’t understand why my lawyers wouldn’t support me. They provided me almost no information. The first lawyer I retained, J. Mitchell Rowe, had written a draft of my submission to SIRC that seemed to argue I was indeed delusional, which was CSIS’ goal. One sentence, “Gareth Llewellyn reports an unexplained person near a bus stop.” stopped me cold. Would a sentence like that persuade SIRC that my complaints were credible? That experience cost me $2,000 and I ceased any further contact with Rowe. He seemed to be kicking himself for not asking for a $5,000 retainer.
    My second lawyer was Dougald Brown, a tall grey-haired man working for Nelligan O’Brien Payne, a well-regarded legal firm in downtown Ottawa. For $1,500 Brown provided a letter to SIRC to support my complaint against CSIS, which I thought was good work. Two things occurred during my brief relationship with Brown that added complexity to my sordid war with CSIS.
    The first was CSIS penchant for stealing my documents. I had sent a request in the 1990s for CSIS information about me under the Privacy Act, but their reply has since disappeared from the filing cabinet in my basement. The e-mail from ‘Natalie Gravelle’ offering me a job with CSIS also disappeared. The letter from MacLean and other documents now became a liability to CSIS, to the point where it became a priority for them to steal the originals back. How do I know this? Because CSIS tried to pilfer them repeatedly throughout the following months and years, some attempts more outrageous than others.
    On one occasion, I returned home unexpectedly and found a white van parked in the middle of the street in front of my house. The driver had just left my home and stood in the street staring at it, kicking himself in frustration for failing to find my knapsack. By itself, the sight of young man parked in the middle of the street staring at my house is unusual. They had a ‘Weedman’ magnetized-decal plastered on the side. I called Weedman, and an ‘operator’ answered and said “one moment please.” There was a full minute delay as they briefed the so-called ‘receptionist’ about what to say to me. I was (almost) laughing when she took my call and said that, yes, there is a Weedman guy on my street. At 1138 Apolydor Ave.
    But there is no 1138 Apolydor Ave.
    As it happened, I had left my knapsack in my truck by accident. God (or Allah, if you prefer) had smiled on me.
    On another occasion, they sent a team in a ‘Young Drivers’ car to snatch my knapsack through the front door and make a run for it. They slowed up around the corner, waiting for the signal. I was at the side of the house at the time, obscured by the side fence. The signal must have been given, but I suddenly emerged causing the ‘Young Driver’ to brake suddenly at my driveway. I walked to the foot of my driveway and recognized the gangstalker in the passenger’s front seat from many previous incidents.
    On a third occasion, I was returning home from the grocery store in the summer and drove around the corner to see a man leaving my front door. He bounded across the lawn to a big red pickup parked haphazardly in front of my house. Starting it, he steered his truck and accelerated at me as I approached, narrowly missing me. He had a back-up for rescue, in case I apprehended him; a muscle-bound lad with no shirt and a tattoo around his arm, the very same guy who accompanied me to the grocery. He was on a bicycle and took a short cut to get there before me.
    On a fourth occasion, they used Dirty White Boy who pretended to be delivering pamphlets in the neighbourhood. This guy had dirty blonde hair, a pockmarked face and looked like he spent most of his life in bar fights. CSIS used him frequently in the early years against me. My wife was with me on this occasion, starting our car for some errands, and she was highly suspicious of him too. We returned to our house twice in the space of a few minutes, but he had vanished from the neighbourhood.
    On another occasion, I attended a house party at the home of my wife’s friend. I made the mistake of leaving my knapsack in the dining room when I went downstairs to visit the children in the rec-room. The wife of the friend’s contractor had destroyed the fastener on the file container inside my knapsack and ripped out the first page of a letter that CSIS had sent me, itself an important piece of evidence, before I returned upstairs.
    On yet another occasion, as my wife and I drove to Toronto, a couple pretended to sleep in the adjacent parked car while we were gassing up in a service station on the highway and parked the car for a pee break. They abruptly ‘woke up’ when it became apparent I wouldn’t leave my knapsack unattended.
    To protect the MacLean letter and envelope, I put it and a file of other evidence I wanted to safeguard in the keeping of Dougald Brown, my ‘lawyer.’. When I returned to Brown’s office to retrieve it, Brown’s aging, blonde secretary withheld it. I protested, telling her that the reason I left it there was to protect that letter. She relented and returned only with the letter, sans envelope. I demanded the return of the envelope. She refused, claiming she didn’t have it. (I always keep my letters in the envelope in which it was sent.) How could I drag it from her?… stage a scene in her office? There is no doubt in my mind she withheld that evidence on CSIS’ behalf. Later, the original letter has since disappeared from my safe in my home office. Despite the number of copies I’ve made, I suspect there is a legal wrangle to neutralize it as evidence, probably by claiming that I forged it. That legal firm still sends me a bill for a further $500, interest accruing, that I consider a fee to steal my evidence. I now keep my evidence in my knapsack that I keep on my shoulder everywhere.
    The second thing that complicated matters with Dougald Brown was a change in his demeanour. To test this, I sent him a letter remarking on Stephen Harper’s relationship with CSIS which, I reasoned, given that I knew he was a supporter of the NDP, might provoke a raised eyebrow at least. In response, Mr. Brown was stone cold, almost to the point of hostility. This tactic worked, which is to say, it demonstrated to me that CSIS had arrived. I recommend this ploy to readers who have detected CSIS “vigorous harassment” (how could you not!) because your solicitor-client or patient-doctor relationships are no longer as sacrosanct as you have been led to believe, for reasons I will explain later. I ceased doing business with Dougald Brown.
