The Stickers on a Plane Saga, Delta 1165
I had no idea what chain of events would follow the placement of handwritten stickers on Flight 1165 on July 30th, 2008. The action was impulsively carried out after being overwhelmingly disgusted at the absurdity of the world created in the aftermath of the events following September 11, 2001. This insanity stares us in the face not just at airports but in the form of death, destruction, tyranny and torture in the wake of an agenda furthered by that false flag event.
For a multitude of reasons I understand that 9/11 was a carefully orchestrated conspiracy with predetermined media manipulation, enemies and policies. From the shocking revelations of World Trade Center 7 and William Rodriguez to Nanothermite and unprecedented failure by NORAD, I am confident any person can see we have been lied to.
By asking questions, achieving accountability and disengaging from the system we would be honoring the death of thousands in the attacks themselves, ground zero first responders survivors succumbing to illness from toxins and the countless lives lost or afflicted in wars against foreign nations as well as our own citizens. My hopes is that this story will inspire others to make more bold usage of our First Amendment right to mount a counteroffensive to turn the tides of consciousness from the darkness to the light.
An East Coast Summer Vacation
On July 30st, 2008 after visiting family and friends living along the east coast of the United States I was on my way home to Arcata, California in Humboldt County to continue my year at Humboldt State University. Being a passionate and critical-thinking student seeking truth, I am very much aware of the troubling inconsistencies in the US government's so-called “official” version of events on September 11, 2001.
At the time I was the acting president of the HSU club chapter of 9/11 Truth. We tabled actively on campus with DVDs, pamphlets, stickers and buttons. Our club often made use of the campuses “free-speech zones,” which paradoxically limit freedom of speech to an hour from noon to one on weekdays. It has gotten worse recently.
After flying numerous times between Massachusetts, Florida and Virginia, with connecting flights along the way, I was fed up with the security charade based on lies. My standard operating procedure was to lay low before passing security, hoping to get my three ounce containers of whiskey through1. Once in the terminal I would open the buttons on whatever collared shirt to reveal a political t-shirt saying “Not for Sale” or “For the People.” Then I would be comfortable engaging in taboo conversation with the people I encounter in the terminal.
A Sign of Things to Come
In July, flying from Orlando to Washington en route to Norfolk, Virginia, the metal detectors (I believe they were General Electric brand) malfunctioned. Worried I would be late after a confusing navigation of public transportation, this delay was not desirable. Those in the line stayed, I was second in the queue. Nobody seemed interested in piquing the suspicions of security and earning any more thorough probing than they willingly concede to.
The malfunction was not entirely clear but there was an exposed wire, about a foot or so off the ground, which connected to the x-ray conveyor belt. Transportation Security Administration personnel were wiggling the wire and literally giving heavy-handed slaps to the top of the metal detection gate. I looked around at those near me and pronounced “If I believed in this crap I wouldn't feel safe right now.” Some of the laughed nervously, perhaps the comment struck a nerve. After a good few minutes the equipment was “operational” again. As I cleared security it occurred to me that my Vitamin Water from my bag was confiscated without notification, which I would have drunk on the spot but forgot it in my haste. You think they'd tell you when they take something.
As I was boarding my flight a flight attendant grabbed me by the shoulder for not reciprocating enough virtual happiness that I was on the plane. I shot her a scowl when she reiterated her “greeting” in attempts to force some participation level in cordiality which I was much less in the mood for than seconds before. This prompted a continual harassment by the flight attendant.
My agitation level increased when my seat was double-booked which I gave to a breast-feeding mother so she didn't have to stand. Uncomfortable, with a crooked neck and passengers hoarding by, the flight attendant took her sweet time finding me seating, talking on her phone and texting in the back.
During the routine safety lecture, just after we were told to power down our electronics, I kept my earplug headphones in to minimize the shrill voice of the narrating flight attendant emanating from the speaker above my head. She promptly came to harass me for not turning my device off as I dangled the unplugged headphone jack for her and explained my strategy. She became distraught at my noncompliance and threatened to have me removed from the flight. Luckily the situation did not escalate any further from there.