    By then I knew my chosen career was finished. Most of my prior training, including my post-graduate work, was dedicated to becoming an intelligence analyst, but you can’t do that in Canada if CSIS thinks you’re an American spy. The main route to a new job in the public service is through competition, but this process takes many months, even years, to complete. A “secondment,” on the other hand, is a temporary transfer, providing you can find a manager willing to sign you on. Nobody responded to my call letter except for a small, hollow-eyed man named Jim Wilson, who sent me an e-mail with the title, You. Tuck this in your memory because I will return to it later. Wilson was the manager of sufferance warehouses in the Trade directorate in Customs. Sounds boring, I know, but most public service jobs are administrative in nature with a system or two to support them. I thought CSIS would be happy with this.
    At the time the Commercial Border area in Customs was strangled by its own red tape. It had launched so many new initiatives that no-one understood their implications, least of all the senior managers. Now it was in chaos. By sheer coincidence, I had worked extensively in the business simplification process in GST in the 1990s (now called Business Number, or BN) and it was déja vu to see them stumbling toward the simplification of forms, new workflows, the closure and creation of new work units, all tied together by a new strategic vision. Customs is excruciatingly slow at reform, at least a decade behind Revenue. Even when I had my stroke in Intelligence, and had recovered and returned to work, absolutely nothing had changed in their reorganization to become an agency. I knew what had to be done in Customs Commercial mainly because I had participated in the same reform at Revenue, but any chance to bring my experience to bear was overwhelmed by “vigorous harassment,” the term the Director of CSIS used to describe the treatment CSIS used against terrorists.
    Does this mean that CSIS viewed me as a terrorist?
    I’ll answer this question a little later.
    The building where I was transferred was much closer to my home, so I could walk to work. Gangstalkers, in turn, shifted from the buses to the sidewalk. Once, they piled four of them inside a small car and parked them in front of me, just to stare. I pressed my face to the window and stared back. They took off. When I went to Starbucks, a guy stood staring at me while I was waiting in line, his chest practically pressed into my shoulder. On another occasion, they chose a woman to stalk me on the sidewalk before she pivoted and strode off. I decided to follow her. Gangstalkers are cowards, basically, and this woman somehow signalled for help on her Blackberry or whatever texting device she used. Help arrived a few minutes later when a big man approached with a scowl on his face. “Hello!” he yelled at me, probably to comfort the woman.
    This sort of thing happened every morning before I reported to work.
    Jim Wilson, my new manager, was aggressive getting me to come to his unit at first. After that, his behaviour was – how to put it exactly… peculiar. When officials began clamouring for signed secondment papers, Wilson insisted that Spyboy had signed them. He hadn’t (I will explain why this is important later). Wilson would also disappear without explanation; hours, afternoons, sometimes as long as a week. Generally, PS staff like to know where their managers are. Then I started to receive daily phone calls at my desk that I shouldn’t have received, some callers claiming to be as far away as Europe. These calls did not arrive at the telephone on my desk before I arrived, and when I asked Wilson repeatedly for directions on how to handle them, he never responded. Why? It turned out that these phone calls were designed by CSIS to produce a response in order to get me fired (they do that, you know). I saw women being ushered into Jim Wilson’s office, door shut, after which they emerged avoiding my eyes. By itself, this is irregular for women not working in his unit. It should provide a clue of Wilson’s role in all this.
    I also needed to get access to g: drive, the repository for basic documents for civil servants to access. Wilson never gave it to me, despite repeated demands from me and other staff who desperately needed the work done. That’s a big thing in the public service. Over a week or two it became evident that my computer was being monitored by an older woman with a cane at the far end of the hall. She was ensconced in an enclosed office with a sign that said “Please don’t open the door. Inhaler inside.” She reported back to Wilson. A number of strange people, clearly not civil servants, occupied vacant desks on the floor and started to cruise my desk. Every time I went to the washroom, they followed me in.
    Are you getting the picture yet?
    This is a good place to outline how CSIS operates against a target – again, not because I’m an authority, but only through my experience. Let me use Jim Wilson as an example. Imagine a case where a public servant thinks he is under CSIS investigation and he wants to move to a different job. He hears that there are ten managers out there looking for staff, and Jim Wilson is one of them. The public servant sends his resumé to all ten managers, but only hears back from Wilson. Later, after accepting Wilson’s offer, the public servant finds that there is something funny with Wilson and starts to imagine that he is somehow associated with CSIS. Now, if the public servant tells a colleague about this, the colleague will calculate in his mind that the odds of one manager (Wilson) belonging to CSIS when the public servant has contacted nine others are very remote. The chances that one manager out of ten will be somehow connected to CSIS are themselves very remote, certainly much more remote than one in ten. The colleague begins to think that the public servant is paranoid. CSIS loves that.
    But it doesn’t work that way. Most people don’t realize that the situation was manipulated from the very beginning.
    If the public servant was under investigation by CSIS, they will want him transferred to an area under their control. Let’s suppose, for the sake of argument, that Wilson was a former CSIS officer and, as we know from the past discussion, former CSIS officers will support their ‘brotherhood’ because that is the way they build these relationships (Fair warning: never hire anyone who once worked for CSIS). First, CSIS will stop your e-mails going to the other nine managers and tell Wilson they want him to take on this public servant. Note that Wilson sent me an e-mail in reply not with the heading “In response to your inquiry” or “staffing needs” or similar bureaucratese, but with the subject heading, You. This is highly reminiscent of political advertising, where they try to personalize their appeals. Remember Uncle Sam wants YOU for the U.S. Army!…?Remember the pointing finger?
    If none of the ten managers is suitable, CSIS will find you a referral to someone who is. This happened to me many times, not with the managers in the Public Service, but with lawyers. Remember that CSIS controls Bell Canada, and, just like my phone call to ‘Weedman,’ my phone call was redirected. I was ‘referred’ in the same fashion to CSIS lawyers, a subject I will return to later.
    The good Lord (or Allah, if you prefer) then smiled on me once more.
    CSIS makes mistakes. I had sent a number of requests for information under the Privacy Act, and their responses started to land on my doorstep. CSIS sent me a big box of redacted documents, but even here it was apparent that they view such releases as part of their operation against you. Some documents were fraudulent; that is, composed or structured entirely for my consumption as part of the Privacy Act release, and not original in their own right. Many released pages were satirical, such as photocopies of an envelope I had mailed to them, or a picture of myself from my ID pass. Some pages had only a paragraph or a sentence. For fun, I placed those pages that were censored completely in a separate pile – that is, totally blank pages – and it was an inch thick! My lawyer once told me this is more than those received for Muslim terrorists, who he also represented, and yet I don’t have a criminal record nor have I been charged under any national-security laws. It’s also a small fraction of what they actually have.
    I also received a letter that corroborated the things I’ve claimed; namely, I was under CSIS investigation. They couldn’t meet all my requests for information, they said, because I was a ‘subversive’ (now that’s romantic… you can call me Che). How can a public servant cleared to Top Secret Special Access also be a ‘subversive’? Surely that’s impossible, unless he is also under investigation. In another letter, they came very close to admitting my gangstalking charges, claiming it was “appropriate.” I was staggered that CSIS even obeyed the law. They don’t normally. They have realized their error and made changes in their policies, and have been trying to steal my documents ever since.
    The 12-watt lightbulb in my tiny brain flickered on. Spyboy had alleged, fervently and in writing, that I was delusional solely based on my reports of CSIS harassment. So had my Director General, Caroline Melis. Not only had they defamed me aggressively, it occurred to me that they may be guilty of fraud. I set to work on a grievance. I telephoned my union rep, Robert Lafortune, for assistance. He wouldn’t oblige. How CSIS suborned my union is an interesting subject to discuss later.
    CSIS discovered my grievance plan immediately. They resolved to get me back to Intelligence where they could disrupt me more intensively.
    But why on earth would CSIS want me back in Intelligence? They thought I was an American spy, right? This was the reason behind a whole year’s worth of harassment. The drug sting. The honey traps. Ruining my honeymoon. And they got me to leave voluntarily, the whole point of the harassment. I can only conclude that it was Spyboy’s decision, to protect himself. My then-lawyer Paul Slansky told me I had a good case to secure a conviction for fraud and criminal defamation, as well as for an assortment of grievances within the Public Service. CSIS realized that trouble was a’brewing, and fought back harder.
    First, the CSIS rumour machine kicked in. Many people in the directorate were informed that I was an American spy. I am talking about a hundred people or more here. I received snarly looks everywhere. A guy named Pundyk, a friend of a guy who took my job back in Current Intelligence, started cruising my desk every few minutes. I noticed immediately. He abandoned his own work hours to monitor my time of arrival and when I left work at day’s end, making a point of consulting his wristwatch for my benefit. I sent him an e-mail to chastise him for his childish behaviour. In response, Pundyk sent me a picture of an execution squad, a universally-recognized punishment for spies (evidence #12) under the heading, “my thoughts.”
    I petitioned the e-mails from the directorate through Access to Information (ATIP), but CSIS recovered its old law-bending ways and sent me nothing. They not only excluded the execution-squad e-mail, they made it look as if it never existed in the first place (evidence #14 & 12).
    Then Jim Wilson stopped giving me work. He had only one other employee in his unit, but she took a month off to move into her new house. I was the only one left. Still no work. I found some other work to do. Wilson snatched it back and gave it to somebody else outside the unit. The “somebody else” gave it back to me, because that was what I was tasked to do. Wilson was acting outside the normal rules already. Then he decided to give me a Performance Review for one month. Highly irregular. He didn’t bother to use the form, either, but a blank sheet of paper to tell me that he didn’t have enough work for me and, if he did, I was unqualified for it. That’s when I discovered the secondment was a fraud. Not only did Spyboy not sign the secondment papers, but Wilson’s secretary forged his initials (evidence #32). For grievances, I had more grounds than a circus fair.
    Outside the office, dozens of stalkers harassed me everywhere. At the Ottawa library, on a trade course, on the elevator. A fight almost started on the sidewalk when a guy from Internal Affairs thrust his bum into me like a hip check as I was walking by. Spyboy had commandeered the Internal Affairs staff for this. On the street, SUVs would brake an inch before hitting me. All of this happened at the same time as the Peter MacLean ‘op’ and execution-squad e-mail I have cited above, and the stress got to me. My apologies to the reader: I cried in Wilson’s office. He laughed at me.
    I may as well have been tied up, gagged and left writhing on the floor back in Intelligence. Two days later, they placed me until Marianne Bennett’s control in Intelligence. Naturally, she was reporting to Spyboy. I pressed for Leave under Income Averaging, a leave-without-pay I was entitled to take, to prepare my grievances. Spyboy denied them at first, using ineligible grounds. Ms. Bennett gave me documents to edit (are you ready for this?) that were already edited, translated, printed and mailed (evidence #15). This is how the public service really works when management is upset.
    I finally managed to take the summer off on unpaid leave to prepare my grievances. Spyboy tried to stop it, but failed. Instead, CSIS stalked me at my cottage in PEI. The stress got to me and a rash broke out on my skin. I started to drink, which is forbidden for me as a stroke victim, but somehow I prepared six grievances and filed them, including two against Caroline Melis and Spyboy for fraud and defamation (evidence #35 & 38).
    When I returned to work in September 2008, they put me under the control of Spyboy again. They’re not allowed to do that. They even pretended not to receive my grievances, a petty trick that I have evidence for as well. My heart rate went to the stroke zone again coupled with sky-high blood pressure, despite my meds. I went on disability that month. This pleased CBSA and CSIS enormously.
    Things then became sinister.