Delta Air Lines Flight 1165
A couple weeks later or so I was back in Massachusetts staying with my Grandma Mae before flying out from Boston's Logan Airport. I acquired some ancient address labels, which barely still had adhesive, in an old desk. At our club tabling events we offered people to make their own stickers, so what these stickers went through was not as premeditated as some may think.
I cleared security after taking my shoes off, watching old people get poked and prodded. Sitting in the terminal A at gate 15 waiting to board my connecting flight in Salt Lake City en route to San Francisco. I unbuttoned my beige dress shirt revealing my black T-shirt with a two-faced image of George Bush with the words Oilwellian Doublespeak underneath. Looking around me I grew disgusted by the psychological effects of the police state imposed upon travelers as part of illegal wars against innocent foreign people and American citizens freedoms.
It occurred to me that those address labels in my bag could be useful in making a statement. I couldn't very well yell to the masses in the airport about 9/11 being an inside job by elements within the American government. Grabbing a sharpie in my bag I proceeded to create a dozen or so stickers stating “9/11 was an inside job!” with either prisonplanet.com or infowars.com written underneath.
I made a phone call on a pay phone and slapped one on the steel plating on the front. Then I sat at the bar across the terminal and drank a beer as I plastered another on the edge of the bar. As the boarding process began I walked back to the gate. Upon entering the plane I slapped a couple up on seats as passengers were slowly hoarded to their seats. I went to the lavatory to blow my nose and rinse my face off, deciding to put one sticker under the mirror as I dried my hands.
I went back to my seat, 35A, and began reading the book Savage Nation by Michael Savage, taking notes on his perverted logic. A couple heading to SLC sat next to me who coincidentally were reading something about Savage saying autistic kids need to be beaten into compliance in Time magazine. I joined in the conversation and shared that I was reading his vile work.
As I continued reading Captain Tibbetts made an announcement that we were running a few minutes late and had not left the gate due to some stickers that were found on the plane. He read the sticker aloud, “9/11 was an inside job. Prisonplanet.com,” and then assured everyone that this sort of thing happens all the time. Tibbetts shared that there seems no security threat and we would take of shortly after a bomb sniffing search of the baggage. This would delay us by about 30-45 minutes but we should be OK to make our connections. He offered for people concerned with their safety to leave the plane if they desired. I didn't see anyone leave.
I noticed a young man on the right side of the plane in an aisle seat who was recording the announcement with a digital camera. Wishing I could get a recording of this moment I got my camcorder out but not in time. My neighboring couple from SLC noted that the stickers certainly got good advertising.
In front of me in row 34 a passenger found a sticker on their tray table and the flight attendants were tending to that. The captain announced there would be another sweep of the baggage just in case. At this point people, including myself, realized we would not make our connecting flights. I pushed the call button and asked the responding flight attendant, Sandra Stanford, if she knew what our ETA would be and that I was concerned about making my connection. My words seemed to be irrelevant as she points at my chest muttering, “You have an anti-Bush shirt,” before promptly walking away without answering my question.
Pretty soon after that it was announced that a cabin search would be conducted and everyone was to grab their belongings and exit the plane. In orderly fashion people gathered their things. Having the feeling that I would soon be dealing with security personnel and wouldn't be able to make it home that night, I drank a small bottle of whiskey.
I crumpled up the remaining written on stickers trying to wedge them into the cushion of a seat as I exited. In the terminal I went to another neighboring gate with Delta personnel using logic rather than waiting in the ghastly line of an entire plane of passengers at my gate. I was comped a new flight in the morning, given $9 for food and granted a hotel room in the Hilton at Logan.
Making my way to a bathroom I ditched the remaining sticker labels in a trashcan before making it to the check-in counters to get my hotel and meal allowance. I asked to get my baggage and was told to wait at a specific conveyor belt. I believe there were other passengers that arrived on a flight from Buffalo, New York. Sitting on an empty baggage cart in front of the belt a swarm of TSA, Massachusetts State Troopers and others came down the hall.