12. 

    the last part…
    —-

    I did some research on the internet about CSIS’ disrupt campaigns and their use of gangstalking. I stumbled onto two articles in Peterborough’s local weekly, This Week, describing an ordeal-by-gangstalkers suffered by a woman using the pseudonym ‘Anne.’ (May 19 2006; reporter: Lance Anderson, now a photographer; and Lois Tuffin, the editor-in-chief, under http://www.mykawartha.com , or see evidence #23a and b) ‘Anne’ was gangstalked in the same way as myself. The same young louts wearing black baseball caps. Small, beat-up cars with missing hubcaps. Same tactics, too. Now, I have the written evidence to prove I was investigated by CSIS. CSIS is widely-reputed to be ‘disrupting’ Canadian citizens; termed “vigorous harassment” by the Director of CSIS, Jim Judd. I have many pictures of gangstalkers in black baseball caps (see ‘About Gangstalkers’). In all, there is no question that the “gangstalking” we see on the internet is the brainchild of the Western security services. So, what did a young woman do in a small town like Peterborough to merit this kind of harassment?
    I went to Peterborough to find out.
    The answer, according to Lance Anderson, the man who wrote the article, is that she slept with somebody very important. “Not Stephen Harper,” said Anderson to me, “but somebody like him.” He doesn’t know who.
    But I do.
    ‘Anne,’ it seems, slept with a “famous” person who may have been a Prime Minister. Canadian media haven’t paid much attention to this article, but I was sure her story was true when she described the methods and tactics of her gangstalkers. Does it matter that one of our PMs slept around? Probably not, unless you like to pop the popcorn for an entertaining scandal. But let’s slow down and speak in whispers, shall we? Think deeply about Canada for a moment because we are at the tipping point… would this be a threat to national security?
    In a minority government, the discovery that a PM had an affair may provoke a non-confidence vote and we’re in an election. Given that we are in a ‘war’ in Afghanistan and with terrorists, have we, for the sake of argument, lost the decision-making capability? Most Canadians I know would roll their eyes. Many would ask “Has somebody phoned the Americans?” only partly in jest, or ask whether this is any different than the Bill Clinton/Monica Lewinsky scandal. After all, Clinton was the leader of the Free World. Or maybe it’s like Berlusconi in Italy, with nuances that a non-Italian will never understand. After some thought, most would recognize that the right to cast judgment on the offending PM has been taken away from them. By CSIS. They have decided that we, in a democracy, shouldn’t know about a philandering PM for national security reasons.1
    Is this bollocks, or what?
    The astute reader may realize by now that the CSIS attack against me really has shifted. If you did already, congratulations. I surely didn’t. Before, CSIS were content to ruin my life through gangstalking, relying on fear or a guilty conscience or something to provoke me to leave Ottawa. I was simply too dumb to understand. As you can see, the focus of the CSIS attack is to pin a delusional charge on me, or to obtain a ruling from anybody – the neighbour across the street, perhaps, or the dog from the next block, that I was psychotic or mentally unstable. Why?
    It wasn’t until my fifth lawyer in November 2008 that I received reliable information that my situation was a ‘national security’ issue supported by a warrant. I was shocked. Overall, this knowledge cost me roughly $4500. CSIS must have been roaring in the aisles by then.
    And the reason for all this harassment and lawbreaking?
    Stephen Harper. Because he worked for CSIS.
    Sometime during the spring of 2008, I went to see Mark Foss, a writer who used to be a close friend of mine but CSIS recruited him as an informer. When I confronted him, he had admitted it. To him I uttered the only threat I can ever remember making, and asked him to pass it on to Spyboy Inc. After I told Mark of Stephen Harper’s relationship with CSIS I added, “And if CSIS doesn’t leave me alone, I will reveal Harper’s relationship to the media in the next election…”
    “You do that,” responded Mark. “And you won’t work in this town again.” I guess he thought that my job was still viable.
    After every single mechanism of justice was denied to me, I realized I was staring at fascism in the face.2 There is a handwritten letter pinned up on the wall in Intelligence from a Filipino or Indonesian student who had applied for entry into Canada, and was investigated by CSIS as part of the procedure. The student’s letter contained major vitriol because of the way CSIS alienated his family, friends and neighbours, to the point where he threatened violence against CSIS for the rest of his life. So much for his lifelong educational plans. My colleague, the owner of the letter, broke out laughing as he watched me reading it. He said, “And you know, this guy [student] had been approved for entry. Now we’ve got him…”
    So… did we identify a secret enemy of Canada, or make one? I understood the student’s anger perfectly.
    Then CSIS tried to kill me.
    1 I draw the reader’s attention to the analysis provided by Mr. Rocco Galati, a famous Toronto lawyer, of several anti-terrorism bills (C36, C22, C35, C42), and in particular, the Security of Information Act, which I found at http://globalresearch.ca/articles/GAL201A.html . Read it carefully. Mr. Galati had his life threatened for defending alleged terrorists.
    2 Despite the trauma, which I couldn’t avoid anyway, it is a priceless lesson about what you truly believe. I now realize I have a big apology due to the political Left. To be a national-security hawk, as I was, means you trust in the LE agencies and the secret police. However, when you witness the speed in their slide towards fascism, corruption and incompetence, you change… particularly when it’s targeted at you. Ironically, it was CSIS alleging that I was the neo-Nazi years ago. So… Stanley Knowles, Ed Broadbent, Stephen Lewis, Jack Layton… I apologize!! They are what you say.
    _________________________
    Contact:
    Unfortunately, contacting the author is one of the most difficult tasks when you are under CSIS a ‘disrupt’ program.
    For this reason, I don’t receive telephone calls (at 613-731-1205) or e-mail (at phaedo@sympatico.ca). I have created a new e-mail address at garethllewellyn100@gmail.com . So far, I haven’t received a single e-mail or telephone regarding this matter since 2008, despite my efforts to communicate, which should demonstrate how thorough CSIS is. That said, this doesn’t prevent you from trying, so please do. I cannot predict the results.
    My wife and I live at:
    1129 Apolydor Avenue
    Ottawa Ontario K1H 8B1
    This is in Ottawa South, only a few yards west of Bank Street, and 4 blocks north of Heron Street, just south of the Billings Bridge Mall. For several years, CSIS monitored my front entrance from their post around the corner on Gillies Street, and monitored my backyard from their post in an apartment behind us on 1174 Rockingham. I hope you won’t be dissuaded by this, but contacting me is not illegal.
    My sister, Morgan Llewellyn, lives in Toronto at:
    72 Newmarket Ave
    Toronto, M4L 1V9
    (top floor)
    Her cell phone number is 647-520-8215. Her work number is 416-787-1661, ext. 210.
    She has been alerted to receive any visits or telephone calls regarding this matter.
    My wife, Betty Ann Bryanton, works for Revenue Canada at the Heron building near the intersection of Bronson Avenue and Heron Street, also in Ottawa South. Present yourself at the Commissionaires’ desk for a physical visit, which is accessible by the Data Road entrance. She may be phoned at work at: 613-948-9583.
    Gareth David Llewellyn
    1129 Apolydor Avenue
    Ottawa, Ontario K1H 8B1
    Home: (613) 731-1205
    Education
    High School Secondary School Honours Graduation Diploma, A.Y. Jackson SS
    Bachelor of Arts Political Science, Carleton University (1981)
    Master of Arts Political Science, Carleton University (1984) Major Field:
    International Relations (National Security & Terrorism); Allied
    field: Political Theory
    Related Job History
    Intelligence Analyst (PM-05), Current Intelligence Section, Strategic Intelligence Division, Intelligence Branch, Canadian Border Services Agency
    November 2006 to September 2008
    Under the Manager of Current Intelligence Section, I prepared briefings on terrorism, organized crime, chemical-biological threats, illegal migrants, threats to infrastructure, Iraq and any other threats to national or border security to the Vice-President and President of CBSA. The clearance level ranged from Top Secret COMINT to Confidential.
    * * *
    Please note: I was absent from work between December 2005 to September 2006 due to lengthy illness. I am completely recovered.
    * * *
    Intelligence Analyst (PM-05), Intelligence Analysis Section, Analysis & Assessments Division, Enforcement Branch, Canadian Border Services Agency
    November 2003 to December 2005
    Under the Manager of the Intelligence Analysis Section, I write threat assessments on Terrorism, Chemical and Biological Weapons, Contraband Alcohol and Intellectual Property Rights. The clearance level for these assessments ranges from Protected A to Secret.
    Coordinator, Anti-Evasion (acting ES-05), Anti-Evasion Division, Investigations Directorate, Compliance Programs Branch, Headquarters, CCRA
    February, 2002 to November 2003
    Under the Director of Anti-Evasion, I consulted with branch specialists to develop CCRA’s strategic responses to tax evasion; in particular, GST fraud (multi-cell, car-flipping, fraud involving native groups, etc.), money laundering, telemarketing fraud, tobacco smuggling, tax havens and organized crime. The Anti-Evasion Division also serves as the secretariat to the Assistant Commissioner Steering Committee on Anti-Evasion.
    Intelligence Analyst (PM-04), Intelligence Analysis Section, Contraband & Intelligence Services Directorate (CISD), Customs Branch, Headquarters, CCRA
    September, 2001 to February, 2002
    Under the Manager of Intelligence Analysis, I developed risk assessments and trend analyses for contraband alcohol, jewellery, hazardous waste, proceeds of crime and endangered species (CITES).
    Program Officer (PM-04), Contraband Operations, Contraband & Intelligence Services Directorate (CISD), Customs Branch, Headquarters, CCRA
    February 2001 to August, 2001
    Under the Manager of Contraband Operations, I co-developed the Contraband Strategy 2001-2005, to provide senior management with strategic proposals for border enforcement and the prevention and detection of contraband smuggling; specifically, drugs, firearms, tobacco, pornography, embargoed goods and hazardous waste. In addition, I developed a business plan for the Marine Centre of Expertise in Halifax.
    Team Leader, (Acting PM-05), Policies and Procedures Unit, Business Registration, Business Returns and Payments Processing Directorate (BRPP), Assessment and Collections Branch, Headquarters, CCRA
    March 1999 to February 2001
    Under the Manager of Business Registration, and with a staff of 5-6 PM-04s, I led the following activities:
    Negotiated the creation and development of the Business Registration Monitoring program with Client Services Directorate (CSD)
    Led the Business Window and BNS monitoring team and defined performance measurement standards
    Developed the GST Enhanced Registration Review (GERR) project for detecting multi-cell fraud, including all aspects of project management (scope, vision, budget, proposal, O&M planning and training, etc.).
    Designed the project strategy, workflow and reports for the GERR pilot
    Managed the Business Number Services budget for fiscal 1999-2000
    Negotiated and relocated the Amalgamations workload from CSD to BNS
    Negotiated and developed Job Descriptions for BNS Clerk/Team Leader positions
    Redesigned and maintained the BN Policy & Procedures manual for 4 years
    Negotiated/instituted changes to many BN/GST elections, notices and applications
    Spoke at Tax Executive conferences on business processing issues
    Chairman, A/PM-04 board for Registration/Funds Management competition
    Developed training plans for Policies & Procedures staff
    Negotiated, developed, wrote and maintained all Business Number and GST Registration policies for the Business Window and Tax Centres nationally
    Presentations (usually on PowerPoint & PC Viewer) to senior management
    Analyzed, researched, evaluated, wrote proposals for and advised management on a variety of recommendations concerning all of the initiatives or changes listed above in the form of Briefing Notes, Issue Sheets, Position Papers, Requests for Legislative Change, Directives, Ministerial correspondence and memoranda.
    Project Officer (PM-04), Policies and Procedures, Business Registration
    February 1995 to March 1999
    Under the Team Leader, Policies and Procedures, I performed the following tasks:
    Author, 1998 BN Policies and Procedures Manual
    Author, 1999 Business Number Services Policies and Procedures Manual
    Manual severing according to ATIP policies and procedures
    Chair, Committee to Write the 1999 BN Policies and Procedures Manual
    Trained staff at the following BNS sites: Surrey, Sudbury, St. John’s
    Solicited legal opinions from Legal Services
    During this period I developed, wrote and maintained the following BN/GST policies: Amalgamations, GST effective date, GST closure requirements, bankruptcy and receivership, partnership-naming, access to information, trusts, document retention, non-resident registration and security, abolition of signature requirement, corporate registration, charity registration.
    Project Officer (PM-04), Policies and Procedures, GST Registration
    February 1993 to February 1995
    Under the Manager of GST Registration/Returns & Payments, I performed the following tasks:
    Developed policies/procedures for the GST Policy and Procedures Manual
    Developed the Registrant Identification Project (now NF/NR, located in Audit) for the identification of clients who should be registered for the GST
    Developed the Department’s response to the Canada Post Addressing Standards.
    Developed budgets for the GST Registration units in the District Offices
    Provided legal interpretations and answered Ministerial correspondence
    Policy Officer (PM-04), Policy and Legislation, GST/Excise
    November 1990 to February 1993
    Under the Manager of Administrative Provisions, General Tax Policy, I developed or participated in the GST Adjustment Form policy (GAF); GST policies for bankruptcies and receiverships, audit books & records requirements for non-residents, clearance certificates, appeals, penalty & interest, amendments and regulations to the Excise Tax Act; preparation of Briefing Notes for the Director General and ADM; legal review of the Income Tax Act, Financial Administration Act, Interpretations Act, Bankruptcy and Insolvency Act, Access to Information Act, Privacy Act, Canada Business Corporations Act, and other Acts.
    Technical Information Officer (IS-03), GST Excise, Policy and Legislation
    June 1990 to November 1990
    Responded to public inquiries; edited and wrote Excise memoranda and Technical Information Bulletins; wrote articles for the GST newsletter, Update.
    Other Work Experience
    Executive Assistant to Members of Parliament (1983 and 1987)
    Author, The Joy of Flex: A Thinking Man and Woman’s Guide to Bodybuilding
    Fundraiser/Ad Director, Operation Red Nose, Carleton University, 1986-87