The power to the belt and all nearby lighting was cut off as they encircled me. I was huddled around as some of them asked, “You're the sticker guy right? Jason Robo?” I didn't respond as another barked, “get him up!” as I was quickly seized by the arms, lifted up and thrown against the sides of the baggage claim.
I didn't exactly go limp and initially flexed my muscles to prevent the twisting of my limbs. The goons muttered to me to resist and how much they would love that. I could feel a surge of bad vibes as I thought of the boy in Ozark, Missouri tased 19 times while he inexplicably lay with a broken back on the shoulder of a freeway beneath an overpass. This was motivation enough to submit at the time.
They lifted me up and started taking me away, I asked where they were taking me, if I was under arrest and on what charge. Not being read my rights or informed of any charge I then proclaimed that the arrest was a joke as I was thrown in the back of a cruiser. The situation made me a bit uneasy with my understanding of the Military Commissions Act and other supposed law that allowed me to be declared an enemy combatant, disappeared, subject to extreme rendition, torture and even death without anyone ever learning my fate.
In the cruiser I continued to ask the State Trooper what was happening, where was I being taken. He yelled at me to shut up as I responded that this was America and people are guaranteed due process. The trooper disclosed I was being taken to the barracks for processing. He refused to explain much more but my continued ranting about due process and tyranny seemed to have interrupted his usual thought, or thoughtless, pattern.
At the barracks I was put in a chain link cage which consisted of one-third of the room. A sign on the wall stated that everything was audio and video recorded which could be used against me in the court of law. That was the closest I got to having my rights read to me as they began booking me. They decided not to fingerprint me and were confident at having a positive ID before noting that the equipment was virtually useless anyways. I continued to ask if they were arresting me and what the charges were but they would not answer. The trooper from the ride over took my cuffs off and allowed me to relax.
Some of the troopers badgered me, asking me questions, “why did you say the stickers were a joke.” I argued with him about the lack of due process and said there was nothing more to tell if they were twisting my words like that. In an hour or so my bags were all in the room as they searched through my backpack. Eventually another polo shirt wearing authority figure came in, took over and said I wasn't booked correctly.
He had the stickers in a clear plastic bag and dangled them in front of me in the cage demanding self-incrimination from me. I refused to comply and he acted like an insolent child returning to his computer as he flipped through a code booklet. He shared that answering my questions was not important if I didn't answer his. As he read off various charges with pleasure at my expense, he laughed about how much trouble I was in. It was now explained to me that the charges of disorderly conduct, interference with aircraft operation and disorderly conduct on public conveyance (basically being disorderly on public transportation which paradoxically is privately owned and controlled) were the retaliation by the system for my act of free speech..
In response to my complaints of no due process my rights were finally read about three hours in. I was granted a phone call and then hauled off to a holding cell as my check-in bag was being searched. In the cell I was instructed to remove my Oilwellian Doublespeak T-shirt for evidence before being asked to bend over and cough. The trooper who oversaw this did not seem to take any gratification, perhaps even feeling remorse, at his duty.
After a couple hours, possibly as they copied all the date off my computer and external hard drive, I was able to meet with the bail commissioner and freed on my own recognizance for the price of $40, half of the cash I had left. A condition was that I attend court at 8:30 am in east Boston.
Luckily due to my non-sheeple-like tendencies I had a hotel room to head to. I shared my experience with a young man getting off work. He replied that the situation was silly since those types of stickers are all over taxi cabs, buses, street signs and the subway. At the hotel a clerk upgraded my room and privileges which I wasn't really able to enjoy. It was impossible to sleep that night. I stayed up speaking with a couple friends about the situation. As I went through my belongings it became apparent that my phonebook was missing.