    Executive Director, The St. Lawrence Institute for the Advancement of Learning
    Researcher, The Hark Research Group (1986)
    Editor, Ottawa Airport Business Plan, Airport Authority Group, 1989
    Lecturer, Carleton University Department of Political Science (International Relations)
    Bodybuilding/Fitness Instructor, Carleton University Department of Athletics
    Novelist (first unpublished novel entitled The Mushroom Grower)
    Extensive experience as project manager
    Related Job Skills: Software training with MS Windows, Windows NT, Word, Excel, WordPerfect, Microsoft Outlook, MS Access, Internet Explorer, Trained in investigative use of internet. Typing: 80 wpm.
    Security Clearance: Top Secret Special Access (TSSA), received November 2004
    (Please note that I have voluntarily resigned the ‘SA’ of this clearance in June 2008)
    ______________________
    Advice for CSIS victims:
    I don’t present myself as an expert on CSIS. In one way I am, however, since I have been investigated and harassed by CSIS for being an alleged neo-Nazi, a South African agent, an American spy and a subversive plotting against the Canadian state. Here are some tips that I offer in your search for justice:
    The police will not help you. They don’t care about your innocence, but will respond to CSIS. Your allies are essentially the media, the opposition parties and various organizations that confront CSIS tactics (e.g., Amnesty International, Wikileaks, etc).
    Do not lie. Your innocence is your most valuable commodity and they may try to frame you through ploys in order to corrupt you. Preserve it by refraining from exaggeration or by adding detail that doesn’t exist. Remember: CSIS is the bad guy. You are not, so don’t act that way.
    Gangstalkers are generally creeps. That’s good. They try to be as obnoxious as possible but it is also their weakness, because it serves to motivate you on a daily basis. They are not CSIS employees, but Canadian citizens from all walks of life. If you are a woman, you may in trouble because they may try to physically intimidate you (read ‘Anne’s story). If you can get access to pepper spray or mace, use it. Don’t use other weapons (knives, guns) because it will rebound on you. If you are a big, martially-trained man, don’t hesitate to protect yourself, but they will plant witnesses if you do. Gangstalking women are fair game. CSIS rules: they do whatever they can get away with.
    “Diffuse and disrupt’ is of CSIS coinage. This bureaucratic term refers to their ‘dirty tricks’ mandate, which they shouldn’t have and should be removed by the government. It is primarily a psychological attack; however, they will steal or destroy property if they think it contributes to their attack. Others have suffered through this, so take advantage of the lessons learned. The stories of myself, ‘Anne’ and others are available.
    Be prepared to lose big, relationship-wise. When CSIS is disrupting you, the normal response is to seek help: from your family, friends or even the police. However, the aim of CSIS is to isolate you – first of all, to convince others that you are ‘delusional,’ a regular ploy used by CSIS; and second, to plant rumours that you may be a real national security threat to your neighbours, friends, etc. Many friends or family members will prove disloyal when faced by CSIS because they are unfamiliar with national-security issues, and will defer to the badge because they haven’t seen corruption in action. This means you will have to make new friends. Bear up. Remember: this is not for you, but for the innocent Canadian that comes after you.
    CSIS will steal your evidence. Originals are important. Photocopy everything many times and keep the originals with you at all times. Don’t use a safety deposit box, a safe or a lawyer.
    Do not use payphones. CSIS directs their gangstalkers keep their eyes on payphone(s) you may use and report it instantly to their people within Bell. They are so quick that your phone call may be rerouted, and the person you thought you were calling will actually be an impostor. They keep a list on the likely phone numbers you will use, many by monitoring your computer, phone or other sources. Sometimes you will bump into payphones in surprising places that CSIS has overlooked (they may mistakes all the time). Take advantage of every opportunity. Always be adaptive and flexible; after all, you may meet political leaders or the media in a grocery line by chance. Exploit it.
    Do not use the fax unless you are convinced it is used surreptitiously. CSIS has the tech to ensure that your fax will arrive as blank pages, despite the ‘Receipt: OK’ you will receive on the sender’s side.
    If you are with the Public Service, watch out for corruption of your superiors. I received advice from colleagues and lawyers that explained the process this way: They report you as ‘delusional’ and refer you to a psychologist in Health Canada who, after a whisper in his/her ear, will confirm it. Your career is over and you will be placed on a disability pension. Don’t presume that your longstanding friendship with managers will last. It won’t.
    You score a goal against CSIS when you document and demonstrate how CSIS operates, and get it circulated, preferably with the media or on the internet. CSIS prefers the shadows; your job is to cast a spotlight on them. Be creative. This process may last years. Taking a picture of a CSIS officer in mid-pose (i.e., pretending to be someone else) is a hat-trick.
    Your best friend is a digital camera. Take pictures when you decide it might benefit you. It legal to take pictures of people or vehicles (right of free expression) and the police cannot seize your camera. However, the right to privacy provides the person whose picture was taken the right to sue, which will never happen. They may try to liberate the camera from you, a perfect scenario to use mace or pepper spray, since it wards off the act of theft. Taking pictures of CSIS officers is surprisingly easy. When the gangstalkers are ganging up on you, a CSIS officer will be operating in the periphery, so go and find him and take his picture. A hidden tape recorder may also aid you, but I haven’t used one. Installing a hidden camera in your home will reward you since you have pictures of people in your home. Any CSIS campaign to brand you ‘delusional’ (a regular practice, for obvious reasons) may be pre-empted, but it would be difficult to hide from CSIS who will put a camera in your home. So… do it now.
    The use of impostors is meat-and-potatoes for CSIS. I have encountered at least a half-dozen impostors posing as the media. Take pictures with a digital camera so these pictures can be used on the internet.
    A dedicated website to expose CSIS would be ideal. However, CSIS will react badly, probably to hack your website or even use the courts. If that happens, bring in the media. If you have dedicated friends with computer-geek skills, implore him or her to build you a website. Pictures of the bad guys online will annoy them. That’s good.
    Your task is to expose CSIS abuse, not to denounce national security. CSIS will plead they are just doing their job. Make the distinction.
    CSIS has access to a license-plate manufacturing facility which provides phoney plate numbers as well as licence plates from a foreign jurisdiction. I mention this to save the victim (you) the trouble of recording the numbers. Some gangstalkers still use their own vehicle. CSIS is very dependent on vehicles.
    Lastly, you cannot ‘win’ with CSIS in the big sense, so don’t make this as an objective. This sort of problem is endemic with most democracies. Try to resolve successfully your specific CSIS problem and a chance to record their actions and mistakes with the media and any other interested organizations. Reform is a long-term process. Good luck.

13. 

    Hey Spanner, can you give us the readers digest version!

14. 

    A link or two would have worked.

15. 

    You shoulda make them an offer they cannot refuse!

16. 

    Alright Reg.
    ————————-
    Canada – Gareth Llewellyn a long term Canadian Federal employee with impeccable credentials and the highest security clearences recently leaked a forty one page detailed disclosure revealing the activities of Canadian security and the Prime Minister. In the past 36 hours Mr. Llewellyn of Ottawa has returned both email and phone calls to say. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I’m going to clam up.”
    ———————-
    Furtz. I don’t think you need a link. I think you need a telephone book and a conversation with complete strangers.
    ——————————-
    Mafioso. The offer on the table is a ballot and an X.
    Marcus. I sincerely apologize for hijacking your link.

17. 

    Spanner – If you can’t present your agument in 400 words or less,
    I won’t read it and I haven’t. I don’t need your life history.

18. 

    Jerry, if you would have read a little bit of it, it wasn’t at all about Spanner. I did read much of it, and went and checked the gangstalking site as well. It’s an interesting concept and if it is actually used as such, we have to question a lot of the tactics of our government.

19. 

    A UK Journalist, who is an expert on intelligence matters, first told me about Mr. Llewellyn’s story last July since he knows that I have similar problems with CSIS. My own story is on this URL:

    http://zerzetsen.wikispaces.com

    Mr. Llewellyn’s allegation that CSIS persecutes innocent citizens with a process that it calls “D and D” (Diffuse and Disrupt) is nothing new. The former East German secret police “ the Stasi” who developed this process of “no touch” torture used to call it Zersetzung, and it is sometimes also called Zersetzen or Cointelpro. According to WikiLeaks, former CSIS Chief, Mr. Judd, calls it “vigorous harassment”. Call it what you like, it is designed to poison every aspect of the target victim’s life. It is much more than gang stalking and involves a combination of character assassination, surveillance, intimidation, harassment and death threats against oneself and family.

    What is new though is Mr. Llewellyn’s allegation that our Prime Minister, Stephen Harper, was a CSIS Operative. It could explain much. Our Politicians, Police, Lawyers, Press, and Human Rights Industry are too scared of CSIS to deal with these matters – so they pretend they are not happening and they look the other way, sticking their heads in the sand like ostriches; None of these “D & D” activities could happen were CSIS subjected to proper and honest oversight. Roderick Russell

20. 

    Roderick Russell, I must say, Mr.Llewellyn, in his own words, stated that he filled out an application to join the CIA. What kind of Canadian does something like that? He’s hardly innocent. He’s blown the names of all kinds of people, spook people. Now he has problems – major surprise. Llewellyn is another high level, rogue employee. If Canada’s security agencies and executives wanted a full tilt, crazy, right wing Stasi like regime by shooting journalists and truth seekers we’d already be there. The fact that we’re not, tells you there’s plenty of good guys. The 41 page leak also tells you that Wikileaks is full of poofy, sugar coated, low level crap. Cornwall Free News Leaks, however, are the real deal and it was done without a million dollar donation. What didn’t the Privy Council of Canada know and when didn’t they know it? What did our political leaders tell us about these events? Are they oblivious, scared of everything, or just irresponsible? Is there a Spooky award for all this? Talk about unreported censored news…

21. 