In the morning, I walked with all my luggage to the court house. On the way I stopped by the barracks at the airport where I was detained. The officer at the front window told me that the Feds had picked up my phone book. My bags could not be taken past security and I was a bit unsettled at having to sit them next to the entrance. I was quite delirious form lack of sleep, nodding in and out of consciousness as the court room filled up over a half an hour. A news network camera man was focusing on me but I failed to make the connection.
A moment before court came in session my public defender, Timothy Nolan, consulted with me. He was a 300 pound Irish man who smelt a tad bit like booze, had poor teeth and a short temper. I was informed that the news crews were there for me and though I tried to explain my political involvement, Nolan refused to hear it. After finding a payphone downstairs to call some 9/11 truth friends and inform them of the situation I was accosted by a FOX news reporter. In a more suggestive state than usual I spoke with him, refusing to say one way or another if I put the stickers there. I did disclose my belief about 9/11 being a lie and allowing the viewers to judge for themselves. I never got to see that broadcast.
Talking to the media infuriated Nolan. After scheduling a hearing later in August I was free to go and confronted by more reporters outside. I just told them my desire to go home and be with my girlfriend and friends and that was all. I stayed with my Grandmother in Auburn, outside Worcestor where I was born. Reading up on the news it became clear how far and wide the incident was being covered.
Unfortunately all accounts stated that I ran off the plane, describing me how I may act if addicted to meth. The phrase “the stickers were a joke” was also universal in each story. Over the last couple years people repeatedly tell me that they knew the media portrayal was not consistent with my behavior.
My father, James V. Robo, was none too thrilled at the incident. He has been the Navy nearly my entire life and I have never cooperated with authority as a youth. His brother, my Uncle Phil, drove me to the airport that fateful day. After hearing of the mishap on my flight from Florida to Virginia he warned me that “They hold all the cards. They are in charge. Be careful.” He ended up speaking to the media much to my grandmother's dismay.
He ended up getting me an interview with Jen Eagan of New England Cable News (NECN) so I could tell my side. The story was barely 2 minutes long and ran the same line of the police interpretation but did allow me to say that the incident was blown out of proportion as well as that people should question their government.
Setting the record straight
My story was up on the front page of Alex Jones' websites for at least a couple weeks with a high volume of comments. Some people speculated that I was some sort of government agent meant to undermine the truth movement. Various people criticized the action, but nobody really knows what the proper technique is and you cannot satisfy everyone. One troubling development was that the Boston Globe cut the mention of prisonplanet.com from their web version of the story.
Jones had me on as a guest at the end of a Sunday show. I kind of regret not waiting to call in when there was more time available. After telling my story Jones concluded that I might deserve some sort of minor fine and understood that my heart was in the right place. That was at the end of the broadcast and I unfortunately was not afforded an opportunity to respond.
It would have been nice to talk about the incident with respect to the fact that I believe airports are one of the most crucial places to demonstrate against the lies upon with the War on Terror is based. Airports are one of the most tangible forms of fascism as people are stripped of their second and fourth amendment rights, told what they cannot possess and then charged unreasonable prices for alternative goods.
The opportunity to tell my side of the story, rather than the warped version in the media, was a valuable opportunity. I received about $1,500 in donations from listeners and friends making it possible for me to attend the court proceedings without too severely impacting my limited education funds. My next financial aid check was waiting for me back in California at the start of the fall semester.
Pro Bono Representation
Unsatisfied with my public defender, I called around to legal offices and the American Civil Liberties Union,. The ACLU referred me to the National Lawyers Guild who connected me to Jeffrey Wiesner, Esq, at Stern, Shapiro, Weissberg and Garin in Boston. Being a student, reliant upon government subsidized loans, grants and scholarships, I was unable to afford my own attorney and was happy to find pro-bono legal help. I already had to pay $150 under duress for the “privilege” of a public defender who was scarcely available, yelled obsenities at me and refused to listen. I issued a complaint against Mr. Nolan for his behavior.