    Author

    not that a million dollar donation…or any donation wouldn’t go a long way around here…. 🙂

22. 

    Spanner McNeil – Mr. Llewellyn’s disclosures are a matter of historical fact and it was very much in the public interest that you reprinted them. But, it’s not just myself and Mr. Llewellyn who are raising the topic. The Globe and Mails’s Colin Freeze wrote about CSIS’s illegal use of “D & D” back in 2006. Indeed there are several other such accusations about CSIS as one well-known Canadian journalist admitted to me a month ago. Here is a brief summary of former CSIS Director Judd’s own disclosures to State Department official Eliot Cohen on the subject:

    http://mostlywater.org/former_csis_chief_admits_torture_0

    The facts in my article can be checked out by anyone. CSIS is not operating as a legitimate intelligence gathering operation, but is morphing into a secret police. Mr. McNeill, Zerzetsen (D & D) has nothing to do with “shooting journalists and truth tellers” as you mention; what it’s about is persecuting whistleblowers, and individuals who are seen as enemies by certain establishment elites. Yet CSIS is scary – and our press is very leery of them. Here is what happened to a journalist who fell foul of Britain’s MI5:

    http://www.quartetbooks.co.uk/bookpages/unperson.html

    This should raise a huge number of issues – why is Canada practicing a form of no touch torture (D&D) against innocent citizens; what’s wrong with our oversight bodies – CSIS’s top management, SIRC, Politicians, etc who must surely know these things. In their denials CSIS has openly lied to oversight bodies, to parliamentary committees – why is this not being investigated??

23. 

    I challenge all journalism students to tear apart this Llewellyn story in their search for ethics. Well, Mr. Russell we’re not standing on the same maple leaf surfboard. Hezbollah innocent? Man that’s hard to believe. I agree that I don’t think anyone involved is riding a white horse. Llewellyn’s undeniable story raises questions regarding journalistic ethics, fear, pay-cheques and punishment. If journalistic ethics means to remain silent on national issues then I am weak. I agree our press is far too leery, but about many things. The net and photocopiers are changing that. It’s not a sly morph that CSIS is the secret police. They are supposed to be the secret police. That’s their mandate. It’s a heavy responsibility. Imagine the ones we don’t even know the letters for. It’s a risk. It’s a greater risk to not have them, the world is not a kindergarten. There are real enemies out there, you know. Why do you think they allowed ( I assume) the 41 page leak in the first place? It’s a land of smoke and mirrors. In this land you must watch, vote, trust and participate. You must advocate what you believe, fearless and in the street and in the blogs and papers as if you had a smidgen of the bravery of our fathers and grandfathers who stepped on the bloody sand of Juno Beach. That’s all we got, Mr. Russell because we are always at war, we have always been at war, we will always be at war. There is a war on and we are weak, old and fat, yet in charge of the biggest country on the planet, it’s a fact. That’s a credit to the smoke and mirrors dept. No one walks on water. That’s what I believe.

24. 

    No Mr. McNeill, CSIS are not supposed to be a secret police; they are supposed to be an intelligence gathering service and not one that persecutes innocent individuals. In a democracy passing sentence is for Courts and Juries. I hardly see how CSIS’s victims such as my wife and I can be described as Hezbollah. Our grandfathers, or fathers, stepped on the sands of Juno Beach just so that we would live in a free, and democratic society where rule of law flourishes and not in a society where innocent citizens can be terrorized by secret police thugs.

25. 

    Tommy Douglas, that pinko commie who gave us universal public health care, had a huge RCMP file. Rita Mac Niel, the singer from Big Pond N.S. had a file because she sang some feminist songs in the early seventies.

26. 

    Look over there, no look over here…it’s The Man From Uncle. Where is the man from Uncle now? Is he at the G-20? Is he behind your mirror? Is he in your Prime Minister’s Office? Where oh where is The Man From Uncle.? An early Christmas present. Guess what? Go to google, enter Harper CSIS and see what you get today. ha ha.
    Maybe the reason Harper knows so much about spying and how to spy and who to ask to spy and what are the methods of spying is because he is a … duck. giggle. Can we say this story has broken because it’s on page one of google? Not yet eh? ha ha Will Mountie number two, in the red serge jacket, please step forward and stop bogarting that joint?

27. 

    Good way of telling, and good piece of writing to take facts about my presentation subject, which i am going to present in institution of higher education.

28. 

    (MODERATED) Jules please keep your comments brief and related to the topic.

    Thanks

29. 

    I laughed and laughed and laughed till I almost passed out and busted a gut laughing. This sounded like something out of the Three Stooges mixed with 007 and comedy. LOL LOL. ROLF! I only got less than half way and had such a terrible headache with all the laughter I had. I haven’t laughed that much in a long time. Whoever wrote this was quite the writer and Jamie complains about me writing so much – what I write is nothing compared to what the person wrote. I didn’t get to finish it since it was hilarious. I still have a terrible headache over all the laughter I had reading it. The whole thing made no sense at all.

30. 

    Spanner McNeil when you enter the federal government you cannot disclose what goes on anywhere and you said a lot whether true or false. I had a fit of laughter and didn’t even get halfway down what you said and I have a terrible headache over it. You are lucky to be alive typing this stuff out. I know what CSIS is and the same thing is going on in the US and world wide. I think that you said too much as is. You held responsible jobs but now if you were to look for employment elsewhere your goose would be cooked. You should never have revealed what you did and Jamie should never have printed this at all.