Wiesner was a considerate and professional lawyer. He listened and followed instruction, unlike Nolan. I was willing to go to trial for the charges, risking jail time, if they would not dismiss the case. I took the case as an opportunity to argue that I was morally obligated to engage in free speech in order to warn others. It seemed to be a valid opportunity to discuss the alarming inconsistencies in the government story and revealed by witnesses or physics.
The judge reluctantly granted my changing of representation, which was a scary moment since he deliberated on the matter. The case was continued and my next hearing was set during Thanksgiving vacation so I would not miss class.
After court I flew back to California just in time for my fall semester. Delta Air Lines blacklisted me. My flight was partially purchased with existing frequent flier miles in addition to cash for the remaining balance. No other carrier would take the miles so I had to buy a new ticket with another airline.
Upon my arrival back in California I went straight from the airport to HSU to tabling for 9/11 truth with other clubs at an event for student orientation. Being gone that extra month cost me my housing arrangements for the semester so I had no home to return to and spent most of the semester a homeless couchsurfer. My newly acquired handcrafted pool table was dropped when I was not home to move my possessions to storage. At least I was not declared an enemy combatant and in an undisclosed location.
Motion for Dismissal
Wiesner told me of a legal precedent that protects my decision to express myself with a handwritten sticker. In the motion for dismissal he later filed with the court, on November 20th, he states:
In Commonwealth v. Feigenbaum, the defendant was engaged in a protest outside
of Otis Air Force Base and blocked traffic to the base. The Court held that the defendant had created a hazardous condition, but further held that the defendant’s political protest was a legitimate purpose insulating him from conviction for disorderly conduct.”
It could have been argued my actions were the equivalent of yelling fire in a movie theater. If my actions are equated as such then my words would have been the truth. My aim was not to create a panic atmosphere but to alarm people of the safety hazard of the elite who have been manipulating world events behind the curtain of the shadows. Nonetheless, under this ruling, it would appear that my expression was protected under the First Amendment even if one argued I created any danger to the public.
It seems more to me that the charge of disorderly conduct is, in other words, disrupting the normal flow of life which is a diversion from reality and really no life at all. In addition, in respect to the charge of Interfering with the Flight Crew, as my lawyer stated in a motion for dismissal “it appears the charge was simply invented from a portion of a statute taken out of context. ”
In the motion for dismissal Wiesner illustrated that the clerk-magistrate, who filed the case, did not have sufficient facts presented to support the two charges of disorderly conduct and disorderly conduct of a public conveyance. Furthermore, Wiesner argued that there was no probable cause under the Model Penal Code definition of disorderly conduct :
With purpose to cause public inconvenience, annoyance or alarm, or recklessly creating a risk thereof, he: (a) engages in fighting or threatening, or in violent or tumultuous behavior; or (b) creates a hazardous or physically offensive condition by any act which serves no legitimate purpose of the actor.
The motion for dismissal clearly outlines how the the legal definitions (outlined in Commonwealth v. Feigenbaum) for the terms fighting, threatening, violent and tumultuous do not remotely describe my actions.
The next hearing to decide upon the motion was scheduled for the day before Thanksgiving during the break so I could attend without missing school. I noticed a slip in my baggage sharing with me that it was searched, this was a regular occurrence in the flights for my court appearances. Security once checked me for bombs by standing in devices that blew gusts of air at me.
At my hearing the judge, not the one present at the first two hearings, callously announced that the decision was made without me, thus negating, to me at least, the purpose in flying all that way to stand in the courtroom as a mute. I felt that the timing of the hearing was a bad one in the respect that the judge didn't seem to care and preferred to begin her holiday rather than deal with justice. A date for pre-trial was set for January 8, 2009, just before the start of the spring semester.
During the discovery phase, when the evidence is collected and shared, the reports of the incident were obtained. It was learned that the microphone and camera in the Trooper barracks processing area supposedly were not in working order. How convenient. If anything the use of audio/video surveillance in the jails seems to me a matter of safety and record for the accused, not just for the use of the state. I never could find out if there was a law that required such safeguards.
Also, Delta wrote on December 16, 2008 that the cockpit flight data is “only stored and used by the FAA in the case of an accident.” So the evidence that would have been helpful in arguing my case was not available. Nobody could tell me where my phone book went either. It seems I was told the truth only that one time at the barracks after my release.
Pretrial and dismissal
When I arrived at court my lawyer informed me that the prosecution was willing to settle. It was a dismissal based upon not getting in trouble in between then and my trial date, July 8, six months from then. Unable to sustain a drawn out legal battle without more donations I conceded to the terms, somewhat regrettably so. It did not seem that any discussion of the events of September 11, 2001 would be allowed in the court room. Perhaps if that was the case I would have had to live with my grandmother to deal with a trial. I don't like settlements, but financially I couldn't bear the cost.
Knowing that my case would be dismissed as of July 8th was a comforting thing in respects to the stress I had dealing with school. The arrest followed the most difficult of semester of my life when I was illegally removed from an elected office and then illegally removed from an election despite placing as a runoff candidate.
The fun wasn't over yet though and on my flight home from Boston to San Francisco I raised the attention of security again on my first short connecting flight to Pittsburgh. I was reading the book “The Big Wedding” by Sander Hicks on the intelligence network connections that were involved in the events of 9/11/2010. Flight 93 was mentioned in the book, which had a debris field characteristic of being shot down by a missile rather than crashing. The plane went down in Pennsylvania outside of Shanksville.
I did not have a clue of the geography in the area so it seemed a completely innocent question to ask the flight attendant. On some flights there is a monitor up with the location on a map showing the progress of the flight. The young lady who fielded my inquiry, half an hour before landing in Pittsburgh, had no clue what Flight 93 was or even heard of Shanksville. At the mention of 9/11 her face transformed from a blank stare to being clearly alarmed. I was unconvincingly assured that she would find out the answer as she hurried away.
It was not long after that the captain came over the speaker telling the passengers to make sure they are prepared for a possible emergency landing in Pittsburgh. He told us that the brakes were not working, but there was two backup brake systems and assured us we will likely be okay. As we landed on the runway there was a wide array of emergency personnel. Is this a coincidence? I am too educated to assume that it was.
As soon as we docked at the gate I was swiftly escorted off the aircraft by Pennsylvania State Troopers and TSA officials. It will likely be the only time in my life that I am the first person off the plane. I was not taken into holding of any sort but isolated in the terminal and surrounded by a dozen plus security agents from various entities. They questioned me as to what I said to the flight attendant and I told them exactly what happened.
I waited as they confirmed the story with her as I spoke with various personnel sharing with them some select glaring inconsistencies with the government's account of 9/11. I focused mostly on Flight 93, being nearby and actually wasn't far off south from the approach of my flight. Those within earshot were actually taking notes and I was optimistic that they actually were intrigued. They were friendly and I was treated with respect before my story checked out and was allowed to board my connecting flight which they held for me. Luckily I was not charged with anything and preserved my fragile dismissal terms.
That was last flight I ever took anywhere and will be unless something happens that reveals the truth about 9/11/2001. Especially since the recent Nigerian underwear bomber who was on a watchlist yet mysteriously escorted past security without a passport by some sort of agent in a suit.
Thankfully a couple, the Haskell's, reported witnessing this and hear the phrase “we do this all the time.” Nonetheless, despite the clear override of established security procedures by some people of authority, those whom fly are now being subject to DNA altering radiation emitting body scanners that take pictures of your nude body. Also, passengers are not supposed to have items on their lap in the final hour of flights. I refuse to submit to this lunacy and would rather walk in the meantime.
Some people ask me if I would do it all again? Certainly, but my strategy would probably be modified. I would prefer to arrange legal representation and funding prior in order to assure having a leg up on the system. Perhaps if I can find sponsorship in the future another demonstration would be due. The first experience cost thousands. In the meantime I just try to live a simple life, fighting tyranny via an information campaign against tyranny. If knowledge is power, then truth is our strength.
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